Tag Archives: MLMM



you entered
my heart,
you, to whom I am
bound like
a drunkard to wine
I begged
to be freed
from your kisses


A Blackout poem and digital artwork for Mind Love Miseries Menagerie’s Sunday Writing Prompt inspired by the poem, The Vampire by Charles Baudelaire. (See below)

The Vampire

By Charles Baudelaire

You who, like the stab of a knife,
Entered my plaintive heart;
You who, strong as a herd
Of demons, came, ardent and adorned,

To make your bed and your domain
Of my humiliated mind
– Infamous bitch to whom I’m bound
Like the convict to his chain,

Like the stubborn gambler to the game,
Like the drunkard to his wine,
Like the maggots to the corpse,
– Accurst, accurst be you!

I begged the swift poniard
To gain for me my liberty,
I asked perfidious poison
To give aid to my cowardice.

Alas! both poison and the knife
Contemptuously said to me:
“You do not deserve to be freed
From your accursed slavery,

Fool! – if from her domination
Our efforts could deliver you,
Your kisses would resuscitate
The cadaver of your vampire!”

Published in 1857.

on the shelf – MLMM


on the shelf

you barely notice him there
shadowed face, darkened, looming
in the mirror, whispering tales of
masked heroes, of brilliant valor
old as wheels and of damsels not
distressed, save for the sting
of fearful, pursed lips flapping,
judgment over fabricated scandals,
pants not dresses worn, oh there
are tomes stacked high as heels
spitting lies of petulant patriarchs,
women have their place, they bark,
captured on celluloid, idolized but
muted objects on a shelf, no self for
selflessness, ignored, she feels the sun
at her back, his shadow growing
longer, looming in the mirror
barely noticed there, barely worth
noticing, from plastic eyes she stares


For Mind Love Misery’s Menagerie’s Sunday Writing Prompt: Choose an Antique.


the Boogie Man – MLMM

the Boogie Man

the boogie man’s not lurking in
our bedroom closets, glowing red,
with dust bunnies, candy wrappers,
socks underneath our beds,
he doesn’t only strike at night despite
the tales you’ve read,
he certainly can’t read your mind
but there’s still cause for dread,
because you see it’s what you can’t
see holding you in fear,
it’s the unknown, that’s threatening
all that you hold dear
scary words like what if, I can’t
blaring between your ears
unconsciously you know him well
he’s right there in the mirror


For MindLoveMiserysMenagerie’s Sunday Writing Prompt: For this prompt I’d like you to focus on creating a portrait of the Boogie Man or some other supernatural being in a very concrete and descriptive way. What does this creature look like? Why does it do what it does? Is it evil or simply misunderstood?

the muse

the muse

she is like a penny, face up, begging
to be lifted from the asphalt, treasure
promised if I dare give her a moment’s
thought, a hint of blush dusts her cheeks,
eyes, dark, translucent blue, cerulean really,
that pierce my soul, first glance, drawing
me deeper… she likes shadowy places,
nooks, crannies, pre-dawn and gloaming,
alcoves and hollows, her scent is musk, with
undertones of moss, earth and ink waiting for the
quill’s long, lingering dip, pale skin like velvet,
cool to the touch, covered in baby fine hair that
glistens in the light, her hair, fiery red, long,
wavy, cascading softly past her shoulders…
she is not the life of the party, but her words,
softly spoken, draw select clusters of seekers, like
me, who have grown to appreciate her wisdom
and honesty…fools vex  her…she has been known
to slay them with a single line, but mostly
she ignores them, pearls and swine, you know,
for those of us who are privileged to call
her friend, to see the world through her
eyes is like peeking through a forbidden
keyhole, Valhalla waiting on the other side


For MindLoveMiserysMenagerie’s Sunday Writing Prompt – To write about my muse as if she had been given corporeal form and could interact with the outside world. 

affluent hoarding

affluent hoarding

a legacy of poverty means that even in times
of plenty, one cannot quench the urge to fill
cupboards with rows of non-perishables, that
will ultimately collect dust, but they are there,
just in case; there’s a propensity to buy two
of everything, to maintain double locks on
doors, to install shades and opaque curtains
to keep the outside, out; to have the car
loaded always with no less than half a tank,
blankets, rations, loose change, because one
never knows; all while obsessing over bank
account balances, due dates, a daily ritual,
a masochistic exercise, of checking dwindling
numbers especially when managing a joint
account with someone whose life was not
touched by empty cupboards, homelessness,
insufficient funds, and never enough, no never
enough, double-check, even when there is


For Time, Love, Misery’s Menageries Sunday Writing Prompt – the theme this week is Peace of Mind.

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