Her orchid folds
glistening
moist
layers, gracefully
swelling
throbbing;
a primal display
urging night,
"Descend".
I inched
toward the window
to watch them
touch;
shades of blue
fondled pink
with crimson passion
as I held my breath
watching day
kiss night
farewell.

Author - Cynthia Proctor
Copyright © 2000

I wanna find an acre
that I can call my own
high-n-dry, affordably priced
so I can get a loan

I need ta find an acre
a quiet little spot
where I can rest my mind
and smoke a little

Oh, I gotta find an acre
away from city lights
ta hear the bull-frogs croonin'
on a laid-back country night

Author - Cynthia Proctor
Copyright © 2000

In childhood
I knew
and listened
to your voice
calling me
into the rain
where I giggled
and laughed
as you slipped
and splashed
sinking slowly
under my skin.

Author - Cynthia Proctor
Copyright © 2000

Young and old watch
as middle-aged anxiety
shimmies, in gray flannel
hand-over-fist
till truth eases their grip
returning contentment
to all who see
through the eyes of a child.

Author - Cynthia Proctor
Copyright © 2000

Longevity elbows
clear prospective
opportunities to study
and explore
all that had passed
blindly, before
a heart
full of love
gliding, as beauty
through a summer morn.

Author - Cynthia Proctor
Copyright © 2000

Black rivers
flow crooked
and stream
to pockets
covering
the sun.

Author - Cynthia Proctor
Copyright © 2000

Silver lines her wrist
gray days, chained close, dangling
melancholy charms

Author - Cynthia Proctor
Copyright © 2000

How boldly greed rips
humanity’s vein
when global discord signs the note.

How freely blood red
swirls indigo blue
bleeding on white declarations.

How true were they
who lay face down
patching our crumbled foundation.

How sadly tears well
from dominant quests
and lessons unlearned, seed madness.

Author - Cynthia Proctor
Copyright © 1999

Gray comfort
not hot, or cold
a metronome, set
before time began
to whittle acceptance
constant, controlled
it remains
our usher of night.

Author - Cynthia Proctor
Copyright © 2000

Can you feel me
at first light
when heaven clings to earth?
Your eyes almost open
as my lips slide past
to touch the place
that sparks
and crackles
in amethyst wisps
of autumn air
prodding you conscious.

Can you feel me
on evenings
when mirror mist trickles?
Your neck snaps around
as my hand glides down
to trace the skin
that teased
and pleased
in sweet-smelling sheets
of eau d'carnage
seeding redemption.

Author - Cynthia Proctor
Copyright © 2000

We'll caramelize our popcorn balls
make lemon ice-cream snow
Hang mistletoe from ceiling beams
for doting hearts,  below.
We'll light a holly incense stick
then stoke a crackling fire
Wrap sugarplums for Old Saint Nick
while listening to the choir.
And when the evening star appears
we'll bow our heads in prayer
Thankful, as His birthday nears
for joy and peace we share.

Author - Cynthia Proctor
Copyright © 2000

Statue plays pan flute
Where rain prisms mountain sun  
Soft, as evening rose.