Clay Mask

Another take on my theme of masks.

 

clay dried, kilned, hardened,

rigid, unmoving, caught

timeless, 

statue unbroken,

but wait,

what’s this,

a crack.

tremor lines,

evolving,

spreading,

crouched statue separating from the man,

shards fall,

unmasked

revelation,

where spirit hidden,

essence unconcealed,

stood tall.

Masked Molly’s Ballad

The masked theme is, apparently, still running.

Along came Molly with her handbag and a brolly

And a mask to cover all and any fears,

At five foot ten she socked it to the men

Who reduced any woman down to tears.

Half brick in the bag, she was no one’s hag,

An avenger with a twinkle in her eye

Hidden by the mask, enjoying each and every task

And that, my friends, I’m telling is no lie.

Strutting on the street, she greeted all she met

With a jolly jape for all who hailed her friends,

Legs up to her neck, brolly held erect

Baton, nightstick, brolly use no end.

Patrollers when they viewed presumed that she was new

A lady of the night with fetish weird,

Mask, bag, brolly, a monumental dolly,

Confidence exuding, nothing feared.

Men who asked the way or offered her to pay

Were directed to the ladies, caution told

‘Be good to my sisters,’ warning all the misters,

Some there were who answered, brash and bold,

‘I’ll treat them how I please once I get them on their knees,

I’m paying so I get to do my thing’,

Then Molly got real close and whispered, nose to nose

They scurried off, ne’er seen in parts again.

The misters who were keen, abstained from being mean,

Were surprised when Molly shook their hands and squeezed,

For Molly was a dude just doing what he could

To balance equality displeased.

A brolly laden maiden with a brick inside her bag,

A crushing hand, a mask that hid her growth,

Legs that went for miles, an empathetic smile,

Ex-copper, superhero light on toes.

Now Molly was a mister who’d had a little sister

Who’d embraced the oldest trade since time began,

He didn’t judge the men though he took no shit from them,

Bitch-slapping hypocrites as only superheroes can.

Watch out for Big Molly, a mister-sister dolly,

Protector of all women, punters too,

As long as there’s this trade, mister-sisters should

Remember Molly loved his sister, just like you.

Masked And Uninvited

Pale feathers shielded eyes inked black with passion,

kohled, surrounded satin,

smouldered spark,

templed pulses, throat betrayed, with flutter, fanned desire,

silk neck adorned of pearls

clasped at back.

Fingers fussed release at all tight fastened,

white robe of velvet shuffled,

heaped to floor,

corset fumbled urgent fascination,

lips and hands possessing hearts’ desire, 

possessed, possessor, pleading each for more.

Mask and heels and stockings still bedecked while

flashing eyes and stumbles

tripped to bed,

semi-dressed for ball, quite uninvited,

normalised by marital,

newly weds!

Okay, this might count as ‘mask with romantic‘ if I wasn’t extracting the Michael a bit. Just a wee bit. Time to get out of the sun, I think. Too much fun in the sun to be had with masks. Must get a visor…

Masked And Dangerous

Right, having another bash at the mask shenanigans. While sitting in sunshine is far removed from the following it seems helpful in mashing the brain a bit.

Onwards by carriage, in cabin alone, pulled

by four horses, unknown maiden was borne,

masked and unseen, so she thought, as she rode,

unheeding of eyes trained on traversed road.

Forested hideout masked predator there,

man of some mystery, hidden in lair,

lying in wait for rich treasure to claim,

stand and deliver, his call, with no name.

Rode he to hounds in the day but by night,

donned cloak and pistol, visage kept from sight,

surprising all journeys along forest path, 

tonight, no exception, ever ready to grasp

bejewelled and bedazzled from carriages fine,

heard wheels approaching, areckoned apt time.

Midnight it was as he forced to a stop

carriage before him, at last strike of bell clock,

beckoned insider to part with her gems,

waved pistol wildly, guarantee of amens,

when out from the carriage, from cabin enclosed,

stepped lady lightly, more pale than white rose

with lips of rich red, aplumped they of blood,

sparkled of eyes where ruby did flood,

dazzling more brightly than riches he sought,

intentions unravelled, his plan came to naught.

Caught on the highway, predation to prey,

bit down she first then robbed as he swayed,

devoided of treasure, blood soaked, fell to ground,

while black plumed, her stallions, urged homeward bound,

back to her layer, her coffin in keep,

castle of masks, batted eyes, six feet deep.

Tattooed the hooves, same to face from her bust

suffused now with pigment of redded blood lust.

Beware the highway, deliver if asked

though man, masked for moment, lies dead to the task

erred in the path of the woman he chose,

asleep till tomorrow, masked once more as pale rose.

Nope, so no romance here either, per se. Right, this is getting beyond the pale, so to speak. I can’t write a love poem around masks? What gives? Masked encounters bring out the deadly in me? Who knows. But this was fun. I think I may have cackled at the end. Sitting in the sunshine cackling.

Maybe third time will be the charm. I’m not giving in. In fact, I’m really enjoying finding out where masks take me. Masks are fun. Like acting. Only better. No stage fright.

Seriously (or not so seriously!) link in in comments so I can enjoy your masked adventures. Mark has sent in one that I’ll post to this here blog after I’ve stopped writing today. Umm, might be late, Mark. 😉

Masked Surprise

This went waaaay off where I was going with it at the start. I fancied a romantic meeting at a masked ball. Fate took a hand. And well, she had other ideas.

Fate had planned their meeting,

How they laughed as they arrived,

Collected motley strangers,

Unsuspecting aught contrived.

Bedecked in costumed finery,

Masks upon their eyes,

Ambience electric

As all hid behind their lies,

Flattered to be asked there,

Dressed one and all as spies,

Agents, Mata Haris,

Sleuths renowned as wise,

Yet none detected counterfeit

In ticketed surprise,

Flirted, danced, now targets,

Fate held them compromised.

Twirling as they partied

They missed their own demise,

Revealed, at last, behind each mask,

Dead already in their lives.

Spied parties to eternity,

No one hears their cries,

Double lives no more concealed,

Fate held mask’d surprise.

I mean, wtf! I wanted romance, I got death. Bloody charming. I might give the romantic version another bash. What can I say? I like the idea of masked encounters.

Fate can bugger off.

If you fancy a bash at writing something based on masks, I’d be delighted if you link in comments so I can visit and read what fate does to your version. Or perhaps you have more control over her than I do. (Shh! Don’t tell her I said that. She’s soooo contrary.)