Siren Whispers

Siren Song


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Her song

I was reminded of this piece tonight and beg the readers’ indulgence. It is her secret fantasy…

Siren Whispers

fullsizerenderIt is her secret fantasy…

In an intimate club she takes the stage.

Dressed in a long sheath which clings to every curve

and caresses her every movement

she is cooly elegant

in a dress that belies the smoulder in her eyes.

Her dark hair falls in glossy waves about her shoulders

and her lips are ruby red.

She sings ballads of star crossed lovers

and of tortured passion.

The audience becomes enraptured with her voice

as every seductive verse is drawn out

every word, whisper, sigh

imbued with emotion.

She loses herself in the lyrics

feeling every word

living them there on the stage.

Singing them to the one who feels them

with her.

Her audience of one.

The only man she has eyes for.

Her song

for him.

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*This is not new. It was written and posted last year but I was reminded of it recently and hope that long time readers will…

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Like chess

There is no taming the fate

That moves our pieces like chess

Calculating her moves

To keep us always in view of the other

Never touching

Until there is a sudden

And stealthy

Capture

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Copyright © SirenSong1208

All rights reserved

Photograph taken from Pinterest, unsourced


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Empty

There is silence,

so much silence.

Arms are empty,

as darkness settles upon us.

Days.

Nights.

Opaque.

There is no clarity,

only confusion and a deep sense

of grief.

The dreams I had have died,

long ago perhaps,

but I did not wish to believe it.

But now,

in the wake of things we still cannot comprehend,

there is pain

more loss

and a sense of two

who should be holding each other up

through the crashing waves

but who are adrift on this unknown sea

separately navigating each stormy swell

desperately seeking landfall

and an embrace that tells us

we are home.

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Copyright ©SirenSong1208

All rights reserved.

Art by Victor Bauer


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Combat mode

“Realizing that with two teenagers under my roof I am in perpetual combat mode as they make repeated attempts at my fortifications.”

My opening (written) salvo this morning on Twitter. Now, this is not news, not to anyone who has ever parented. Combat mode changes with every year, with every milestone said child or children reach. When we first bring them home the struggles are sleep and safety. We watch with gratitude and awe as they reach each milestone. But, with every one reached, we are that much closer to the ‘I’ word. You know what I mean. Independence. And what does that mean? It means hell on earth folks. Okay, I’m being a tad dramatic here but I think I can safely say (imagining many of you nodding your heads in agreement) that when that burning need for independence hits, your struggles truly begin. The endless questions of why, the pushback on rules, the constant and repeated attacks on your fortifications. Add to that the divide and conquer maneuver that most children instinctively know how to employ and it becomes and ‘us against them’ tactic.

Teenagers are a special type of demon, in my opinion. Now, don’t get me wrong…I love my devils, er my children, but I can honestly say that there are days I wish to employ my invisibility cloak. Because they simply are not pleasant to be around. Thank goodness there are plenty of days that are joyfulf and that kind of balances it enough that I don’t run screaming into the night.  

But back to the hell of teenagehood (yes, I realize that is not a real word but I am employing creative license). In addition to being in full throttle, achieve-my-independence mode, they are clearly beset by raging hormones that make them moody and hostile, nicely finished off by the world-revolves-around-me thinking to make most days a lovely stroll through a mine field.

I always found it amusing that childhood is categorized with ‘terrible two’s’, etc. when in reality every age could be classified that way. Tongue in cheek of course. There isn’t anything really ‘terrible’ about any of them. It is just a series of adjustments that you make with each assault on your fortifications, and it starts early.  (Clearly you have to put aside your delicate sensibilities and know that IT’S NOT PERSONAL…that’s a difficult one to swallow because some days it sure feels personal). Children do not come with a handbook, nor are parents given hazard pay (personally I think that’s a travesty and a sliding scale should be employed…increasing as they get older).

Parenting is not for the faint-hearted.” I am sure that is someone’s quote though I have no idea who. Undoubtedly another parent who has been in the trenches, and has survived the napalm of a surly teenager in the morning. 

Like many other parents who lament their children’s behavior, I love mine without limit or expectation. But, being a writer, I will always fully employ what I know and right now I know the glory and the (oft times) horror (Say it with me…’the horror, the horror’) of the teenage personality. But my love is unconditional, and they know that. I am their safe zone. 

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©SirenSong1208 ~ 2018

Photograph taken from Pinterest, unsourced


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I dream of your hands

I dream of your hands

tangled like need

in my hair

as I breathe you in.

.

I dream of your hands

finding every curve and line

touching them

molding them to your palms

like a sculptor.

.

I dream of your hands

covering every inch of my skin

a blistering caress

that ignites my own fire.

.

I dream of your hands

making my body sing

with a touch, a grasp

that tells me I am yours

my song for your ears only.

.

I dream of your hands

and my own hands

become your proxy.

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©SirenSong1208 ~ 2017

Photograph taken from Tumblr, unsourced


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Smoke and ghosts

Smoke and ghosts

Linger

To haunt a room

To plague one’s thoughts

With memories that leave you reeling

When you happen upon 

A whisper

A scent

Of what once was

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©SirenSong1208 ~ 2017

ArtworktakenfromPinterest, unsourced