Hospital by [link]

It paints bleak pictures
with brushes dipped in you -
the terse blues
of lonely winters
spent with dying family
in the shuffling white
of rooms
where feet clattered
and death beds reeked
of sour pity,
the aching red
of desolation
looming under blankets
and propping up pillows,
stricken golds
of battered sunlight
spilled across bedpans
and oxygen tanks

and the bleached
and silver grey
of the nurse's
incontinent lies.

Torture by [link]

Sometimes I like to torture words
with obscene acts to nouns and verbs.
I tie them up in sentences
and whip them till they make no sense.
I love the screams of prepositions
while pulling them in odd positions;
and conjunctions make a lovely din
when decapitated by my pen.
I bind the wrists of adjectives
just for the pleasure that it gives
and adverbs leave me hot and bothered
once their meaning is uncovered.
Interjections beg for release
with pronouns trembling on their knees.
And once my fiendish work is done,
you'll find that I have just begun
my scheme to try and make you see
it's not perverse - it's poetry.

Wishes by [link]

Spoon fed dreams
served from silver platters
heaped in the treasure
of your indulgence
gorged on succulent fantasies
of sticky summer nights
laying below a canopy of stars
brilliant with possibilities
and gift wrapped second chances
rolling to our shore
on a languid tide
awash in the froth
of granted wishes
uncorked on the whim
of my fickle muse