over the Thames to link millenniums

The flat cool light of October when desperate shadows feared of winter’s grip waver pallidly and slink into corners. I lag behind as she strides ahead over the Millennium Bridge towards the Tate Modern Museum to meet friends. Crouched at the foot of the tawny brick tower of the former power station is Louise Bourgeois’ 30-foot tall spider called “Maman”: a riveting ribbed bronze sculpture with marble eggs in stainless steel meshed sac. The sluggish tidal river below teems with traffic, pleasure craft, tourists agog – camera shutter constant winking – barges laden with stone and coal, from upstream a whoop-whoop of River Police seeking violators. Southwark sprawls ahead, the borough of red-light sin, the haunt of the Bard, his ever present ghost seeks next hit play. Desperate poverty starved of attention. The City wealth glitters in spun webs of commerce on the near shore. It draws back fastidiously from the stink of unwashed masses.

exposed noisome muck
wormed pilings herring gulls perch
discarded lunch feast

Millennium Bridge, London Oct. 2007

Millennium Bridge, London Oct. 2007

For d’Verse this Halloween the prompt bridge is to write about a bridge as a first person.

I also wrote a free verse poem about a bridge for the Daily Post prompt called “I strain daily to reach You” two days ago.

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you can run but…

“Mating rituals”

the waning moon dodged the scudding wrack of clouds blown apart by winds howling over the jagged peaks looming high over the buildings slowly turning dark floor by floor

harsh chemicals could not mask the scent

she growled in her chest gone tight and stood on legs fluid with need and anticipation for the chase so long in coming through the dark streets empty of all but her targeted prey

moldy leftovers whiffed in disgust

he dropped from suddenly nerveless fingers and shivered when open night window allowed hint of fate amongst garbage and stale death in alleyways strewn with empty hopes

plumes of exhaust wavered from drains

on the move she loped across the silent city the few spotting knew of her quest and gave way knowing it was not their turn this time but wishing soon to smell the mate for them

sweating fear left a clear trace

despite countless warnings the actuality of flight was driven by sheer instinct as hormones reacted to the ever closing female determined to subdue the chosen male in heat

cool damp fog and sharp pine

shedding clothes the waning moon showed glistening breasts and shining thighs pumping in ancient rhythm reaching out to desperate flight and pouncing on rigid form

sunrise and satiated mix of tangy fluids

random Halloween poems

My mind is already crazy.
Time to open the door to the darkness, stare in vain
beyond the guttering flicker of candle and then, when my footsteps
trail off into the bleak corridor
the creak and groan as the door slams shut
the wind swirls and the wick is snuffed out
a clammy hand slaps my back… I drew the short straw
for haunted house chaperone.

The poem above was posted here for AC’s Halloween Writing Event while the poems below were some others I chose not to submit.

Halloween, the unofficial start
to the frenzy known as:
“Non-denominational Autumnal shopping celebrations until the Winter Solstice four days before Santa shows up”

once a time to appease the dead
now we scoff at ghosts
consume candy instead

pagan rituals
of bonfire
and mead
before church
made it a saint’s day

sounds of Halloween
crinkle of crushed dead leaves
thunk of knife carving pumpkin
rustle of dried corn husks
gurgle of shimmering cider

clouds play peek-a-boo with moon

Lavender Roaring Fork Clinchfield’s hilltop mansion glittered for Iron Hollows’ Eve. Pumpkin statues of princesses guarded the gravel drive. Sheaves of corn intertwined with licorice bows decorated gas lamps: rows of Sugarberry drank the lemon light. Carriages drawn by black Friesians with silver harnesses: orange ribbons woven in tails and manes, costumed hyperactive children deposited, desperate chaperones sought bourbon at the open bar. Chromium, the official greeter, wore pleated white linen over his navy coat: on his head fierce skull and antlers, his guise, Odin leader of the Wild Hunt. His mournful howls filled the night: his tail wagged constantly.

This drabble was posted at AC’s blog here for the 2016 Halloween Writing Event where a number of writers participated.

Authors note: This link Iron Hollows Fiction goes to the “Iron Hollows” category of 100-drabble fiction segments or click each drabble link below. They are not serially linked but rather vignettes set in and around the fictional town of Iron Hollows. I’ll be writing as the Muse moves, there is no time frame on posting and will depend on reader response.

“the legend of the time before”
“along the non-existent waterfront”
“gunpowder explodes, fireworks delight”