Dangerous Beauty

I reach

for the dangerous beauty

you hold in your eyes

I know

that those eyes

that honey mouth

with its silver tongue

make all kinds of promises

that you might deliver on

Or not

Depending on your mood

or whether mercury is in retrograde

or whatever coin you like to flip

Heads you win


I lose anyway

I suspect

But the look you are giving me right now

the way it makes me feel

makes me think

it may be worth

the trip to hell


© 2017 Christine Elizabeth Ray – All rights Reserved

Her Name Was December

Inspired by the name of a Matthew Mayfield song

Her name was December

she blew in with the last autumn leaves

swirling red, yellow and orange

‘round her head

She could be warm

like golden lights in a window

in a dark unforgiving night

laugh like a bell

promising all the surprise

all the joy

of an unopened gift

She could turn cool

distant pale eyes turned inwards

at a storm brewing

that only she could see

her touch the sting of sleet

her kiss hard ice

stealing the warmth

from his skin

the life from his soul


© 2017 Christine Elizabeth Ray – All rights Reserved



Harvest of Stars

She is the humble handmaiden

of the goddess of the moon


She who bathes the night

and all that dwell in the darkness

in her silver-white radiance

which eats the deepest

slithering dark

that brings heart-thudding



and mortal peril

to her beloved children

Her acolyte

who might have had

another name once

now long forgotten

is simply called Poetess

She loves and worships

her goddess fiercely

does her goddess proud

Maintains the old ways

walks the hidden paths

writes the sacred truths

bringing healing to Luna’s

special ones

the humans and

other creatures that

only emerge

when the sun has set

Luna hums in pleasure and delight

when Poetess’ careful labors

yield the first harvest of stars

that fall gently into

Poetess’ cupped hands

like snowflakes

like crystal tears

studding the inky canvas

of the midnight sky


© 2017 Christine Elizabeth Ray – All rights Reserved


Night Music

Will you dance with me

in this silvery pool

of moonlight

that falls across

your face

like a watered silk?

Will you clasp my hand

hold it as delicately

but firmly

as though it is my beating heart?

Wrap your arm

around my body

let your warmth

become my warmth

your breath become

my breath

soft against bare skin

Listen to the night music



fill us with ache


as we sway together

in these steps

of remembrance

this onyx night. . .


© 2017 Christine Elizabeth Ray – All rights Reserved

The Freshest Thing in the Clearing- G.R. Melvin

.                   i)

M  U  C  H

often it’s uncertain   to see,

to see the true things through,

but certainly sometime’s there’s time

when surely much of what’s new

when noticed might matter

to you or rather

to  me


.                    ii)


D  U  E

I fear I forget that the frail,

nearly unable, but

when a whisper of   Will…

when they muster an incalculable

measure of  reach

to straighten, and lean up

for what’s due.

That’s alot to wait for


The Freshest thing in the clearing

by the pond’s sunk boat,

near a nest,  There’s this ringing

drop, possibly  just now  dotting

one leaf,  left  just new

by all the dew

That’s what I wait for






G.R. MELVIN, AKA namelessneed, fairly free here in southwest florida, with more than enough time to take hard time to work the honest work of sweet-talking the walk, fighting the good fight, and going on too long about what I don’t know. you know, the mystic
I’m at Spilling Some



She won’t roll away & not watch me.

Y’see, I won’t  seem to take,

When I dream (or I wake).

to take  another breath  before

The scene fades, before

lights go up

then down  to more of a zoom.

She waits in our bedroom for me to resume.



We went to go to a yoga class.

Where a barefooted, hairpleated group leader;

beautiful, and calmer than a

merciful last coma,

She insisted that our deep breath is

the gist of all of it  (within, & out).

We rearrange the short & tall of it.

The Gist to change the depth, see,

of our sea of possibility.

When we inhale

we rememorize  our own gods.

We exhale our hell.  barefoot.  on a mat.

