Sand

Despite the sand which urges down
so boundless and careless,
so hurting my fingers,
I still keep the memory of our sudden madness,

The sound of power and
The shout of wind
Thundering in my ears.

I hunger over those days
Missing them
so much that
I follow the blind tremor
slithering behind my ecstatic joy.

(c) 2018, MK

Sunday Whirl #339 offered very nice words today, as always 🙂

Sunday Whirl #337

Post that missing message already!
And never mind the spilled ink
that fills the rows with sense or
its gentle meandering bend
that follows your thoughts.

Spin that tale already!
It’s a spectacle to watch –
softly injecting your mind
with the mint of a mojito,
and leading you by the hand
to that message you failed to post.

(c) 2018 MK

Superstition and Gravity


The train squeezed listless along the platform,
as if a game for happy children:
their January holiday,
with a completed list of gifts –
the sane apathy of parents reluctant to question superstitions.

The train – a figure of shady authority
puffed towards the winter shelter
where grain is stored for hungry throats
where chickens are cuddled to sleep before
they are taken to our feast table,
realistically rising to the occasion –
the gravity of holiday matters.

(c) 2018, mk

This is my weekly wordle poem in answer to Sunday Whirl #334.

Wordle with no Title

Sunday Whirl 333 – a Wordle without a Title

The spy whistled –
the still water denied the staccato existence of Colorado rapids.
He sat down with a jar of thinner –
maybe diluting it would make it faster.

His sidekick resented the whistling –
he took it for a stupid habit you should kick clean of.
Instead he binge-watched Sabrina, the Teenage Witch
for hours
while sprinkling their home with gas
until all was slick as sin and wishing for death.

(c) 2018 MK

The Mighty Nothing

Sunday Whirl #332

The Mighty Nothing

Ditch truth, tell only rumors.
Boil before serving.
Nothing real is as mighty as something
you hear on the grapevine.

The seams of your age-old wound
are the only reminder of the sliver that pierced your cheek.
The memory is almost lost in the middle of glorious light.

Your tears streak down to nothingness.

© 2018, MK

If you want to check the original post, you can visit the site. There are other poems written on that prompt – you may like them, also.

The Secret Admirer of the Spare Star

wordle prompt for sunday 331The Secret Admirer of the Spare Star

Who will approach the spare star
and wonder at its glitter?
Maybe the one who walks among the fields
without despising the gutter or the lane,
the split honour of being second best.

Roll like thunder,
release its lights –
the flashy line of godly might!

When all is dead and over,
you’ll pin the star to the museum wall
for visitors to stare bluntly into it.

(c) 2017, MK

Always enjoying the wordle poems. This one was written for the #331 Wordle Prompt on Brenda’s blog. I guess that’s the case with everybody, because you never know where words can take you in their whim.

A Slippery Tongue

A Slippery Tongue

The lock chain was broken
all minutes flew away
in hysteric flurry.

A runner sent to look for them
lost all idea of time,
hard reality hit him in the back
(good his hour glass survived)
until he dropped in the grass,
his pants turning unwashable green.

The slippery tongue of the bell
dispelled shock to scanty listeners –
the village was dispopulated.

A boy with just one shoe
sat calmly in front of the late cinema screen
holding a shard in his hands.
Our broken lock chain,
which helped the minutes go away,
and then the years, then today.

(c) Mariya Koleva, 2017
This poem was written for Brenda’s Wordle prompt #330. Prompt there are used to bring extra pleasure, because of the variety of courses they can take.

The Stew

The wordle of Sunday Whirl #292:

sweet, touch, months, adds, stew, cask, red, smoke, sunshine, velvety, foothills, long

* The Stew *

All these months denied
The simple sweet touch
I expected from them.

Sweetness adds some red sunshine
To the choppy foothills I have to walk
In long, velvety afternoons.

Instead, they served warm stew
Cooked in casks hidden in the cellar
Amidst the tasty smoke of satiation.

©2017, MK

The River Wants Me Naked

Sunday Whirl #226

First, the river wants me naked
Stalking me with red eyes
Along her banks.

My naked clarity will give her wings
She’ll dream she flies over the plains.

But the world is held
Inside me.
© 2015, MK

The Kick-Ass Princess

sundaywhirl218

Amazed with my soul
that sighs in silent music tones
and busts in awful failures.

The system needs restart
to the level of awesomeness
it enjoyed a while ago.

My head’s a mess,
even more so than my verse.
If there exists a visit
of reason and rhyme,
trump me with it.

The CD spins its endless tune.
I get off, all dressed up for party –
a kick-ass princess with a headache.

© 2015, MK