“Cherry-Time” by Robert Graves

Cherries of the night are riper
Than the cherries pluckt at noon
Gather to your fairy piper
When he pipes his magic tune:
Merry, merry,
Take a cherry;
Mine are sounder,
Mine are rounder,
Mine are sweeter
For the eater
Under the moon.
And you’ll be fairies soon.

In the cherry pluckt at night,
With the dew of summer swelling,
There’s a juice of pure delight,
Cool, dark, sweet, divinely smelling.
Merry, merry,
Take a cherry;
Mine are sounder,
Mine are rounder
Mine are sweeter
For the eater
In the moonlight.
And you’ll be fairies quite.

When I sound the fairy call,
Gather here in silent meeting,
Chin to knee on the orchard wall,
Cooled with dew and cherries eating.
Merry, merry,
Take a cherry;
Mine are sounder,
Mine are rounder,
Mine are sweeter.
For the eater
When the dews fall.
And you’ll be fairies all.

Robert Graves

L. K. Thayer’s Foto Fetish

© 2011

“Cherry Black Blood” by Kay Bess

Let’s outgrow our selves and be something bigger
Let’s forget them who ruined us, and be new and ripe and sweet
Let’s not go to a grave of their making
Let’s not let them win.

They cut from us our youth and beauty
But we know better, you and I
Though we crack and moan in winter’s rime
Our perennial Spring will soon become.

You’ll be my sun, and I’ll be your rain
We’ll soak up and stir and spill into each other
Climbing, reaching, blooming our way
To maybe, to somehow, to yes.

By the dogged and cherry black blood that teems through my veins
I swear I’ll never take your heart from you.
I will love you and the fruit of your future yet to be born on your steep stone hill
Not for what it might give me, but for what it’s given you –
Birthed in your dreams, formed by your hands –
Hope… promise… life.

Kay Besswww.sometimeslife.com

© 2008

“Sundae” by L. K. Thayer

gasping, hot humid air
mind over matter heaves
when will the knock at the door
take my breath away

I peek through the shutters
uttering a sigh of madness
holding onto my silk cocoon
fluttering hearts and palpitating
eyelashes
dance the tango
of twisted canals in hotel lobbies
and cat’s pajamas

the thunder in my thighs readies
for it’s occupant, turning the bed sheets
down a notch
my jeans slide off my hips in a tangled bunch
waiting for my alter ego
my bedroom street smarts kick in
with baited libido

I uncork my inner monologue and hallelujah chorus
waiting for the dark horse
my stud, my mount, to come hither
Frankincense & Myrrh billow in the shabby room
scaring up romance
and cutting strings attached

no mercy for the wicked wench
who wets her appetite for Crème Brulee
whip cream
and a cherry
on top

L. K. Thayer

© 2009