Whew. To all that.



When I get to go to the Gulf of Mexico

I’ll try out  into the drink,  1st thing.

I’ll try not to think when I try to let go

&  sink when I deadman’s float all day,

into what I think of as a spiritual drift, in a way.

I’ll hold onto my breath,

face down,

head down.

G.R. MELVIN, AKA namelessneed, fairly free here in southwest florida, with more than enough time to take hard time to work the honest work of sweet-talking the walk, fighting the good fight, and going on too long about what I don’t know. you know, the mystic
I’m at Spilling Some

You Were Meant to Know the Night Writing Prompt Challenge: A.G. Diedericks

the due date for absolution

has long since passed


my victims have no vista

for this contrite soul


veiled underneath a mordant exterior


my demons levitate

every time i contemplate


that which can’t be rewritten


i circumvent


introspective forces

that hums my name


i stretch out the days

with the clamour of minutiae


immersed in abstract

to distract the path that lays ahead


for that which afflicts me, is patient


it stalks me in plain sight


it stays with me, through amnesia

and awaits my advent;


in the comfort

of my own bed


in my home;


where there’s no lights

and no prevarications


i lie face down

tied to the obstinate reality:


“You were meant to know the night”

A.G. Diedericks is a divergent poet with a distinctive voice. He resides in Cape Town, S.A and writes for Sudden Denouement Literary Collective.

You Were Meant to Know the Night Writing Prompt Challenge: ER Buendia

As the moon dances across the lake

Fairies fall into slumber

Poppies shine brightly against the darkness

Lovers begin laughing into the wind

As they prepare for their midnight rendezvous

The humidity of the summer winds

Bring sweat to the brows of children

The lonely ones feel melancholy,

While filling their hearts with hope

And on this summer night,

I run my hands through the dirt beneath me

As I dream to become the moon

Round luminous and filled with the immortal beauty of purity


The moonlight’s smile reflects across the trees

Dazzling and entertaining

Oh, nature. What a miracle!

Hot winds, mist from the water

Meet the earth


The earth becomes me, and

I join the earth as I continue to sink

Deeper into the abyss of the night

Free as leaves swinging in a chilly autumn evening

My body cocooned by fragments of the moon as it dazzles the earth

Shining its warmth and maternal essence upon the forest and its hidden creatures

Lifted by a breeze, swept across evergreen trees…

My eyes go deeply into a restful sleep.

Another ending to a perfect summer night

E.R. Buendia has been writing for years in the realm of fantasy, fiction, and, poetry. She enjoys creating pieces that create dreamy landscapes or empower and inspire the audience. Buendia is currently working toward her goal of becoming a high school English teacher so she could share her love of books with others! On her spare time, she enjoys reading, stories that delve into the occult and practices yoga on a daily basis (as well as teaches it) in San Diego, California.

E. R. blogs at Celena StarVela


You Were Meant to Know the Night Writing Prompt Challenge: This Bouquet/Vivian Zems

I knew this day would come

When I would sit here beside you

Filled with anguish

Overcome with grief

You would have felt it too

If you had been in my shoes


I’d warned you not to go home


Just to leave him the hell alone

Your bruises, how you could bear

I’d glimpsed the patches in your hair

You were meant to know the night

He’d been drinking. Had you known?


I’d warned you not to go home


Why could you not let it go?

He’d hurt you time and time again

Did you stay just for show?

How could I tell?

Now, I’ll never  know


I’d warned you not to go home


Your welfare, my only fright

Yet, you were meant to know the night

What will you have me do?

As I sit here beside you


This bouquet, my gift to you

To be replaced in a week or two

Wiping my tears, eyes squeezed tight 

You were meant to know the night


Copyright 2017- Vivian Zems

Mum, author and dentist is how I describe myself. I love creating pictures from words. Sometimes a painter, other times a weaver- words are my tool; trying to create something beautiful.

I blog at Smell The Coffee