Hades On Horseback

What cloven horsemen ride upon the wind here,

Striking hooves on sharpened edge of waves,

Hunched and headlong, shrouded cloaks protecting,

Eyemasks glinting red? No fortune saves

Any in their path, though flight above us,

The heels of jeopardy are felt below,

Riding willfully to depths of nowhere,

Pistols drawn and daggers tucked to show

No enemy that’s found within their flightpath

Or foe espied, from fathoms far above,

Have hope or faith, outrunning is no option,

Bow’d their heads, and ours as sacrificial dove.

What earthly gate or hellish palace hides them

In daylight hours, these princes of the dark?

Where upon the shores of any peoples

Do black knights harbour steeds and stable mark?

Who betrays location as they search here,

Plots the points upon the charted graph?

Who drowns gladly in the tidal wave of hoofbeats

Pounding on while evil horsemen laugh?

Are any there who hear the fairground laughter,

The cackle of the master turning wheels

As rainbow-coloured equines carry minions,

The hounds of hell on horseback as night squeals?

 

Motivation II

Why do I gotta do homework,

Why do I gotta do chores,

Why do I gotta do what you ask,

Why do I gotta? I’m bored.

Voice of children all ask this,

But, owning up here, it’s me!

Why do I gotta do stuff that is pressing?

I’d rather be writing for free!

Stew’s bubbling away as I write this,

Tatties all peeled for the pot,

Uniforms ready to start back,

Doing stuff I’d rather not.

It’s terrible, this strange obsession

That has me right by the throat,

Throttling desire from everything else,

Pulling priorities apart.

Sod it! The tatties are pending,

Rumblings are heard all around,

Dinner is just one more distraction

From computer keys I’d rather pound.

It’s really too bad this fixation,

Doesn’t pay any bills,

I’d be working at what needs no encouragement, though

The fridge would be empty – they’d kill!

I’m really a part of the problem,

Well maybe the whole of it – they’re vexed –

Nought can compare to the feelings I get

While writing – well, maybe, sex!

But I can’t do that when I’m cooking,

Certainly not when the kids are around,

So writing it is – it’s orgasmic

And I don’t even make a sound.

So, yeah, I gotta make dinners,

I gotta get chores all done,

Gotta to do homework but then, oh boy,

I’m gonna have me some fun.

I mean writing.

Get your heads outta the gutter!

Tatties are boiled. 🙂

The Flower of Infinite Peace

I’ve just found this lovely post. Gentle yet terrifying in possibility. I felt the author tell as if round a campfire. Tending the pods our job. Lovely to find you, Lunarose.x

April's Rose Garden

Infinity Flower
There was a special rare flower that was the only one of its kind known in existence. It was kept in a monastery high in the Himalayan Mountains and was called The Flower of Infinite Peace. The monks that kept it were given a sign that when it started to reproduce it was to be dispensed to the leaders of the most powerful countries in the world. There should be at least one sent to every continent on the planet.

Now this flower didn’t need tending. It didn’t need water, soil, and therefore a pot. They didn’t even keep it in sunlight. Although sunlight would not have harmed it, it wasn’t necessary. They kept it in a dark room on an alter with a lamp burning constantly and incense offerings given next to it for centuries.

This delicate flower had the purest white blossoms with strange vine like stems like…

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