Mist Coloured Room

It’s cool and removed,
With a scent of the past,
Successes and failures,
Colour the mast,
And where I must stay
For my beauty to bloom,
Forever alone
In my mist coloured room.

It’s quiet and still,
A place to be heard,
The shouts of the world,
Take flight like a bird,
And where I must dwell,
And be gone none too soon,
Forever at peace
In my mist coloured room.

It’s locked and withdrawn,
A secret retreat,
The keys are all mine,
Kept private and neat,
And where I will live,
From midnight ’til noon,
Forever as one
In my mist coloured room.

Sainted Peace

Faithful readers…
This is a weird one. I know where the idea came from, but it kind of got away from me. It’s one of those that would have been good to collaborate on. Anyway, I hope you like it. Thanks for reading.

They started in lust
With a care-free abandon,
And soon as two souls
The fell swiftly in love.

Days spent in wonder
And nights full of passion,
They each thanked the heavens
And God up above.

But life with its arrows
And time moving onwards,
Tests all and each of us
Day after day.

With no one to turn on
But the woman once cherished,
His angry frustration
Was not held at bay.

The first time he struck
She shouldered the burden,
Assuming that something she did
Was to blame.

But time after time
His fists did the talking,
And finally one night
She’d had enough pain.

As he lay sleeping
In growling dark nightmares,
She slipped from the bed
That they fitfully shared.

In the kitchen she found
The means of her freedom,
A cold and hard blade
On which moonlight did glare.

Climbing the stairs
As though climbing a mountain,
Each step a tough test
Of her burgeoning will.

And standing above him
With heart pounding harder,
She was gripped by the question
“Could I kill?”.

With one precise motion
Old troubles were over,
No more would she suffer
At the hands of this beast.

And through her remorse
And her nights locked in prison,
She knew in her heart
She had earned sainted peace.


As I lay on freshly laundered sheets
and try to nap,
a cooling breeze with blessed relief
blows through windows gap.
But with this gust dancing on the wind
such words are heard,
as strident female voice pontificates
on thoughts absurd.
The court of Louie Fourteenth is just one
subject said,
Victorian sex lives with ladies chaste
sprout from her head.
Such strident voice with facts cast iron
ring through the air,
her lucky date may have a thought but
she does not care.
Oh let me rest and not have to endure
your blinkered view,
I care not for what you think is right
or all you think as true.

Just shut up.