Kari McLeese
Bio
teacher, wife, mom, bibliophile
Achievements (1)
Stories (37/0)
Rampion
On a hill in the middle of a thick forest stood a tower. This tower was tall and straight, and though you could tell it had once been grand and well built, it was now beginning to crumble and sag. The bottom showed no door, but high in its walls were wide windows paned with beautiful coloured glass. One of these windows was now flung open by a thin white arm, allowing the gentle breezes of the spring morning to drift through.
By Kari McLeese3 years ago in Fiction
Sarah's Armour
Sarah lay in bed starring at the ceiling, listening to her alarm buzzing. A green halo of light illuminated the room, flashing in time to the noise. She turned her head slightly, bringing into view the large blinking numbers of the alarm clock. Her hand flew out, slamming the clock, and the room was dark and quiet again.
By Kari McLeese3 years ago in Fiction
The New Ones
Drip. Drip. Drip. Mae huddled in the furthest corner of the closet, surrounded by debris, old mouse droppings, and dead insects. There was a hole in the ceiling, and something was dripping on her. It was hitting the back of her head, a little to the left, then running down her neck. Icy, cold drops, like ancient Chinese water torture.
By Kari McLeese3 years ago in Fiction
They
A creeping in the doorway Lightly on your feet A sneaking in the hallway A rustle in the street. A snapping in the backyard A giggle from a tree A whisper in the still air They've finally come for me. A stirring in the kitchen A chill spreads on the floor A tapping at the window Someone has jammed the door. A creaking in the corner Shadows on the wall, My heart begins to flutter There's yelling in the hall. They're slipping 'neath the doorframe The lights are fading out I feel a hand upon me I try, but fail to shout. Pain is shooting through me A searing down my back Claws upon my every inch Submerse me into black.
By Kari McLeese3 years ago in Poets
Aging Love
My lover's hands are knarled like rotting wood His movements stiff with all the pains of age. And if his mind could comprehend a book His fingers could not work to turn the page. My lover's speech is often slurred by drink, His breath enough to cause me to retreat And if his boots and socks to be removed There's more than fungus growing on his feet. My lover's skin has yellowed with the years And cracked from many days spent in the sun. His teeth have suffered sweets and lack of paste And crumbled, leaving him but one. My lover's cheeks are sunken, hollow pits. His empty eyes find much around to hate, And if you were both starving and near death He'd steal the bread and butter from your plate. And though he's horrid, monstrous, and cruel, I love the rancid, cankerous old mule.
By Kari McLeese3 years ago in Poets
Melted
Heat rises in waves from sun-baked cement. Sanctuary sought beneath an awning. Pink and white, like umbrellas when we went Bounding through white-crested waves, saw sun dawning Over open water, glinting sapphires. Basking in the whirring, machine made air. Brightly-coloured trays laid to admire. Smooth - waters resting calm in weather fair. A metal edge glides, like a boat through waves, Like a fin through shallow waters, hunting. Scooping hollows, trenches deep, subtle caves. Jewel tones, like fish, through the coral darting. Sticky fingers, melted trails across chins, Connecting freckles splashed across your skin.
By Kari McLeese3 years ago in Poets
The Lady of the House
You look as though you don't know what to do, Standing bashful in the lusty splendour Of rich coloured silks, breathing perfumed air, Avoiding my gaze and studying the floor. Your eyes are glazed, red-rimmed, a sign that you Have come from somewhere serving something stronger, Which gave you courage to enter this place In search of ways to cease a gnawing hunger. I read your face as you walked through my door, Hat at your breast, a model of drunken Courtesy. I, a Lily in a palace Full of flowers, spread out to be picked by men Who show no love, who do not stop to think That I could have desires, need affection, Only grope with lust-driven hands and lips Touch all but my mouth, craving satisfaction. I wish to know a tender kiss, feel skin That stirs my heart. I'm lost in this erotic Veil, this mask of willing mistress. My soul, Once pure, now beaten, shriveled, burnt charcoal black. I'm no longer fit for heaven, though I pray To the angels each night, asking for mercy, For the strength to carry me through the choking nights, For help to look not with hatred, but pity. You look as though you may be different, But I say the same of most who come. A hope flares inside which no one can quell; A need to be wanted - I always succumb.
By Kari McLeese3 years ago in Poets
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