Night Trains

tumblr_inline_muts9axhfw1qdyw54

Night Trains

No matter where I fall asleep
it’s always the same
I lie there listening to the night trains.

The whistles echoing through the night
enjoying the sounds instead of the sight
clickety clack
goes the track
in dreamland forgone
I ride till the dawn.

© Rebecca Sanchez 2017

This is so true! I have a great fondness for sounds like this at night to help me sleep and listen to 3 hours of sounds that sooth me when I go to bed at night. It seems one can hear trains at night just about anywhere.

This is a 44 word Quadrille written with dVerse~Poets Pub and shared with Imaginary Garden Of Real Toads.

Haiku #12917

mardi-gras-clip-art-of-masks-and-carnival-and-dancers-3d-ddd-gif-animado-free-graphics-animation-gifs-icons-free-download-ecards-images-for-your-mardi-gras-carnival-picture-of-websites-oh

haiku #12917

light as feather
intimate as a lover
the sweetness of life

(c) Rebecca Sanchez 2017

Written with Imaginary Garden Of Real Toads and shared with Poets United.

We were to take this poem and condense it into something short and sweet. I offer the shortest form possible, senryu.

Sweetness, always

“Why such harsh machinery?
Why, to write down the stuff and people of everyday,
must poems be dressed up in gold,
or in old and fearful stone?

I want verses of felt or feather which scarcely weigh,
mild verses
with the intimacy of beds
where people have loved and dreamed.
I want poems stained
by hands and everydayness.

Verses of pastry which melt
into milk and sugar in the mouth,
air and water to drink,
the bites and kisses of love.
I long for eatable sonnets,
poems of honey and flour.

Vanity keeps prodding us
to lift ourselves skyward
or to make deep and useless
tunnels underground.
So we forget the joyous
love-needs of our bodies.
We forget about pastries.
We are not feeding the world.

In Madras a long time since,
I saw a sugary pyramid,
a tower of confectionery –
one level after another,
and in the construction, rubies,
and other blushing delights,
medieval and yellow.

Someone dirtied his hands
to cook up so much sweetness.

Brother poets from here
and there, from earth and sky,
from Medellin, from Veracruz,
Abyssinia, Antofagasta,
do you know the recipe for honeycombs?

Let’s forget about all that stone.

Let your poetry fill up
the equinoctial pastry shop
our mouths long to devour –
all the children’s mouths
and the poor adults’ also.
Don’t go on without seeing,
relishing, understanding
all these hearts of sugar.

Don’t be afraid of sweetness.

With or without us,
sweetness will go on living
and is infinitely alive,
forever being revived,
for it’s in a man’s mouth,
whether he’s eating or singing,
that sweetness has its place.”

by Pablo Neruda

The Dance

abstract1gif_zpsc2937608

The Dance

Lovely music fills the room
attraction wafts like fine perfume
ladies waiting for their chance
will he, won’t he, ask to dance?

There she stood against the wall
beautifully vulnerable at the ball
watching; how she longed to dance
if only someone took the chance.

Couples dancing close and slow
the moon was shy and dipping low
her eyes they met a young man’s glance…
take a chance, please take a chance.

© Rebecca Sanchez 2016

Written with Poets United.

First Notes

tumblr_static_5g2izs8iomo8ogkwgk0kkco0s

First Notes

Standing mute she had a certain air
the tempo changed once I held her
the vibrato warm and expressive
my heartbeat an allegro
admiring the dynamics of her shapely body
I noted she was very high strung
but she played right into my hands.

© Rebecca Sanchez 2016

Written with dVerse~Poets Pub.

Mother’s On The Moon

bekkiesmaymoon10

Mother’s On The Moon

It’s almost the month of June
not quite yet the end of May
my mother’s on the moon
and there is where she stays.

She fell in love with a man
the man she saw in the moon
coming up with a perilous plan
to go in a makeshift balloon.

I watched through a telescope tense
as she made her frivolous flight
it caused some earthly suspense
but she made it that very night.

Towards the end of a lovely June
their love blossomed and grew
bringing forth a second moon
but no one was feeling blue.

© Rebecca Sanchez 2015

In modern use, when 13 full moons occur in a year, usually one calendar month has two full moons; the second one is called a “blue moon“.

Shared with Poets United.

You Smell Like Sex

5-23-2013 tumblr_mjeonzoGsd1r3si7eo1_500[4]

You Smell Like Sex

I am trembling and breathless
as you step behind me
your strong arms
encircling exploring
my body imploring…

Your warm breath at my ear-
you smell like sex!

As you turn to me our lips meet
we drink deeply of this elixir
falling in lust.

© Rebecca Sanchez 2016

Written with dVerse~Poets Pub.