via Daily Prompt: Impression

The end of an extremely long hot night
I slip in through the door quiet-quiet
as heels click-clack click-clack I spring to toes
I must not wake the neighbours with this riot

I stop to stroke the cats who meow and purr
and feed them their reward; biscuits and fuss
I stumble slightly tipsy t’ward my room
and in the tall mirror look at my truss

facing over shoulder into glass
I find the loops and fret the bow to nought
clumsy fingers pulling at tightened cords
I tug til each lace cross no longer taut

A breath a deep relieving breath and so
I brace and can unhook the metal clasps
two halves of busk fall down sweat wet undone
I feel my skin unfettered give a gasp

These criss-cross markings up and down my back
are memories of times we spent in blue
they bite my flesh with temporary pain
but come the morn they will be gone, like you



Vamp until ready

Vamp until cue

Emerge morbidezza

Of pearlescent hue 

Tongue-test the lick

Lips fire-engine red

Eyes firing blue-notes

Voice-belly of lead

Of walking bass-line

Splice and bend pitch

Syncopated stop time

Jazz-baby bewitch


via Daily Prompt: Maze

There must be a path
Some route I can take to reach the heart of you
But all I see are walls that I walk into
always too high to climb over
I bloody my hands trying to fight through
nothing left but broken nails and s h a t t e r e d ego
I wish I’d recalled the story of the minotaur
tied the end of a ball of yarn to my self confidence
instead I’m lost within you starving

Mantras for the end of love

‘keep your dignity’ ‘rise above’

‘stand straight’ and ‘hold your head up high’

These mantras for the end of love

‘don’t ever let ’em see you cry’


‘times a great healer’ so they say

‘things happen for a reason’ – why?

These words are little but cliché

All things must end, all loves must die


and I have never seen the shame

In showing suffering and pain

I tattooed my heart with your name

And now I lose my mind again


‘the best revenge is living well’ or so they say,

but who are ‘they’ to tell me, anyway?


Lisa Pouncer, April 2017