lock and key

ice crystals
singing

high noon tune
seducing

woodland nymphs
shedding

their shells of trees
filling

fragile goblets
refreshing

fair maidens
weeping

stolen seas
pirated

by bearded ghosts
hunting

ancient treasure chests
keeping

pearls and rubies: Hearts
bleeding

innocence
under
lock and key

secrets
whispered

frosty icicles
etching

outside my window
on winter’s mourning
wake

*I wrote this about a year ago, but I’d like to dedicate it to Undead Poet Creator Tim and his love of all tales Irish.

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About Jodi MacArthur

I write omnivorous fiction.
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12 Responses to lock and key

  1. Gally says:

    I like the rhythm you have going in this poem.

  2. Nice form. Icicles reminds me of just outside: it hailed here yesterday.

  3. Tim Keeton says:

    Go raibh maith agat, JodiMac Og, raibh míle maith agat!
    (Thank you, JodiMac the great, a thousand thanks!)

  4. So much imagination from that quiet window. Love the imagery.
    Lovely as always, Jodi!
    (And please tell us what the Gaelic means?)

  5. The Emotional Orphan says:

    Rhythm and imagery are exemplary in this.

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