My love's skin is as Black as the night's sky. I count the stars in freckles, the constellations in stripes— his back a map to freedom.
© 2023 Nortina Simmons
Continue reading “#BlaPoWriMo: Under the night’s sky”
Happy Friday the 13th, Bloganuary participants! No, I did not almost burn my apartment down this morning by forgetting a slice of cheese toast under the broiler in the oven. Today was a totally normal Friday… 😀
For today’s prompt, I couldn’t decide which poem I liked more, so I’m giving you a twofer.
What would you do with a billion US dollars?
A billion dollars? Is that before or after taxes? Pay my bills.
© 2023 Nortina Simmons
A billion dollars? I'd buy a resort island for me and my love. Sip mango lassi on the beach—no visas required.
© 2023 Nortina Simmons
Remember when we were young, playing on monkey bars? You held me up so I wouldn't slip, but I felt your eyes under my dress.
© 2022 Nortina Simmons
Wake me up before you go, fill my mug with smooth dark roast. Dispatch calls. What's the ETA? Stay—Blame the COVID shipping delays.
© 2022 Nortina Simmons
In driving rain, your voice pours through my car's speakers, "Get home safe." Thunder rumbles, lightning flashes, I ponder coming back to you.
© 2022 Nortina Simmons
Waiting for lover's return is like waiting for rain when the river's dried—the fish flapping, gulping air, echoes of my scorched heart.
© 2022 Nortina Simmons
Sun sets an hour
early; wind pushes east, sends
fallen burgundy
leaves adrift. Wool scarf tightens
around neck; coffee cools in
Styrofoam cup—pumpkin spice.
Pumpkin patch picked; please, contest
winner, spice up this
love with cinnamon kisses.
My Rip Van Winkle slept the
Autumn away; wood
splinters fracture his cheekbones.
Frost-bitten lips, blue
like night’s sky when moon is full,
and I dream he’ll wake in Spring.
© 2015 Nortina Simmons
Originally published October 21, 2015
She liked to set things on fire. The final victim, a young poet, secret admirer.
He wrote her a poem on parchment, slipped it under her door.
roses are red, like
the polish on your nails, like
the blood in my veins—
my heart beats for you as I
muster the courage to say...
“I love you,” he finished. He couldn’t help it, had to invite himself in to see her reaction.
“Would you like to burn?” she asked.
His pulse quickened. “Yes!”
She crumpled the paper, stuffed it in his mouth, struck a match, watched him light with passion.
© Nortina Simmons
I love you—it feels archaic to say, because people so often are fickle in love. But your kiss—tender, sweet—transcends time.
Xerophilous
Run away with me—
to the arid, dry terrain—
hop on back of my
motorcycle, I will show
you the world they keep hidden
2019© Nortina Simmons
xerophilous (adj) – thriving in a very dry environment
Nortina's Writing Inspiration Well 