Peach Blossom

Should I fall to sleep
never once to see your face again.
I would haunt myself.
For knowing, that these words
were never said

If all of my kisses
did seem but frivolous
and I laughed at love
in the face of the sun
Please know this, my love.
I now cry in the darkness
of my solitude

For desolation is no
company for treasures lost
and out of keep.
A darkened cloud
whips an injurious tempest,
its depths has the powers
to take my
mind to places I’d
rather leave abandoned

The fragrance of you
still intoxicates my senses.
A ripened summer
peach sent to tempt
and please.
Such soft evocative flesh
tasted sweet upon my lips.
The nectar of the gods
did bequeath to you, such
beauty in profusion.

Always in my thoughts – unspoken
I pledged my heart to you.
You could not have known
I would have held back the tide
and drowned for you
allowed my love to be washed
upon the beach.

I will search for you nail
my dreams to shooting stars.
When I smell the peach blossom
I shall know that you are near.
Some day, who knows when?
I shall find you.
And will say out loud I love you

© Poppy Scarlett 2011-2012

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Punctuating Endings…

You stirring in the notable curve of my back.
I sense every blood-coloured syllable
long before their oral exposure.
Your words multiply – stiletto
piercing barbs flay the tongue.
Where is my salvation.
My holidays end, encapsulated in so much sadness.
I want to strip myself transparent, to sleep
tranquil in this your bed – my adolescence
undone by ambition.
Yet I know the slow hot spicy breath of the
wolf awaits me.
It will pull me in – punctuating the earth
with my splintered bones.
But you are still the softest affection
on this ending afternoon.
The beautiful; forever exceed.
Always to stay for their final dance.
Whilst we, admirers one and all
collect our party bags
to head for home – alone.
Your body in all that was puritan to me.
Is now – but an effigy.
One of which I can only stand to stare
So I efface you and hope…
Poppy Dec 2012

Sepulchral Bodies…

Forget I once recited your name
frayed blossom spent.
Seven thorns from seven wounds
loving you.
Ships that birth
supply the bodies hunger.
Flat heads pose afternoon consolation.
Sepulchral bodies
rhythmic dancing
rupturing vessels.
Pungent flesh of servitude.
The garden – my garden
barren, a desert cactus prickly
gouge the flesh –
Bare rock faced
Migratory birds
soar their temperate destinations.
Residence – they decline
to trapped by hallucinations
of false  liberty…

Poppy August 2012

Time of the Day…

This is the time of day, I love the most.
The in-between time of what is mine –
and what is, still waiting to be done.
There arises a glint in the sky – wicked
little minx, sent to catch my eye.
I am lulled by her serenity.
She speaks to me in words of self belief.
Sending sinuous gifts from her scented tongue.
Though never, to be voiced out strident
merely whispers on the run.
She beguiles me, cajoles me, to shape
my possibilities.
A time for change is calling at my door.
There was nothing ever expected of my life
me – the immaterial wife.
Yet I am neither happy – nor unhappy
So I ask –
does the chrysalis desire to come forward
or maybe she is contented staying
hidden, in her secluded modest casing.
Six sense, hind sight are of little use, for
someone who has long since bolted her
barricades; into place.
Make no mistake –
I shall always write in praise of my
solitary subsistence.
Being direction less; is never to be lost.
Do I aspire to partake in this unbroken,
new me – what can I answer – accept
‘wait to see’
Oh yes – I do so love this time of day
it gives me space to let my
dreams, run wickedly free…

Poppy ~xx~

Dec 2012

New Poetry Anthology…


I am so proud to be included in this publication, alongside other outstanding poets.

Reg Davey you are a Star*****

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Friend or Foe…

My life is small
vacant shells upon the shore.
As I scurry amid the herd, of cloven tongued believers,
let old worn blankets, shield my bones
from this bitter cold.
Yet, undecided, I remain rooted in the architecture
of my unvarying indecision.
I look to calculate amongst the jostling crowds
friends, of few – I do perceive.
Throw me a smile, play court to favours rendered
break the bread, share my wine.
Let the snakes wait under cover of the dark
for the air is burdened with false trust.
Go familiar when your foe has not but shown
at peril, to yourself.
White suffused with red
more crimson than the fallen dead.
For in the plaintive of their call – comes silence.
My life is echoed, my life is small, and so shall you
forgive me Father, as I countenance
my demons, unaccompanied –
whilst cowering on the run…

Poppy Nov 2012

Honest Woman…

How is your life now?
With the other one
More to the liking you
always desired.
Does she lord you,
applaud you, let you
fabricate more lies.
Such are the mistakes of
an honest woman.
When you put your hands in
your head to sigh
Oh, she will cry –
remembering me .
For you, without
speaking will tell her goodbye.
Your old practices resurrected.
Scratch the fragile outer layer and up
they rise.
Those ad hoc Christmas presents –
scenes of hysterics unwrapped.
She should not embrace perhaps, too
Come the new day – you will be far
away gone…

Poppy Oct 2012

Balancing Act

A rattlesnake waits for my words to end
mistrust written on both our faces.
I was not prepared for the flick of the tongue,
that vipers touch – spear headed barbs.
They scored their mark; poison running a mock.
Scuttling back into my sanctuary, I hauled
down the shutters.
Give me a sound reason that I should
allow these bright lights to scorch my tired,
already agonised eyes.
The blood may have long scurried red from these
wounds of self denial
However, I did not die this hot afternoon
I faked it.
Therefore, ladies and gentleman of the jury
please allow me to petition the plaintiff.
Is there a man or women present,
who would rise to say.
That judge and jury, I cannot be, at
this, my very own public trial.
Wear the black cap all – if it
inflames your soul.
For the devil passes judgement attired
in countless veiled guises.
Though believe this –
I will have the final phrase.
I shall take down those words secured
to your hollowed ground.
Let the rats gorge on morsels,
whilst performing their habitual balancing act

Poppy Dec 2012

Poem of the Day

No Entry…

So intricate – baroque draped in
She smiles sweetly, soft of body
like  cider yet to ripen.
Glance only from the eyes of the advocate
who sees her as glass.
Warning – to handle, would break her frail pose.
Toppling down –
all would come undone – your ambitions
despoiled, stripped back bare to violation.
Mask your body’s history
malevolent in its desires.
Trespass is intolerable –
if that which must, befalls her season’s fun.
What need for executioners
to strike the closing blow.
Leave what’s wholesome in her possession
All that is decayed bury deep within yourself…