Siren Whispers

Siren Song


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Windsong

Shy girl meets shy boy.

Red rover red rover

send Christine over.

School uniforms and knee socks

and whispers in the back of class.

Recess where the girls stood on one side of the blacktop

and the boys acted the fool on the other,

one-upmanship turned into an art.

Library dates

and a friend of his singing ‘you’re so beautiful’

while I sank further into my seat

wanting to die of embarrassment

but secretly pleased at the same time,

my face a sunset of reds and pinks.

He came by my house and rang my doorbell,

he had a gift for me he said.

A slender bottle that said what he couldn’t;

I can’t seem to forget you

your Windsong stays on my mind.

My first gift

from a boy

who was my boyfriend,

although not a boyfriend in today’s terms.

A boy

a friend

and someone who wanted to kiss me.

I was his girl.

It was later on,

much later,

that I was to learn how this quiet boy

beat all the other boys to the punch.

A new girl

a new face

and all the whispers about who she was

and what she was like.

They all wanted a shot at her

but he took the first chance

and for those two school years

she was his girl

and they never ever kissed.

:

Copyright ©SirenSong1208

All rights reserved.

Photograph by Grimafust Ubaovin via 500px


2 Comments

Quiet

There is a quiet that I love,

when all I hear is the ticking of the clock

and the lush sounds of birds awakening.

I’m left to my own thoughts,

allowing them to run free,

to go where they need to go.

Unbound.

That’s the kind of quiet I love.

It’s what I crave for my soul’s peace.

But there is another kind of quiet,

where the silence weighs heavily upon me

with loneliness.

The kind of quiet that is not chosen.

but rather imposed,

when your very existence is not acknowledged.

When you are immersed in that kind of quiet,

it feels less like a gift to yourself

and more like a sentence to be served out.

:

Copyright © SirenSong1208

All rights reserved

Photograph taken from Pinterest, unsourced


4 Comments

Dreams

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Dreams are an escape.

They provide us a way to cope with a monotone life.

One we are indentured to.

One we have been imprisoned within

by ourselves, or by others.

But dreams are also a journey

a fantastical, adventurous trip.

A path to nowhere,

and everywhere.

We never know whether the line will be straight and true

toward the fulfilment of that dream

or if the way will be mired in confusion, loss, fear, anger, 

those times when the dream is lost.

I adore the dream.

The dream is a lifeboat

for when the seas are rough and we need something to cling to.

The dream

is the burning light upon the horizon

the glorious sunrise we awaken to each day

the focus that keeps our feet upon the path

that keeps our hearts strong.

The dream

is our gift

to ourselves.

:

©SirenSong1208 ~ 2017

Artwork taken from Tumblr


26 Comments

Goddess….

photo

Click here for audio

A curvaceous hip

Nipples hard and urgent

Pale skin that catches the light

A raised, bare bottom

Aching to be touched

Or reddened

Naked limbs

That should be wrapped

Around you

And the long, dark hair

That she would love

To drag

Over

Every

Inch

Of you

Her gift

To you

Your goddess

 

 

*This was written last year but I’ve decided to give it it a new viewing, this time with audio.

©SirenSong1208

Photograph taken from Pinterest


8 Comments

Elegant Wrapping

FullSizeRender

Satiny

Silky

Lacy

Sleek

She drapes her curves simply

Innocent yet wanton

Knowing what to show

And what not

Creating a hunger within him

To peel away

To discover

The secrets that lay

Beneath her elegant wrapping

Urging him on

With her shy seduction

To open her gift

To accept her offering

Photograph taken from WhiteNoten


6 Comments

Upon the Rocks of Desire

 FullSizeRenderphonto

 Photo taken from Tumblr


1 Comment

Her Blue Period

photo

The picture shows her

The dark blue lace

Cupping the fullness of her breasts

Just hinting at what is beneath

But that which he has studied intently

And knows as well as she

His fingers itching to follow

The scalloped curve

And nestle in the hollow between

His eyes follow her 

Creamy, pale skin

Down

To the scrap of dark blue

Edged in lace

Certain of the heaven

He would find beneath

Wanting to unwrap her gift

Wanting to touch

To taste

To know her

Utterly

Photo taken from Pinterest