The Cat House – Vampire Vignette

The Cat House

By J. Lynne Moore

“Girls, are you ready?”

“Yes, Madam Gwen.”

“The XO will have their heard here in town this evening. Even though they’ll have twenty or so hands, we will take no more than three. Who fed last?”

“Sara, Janie and Laura”

“Okay, you three girls watch me and I’ll point out your targets, after I talk to Art. When y’all have them ready let the others know.”

“Yes, Madam Gwen.”

“Bubba will be working the door, he’ll make sure them boys leave their wheel guns up front. Now y’all go make your selves perdy.”


“Welcome back Art, good to see ya darlin’.”

“Look at you! Gwen, you ain’t aged a day!”

“Well you rascal, you ain’t got to flatter me after all these years, but I an’t gonna tell ya to stop.”

“Come here and let me taste those ruby lips.”

“Now that’s the kind of welcome I like, but business before pleasure, Art. Did you find some rounders?”

“Yes ma’am, a couple of brothers from Santa Fe and a wrangler from Pecos. Your girls will feed good tonight, that Texas boy is a biggin’.”

“Girls, dinner is served! Don’t get any blood on your dresses!”

© 2016 -2017 Cashmere /J.Lynne Moore All Rights Reserved

Paid in Blood

Paid In Blood

By J.Lynne Moore

Peace comes at a price;
‘Tis a heavy one to pay.
Are you willing to fight,
For your freedoms every day?

Someone, has to draw the line,
And be willing to make a stand,
Against the wolves of oppression,
Ready to bite the out stretched hand.

Dear heart, the price of peace is blood;
Of the innocent, and the guilty alike.
For as long as evil reins,
The righteous must be willing to strike.

© 2016 -2017 Cashmere /J.Lynne Moore All Rights Reserved

His Name is Hate

His Name is Hate

By J.Lynne Moore

He lurks, the Dragon,
playing with his toys,
constructs of human flesh;
supping on the juice of their fear.

As the cat, he pounces!
No shame or regret,
holds him back…
As we sit on our soft chairs of complacency.

Like daily vitamins,
we casually swallow his lies,
drink from his cup of oppression,
closing our eyes to the destruction.

To endure we must…
Shine a flashlight of hope,
onto his vile intent,
and banish him… HATE…FOREVER.

© 2016 -2017 Cashmere /J.Lynne Moore All Rights Reserved

Falling Leaves

Falling Leaves

By J.Lynne Moore

Frigid leaves falling
Orange, red, golden brown hews
Frost whispering

Frost whispering
Geese and ducks flying away
Sign of the season

Sign of the season
Gray clouds wafting through the sky
Turning the air cold

Turning the air cold
Convinces the trees to sleep
Frigid leaves falling

A/N – this is a “haiku crown”

© 2016 -2017 Cashmere /J.Lynne Moore All Rights Reserved

Poetic Women

Poetic Women

By J.Lynne Moore

Poetry has always been an outlet for the expression of emotions, but it is so much more than that. As with any type of writing, poetry, can and has encompassed every facet of life, within the realm of human understanding. Poetry can be simple and lighthearted; it can be dark and complex. It is a true art form worthy of our respect and support. The contributions of female poets, to this art form, have been extensive, far reaching and as influential as the poetesses themselves. I would like to highlight two poets who have certainly made their mark on the literary world.

Sarojini Naidu, the Nightingale of India was born in 1879, in Bikrampur (in present-day Bangladesh). Her father was a professor and founder of Hyderabad College, her mother was a poet. Mrs. Naidu is best known for her political career, as well as, her work as a fierce women’s rights activist. In 1925, she became the first Indian woman president of the National Congress and worked alongside Gandhi during the Round-Table Conference in 1931.

Pic # 3 Sarojini_Naidu

Ecstasy – By Sarojini Naidu

Cover mine eyes, O my Love!
Mine eyes that are weary of bliss
As of light that is poignant and strong
O silence my lips with a kiss,
My lips that are weary of song!
Shelter my soul, O my love!
My soul is bent low with the pain
And the burden of love, like the grace
Of a flower that is smitten with rain:
O shelter my soul from thy face!

As a poet, she is known as the Nightingale of India, a prolific poet penning many volumes of poetry on any number of subjects. Her first book of poetry “The Golden Threshold”, was published in the United Kingdom in 1905. Her poetry is considered gentle, rhythmic, and lyrical often being sung. Heartfelt themes full of nature and love flow through her words with spender and ease.

