Wretched Roses


Today’s genre: Romance; Today’s photo:

You used to bring me roses from your garden.

You were 40, I was 17…a virgin…and

Imagined this was true love…

You were married…but maybe someday.

We sneaked around, mere kisses, holding hands.

You asked if I knew what a “concubine” was…

I lied, “yes”…embarrassed to admit ignorance…

I lived for each time we met.

Your little daughter was precocious…

Told her mother you brought roses to me.

You lost respect of your peers who

Observed lecherous looks and

Had my well-being in mind.

Goodbyes…then we ran into each other

Years later, after both our divorces.

I was prize you no longer coveted…

Not fresh rosebud anymore.

I tossed the pressed rose petals saved…

The ones from your garden.

©Ennle Madresan, 2019 ~ All rights reserved.

Locusts of the Mind


Not satisfied to have devoured and left

The Past a devastation, gnawing locusts

Swarm recent season…their whirring become

A buzz saw in the brain…joining with echo

Of 2018’s dominoes crashed into each other

One by one, leaving soul crushed, cut

Bruised and bereft…faith shredded.

Yet I soldier on, sword and shield of

Wielded words…and sack of new seed

To plant barren ground for hopeful harvest*.

*Joel 2:25, “Then I will make up to you for the years That the swarming locust has eaten, The creeping locust, the stripping locust and the gnawing locust”

©Ennle Madresan, 2019 ~ All rights reserved.

Image: Pixabay.com


Once upon a time…

No, too romantic, and

Prelude to a too-long tale…

I strive for unsuccessful

Brevity, this introduction:

I’m a dinosaur—ancient and aging

Lingering in length of years far

Longer than I’d planned, desired—

And in bad humor, having been thrust

Into the rudely hypocritical illusion

Of a modern era, rife with abominable

Evidence of poor taste, and technology

Which bestirs in me a temper, setting

These rotting teeth on edge…scary

Appearance of minimal benefit.

I lumber with annoying slowness

Heavy adipose folds of sagging skin

Almost swaying ‘mid ponderous gait.

I frown (a superior shield): vision veiled

With cataracts, my hearing a nearly

Humorous conversational mix-up, and

Because every worn-out part of me

Complains from pain, injuries.

Thoughts are constant sensate storm

Of unfair weather: bitter-bleak brown clouds

Whirring, whirling repetitive scenes…rampant

Injustice-tangled tumbleweeds of scraping

Barbed memories…stinging wounds un-soothed

Unhealed by torrential brackish rain pummeling

Briefest passing peace-edged periods.

Dinosaur, yes—dragged into each

Dust-crusted day, with deepening scaly dread.

©Ennle Madresan, 2019 ~ All rights reserved.

Image: Pixabay.com