Sarojini Naidu was a giant in the world of women’s rights, fighting the whole of her adult life for equality between the genders. Her legacy has impacted the many generations that have come after her and I am sure she will be looked to for inspiration and guidance for generations to come.

Pic # 4 Sarojini Naidu

In The Forest – By Sarojini Naidu

HERE, O my heart, let us burn the dear dreams that are dead,
Here in this wood let us fashion a funeral pyre
Of fallen white petals and leaves that are mellow and red,
Here let us burn them in noon’s flaming torches of fire.

We are weary, my heart, we are weary, so long we have borne
The heavy loved burden of dreams that are dead, let us rest,
Let us scatter their ashes away, for a while let us mourn;
We will rest, O my heart, till the shadows are gray in the west.

But soon we must rise, O my heart, we must wander again
Into the war of the world and the strife of the throng;
Let us rise, O my heart, let us gather the dreams that remain,
We will conquer the sorrow of life with the sorrow of song.

Emily Dickinson is considered one of the greatest poets of all time. Her volume of work is studied in colleges and universities around the world. Emily was born in Amherst, Massachusetts, 1830. During her lifetime, only a handful of her poetry was published and it was heavily edited to fit in with the “convention” of the time. Emily was known as a recluse, spending most of her time at her parent’s home in her bedroom. It wasn’t until after her death in 1886 did the great volume of her work come to light.


For her time, Miss Dickinson’s poetry was highly unconventional, her use of staggered rhyme, varied punctuation, capitalization and descriptive imagery was seen as, quite out of the ordinary. After her death, her first major volume of published work was heavily edited and her original poems did not see the light of day until 1955 when scholar Thomas H. Johnson restored them to their original penned state. Her poetry is sublime, filled with a depth and intellect not matched by many. Though her poetry had a rocky start, in the literary world, she is now considered one of the greatest American poets.


Emily Dickinson’s poetry is a shining star among the classics of our age. Her example is one that all women, of all ages can hold in great regard, and look to as a bacon to be guided by. She challenged the convention of the day and paved her own path sticking to what was in her heart, penning words that have become immortal.

Hope Is The Thing With Feathers – By Emily Dickinson

‘Hope’ is the thing with feathers—
That perches in the soul—
And sings the tune without the words—
And never stops—at all—

And sweetest—in the Gale—is heard—
And sore must be the storm—
That could abash the little Bird
That kept so many warm—

I’ve heard it in the chillest land—
And on the strangest Sea—
Yet, never, in Extremity,
It asked a crumb—of Me.

Ample Make this Bed – By Emily Dickinson

Ample make this bed.
Make this bed with awe;
In it wait till judgment break
Excellent and fair.

Be its mattress straight,
Be its pillow round;
Let no sunrise’ yellow noise
Interrupt this ground.

Women have always had a strong presence in the literary world, especially where poetry is concerned. The examples of strong, intelligent, creative women are all around us, if we take the time to seek out their tremendous contributions. From modern day trending poets to lyrical poetesses of the past, poetry holds the words of women from round the world, from every race, age, and background; words that champion the intellectual prowess of women.

© 2016 -2017 Cashmere /J.Lynne Moore All Rights Reserved



By J.Lynne Moore

Did you hear the waves,
Under the curtsied moon?
Speak the name of love,
Of the nightingale and the loon.

They whisper to the stars,
All the gossip of the day;
About the lonely wind,
And the love it keeps at bay.

The waves speak of many things,
Of heartache and despair…
Of love and laughter and longing,
And secrets lovers share.

The waves babble and roar,
And sing songs soft and sweet;
While dancing with the sandy shore,
In love’s embrace replete.

So did you hear the waves?
Chatting through the night.
Telling all the tales,
Of earth’s heavenly flight.

© 2016 -2017 Cashmere /J.Lynne Moore All Rights Reserved

My Drug

My Drug

By J.Lynne Moore

They cut me open,
Out bled ink…
The floor turned black,
I was on the brink.

My brain over stuffed,
With word after word;
No sense could be made,
My thoughts absurd.

Voices…all mine,
Fight to be first.
Puke them on paper,
I seem to be cursed.

Addicted to rhyme,
It’s my drug of choice.
Give me pen and paper,
I’ll find my voice.

© 2016 -2017 Cashmere /J.Lynne Moore All Rights Reserved