Two Poems By M. Stone

Woman with Mirror

Remember the Bible lessons

of your youth, the thrill in your bones

when you first heard them speak of me:

Mother of Harlots,

Whore of Babylon.


Even as locusts strip the land

and your skin sports boils

from some new plague,


you will not beg

for the final trumpet’s sound

until you glimpse me.


You expect a seductress

adorned in scarlet, perched

upon the Great Beast


but I am a plain-faced woman

with Mystery etched into my forehead;

I hide among all the plain-faced women

you fear and despise.


Between my palms I carry a cup

filled with my own iniquity,

for I revel in my lovers

and the pleasure they give.


Look upon the dregs of my ecstasy

and find your likeness there.



When the Poetry Abandons You

Poetry spills

from your quicksilver tongue,

carried on a Southern drawl,

reminding me of sun tea


brewing on the porch step,

of peonies coaxed to blooming

before they swoon, heavy-headed.


The other women envy me,

but they do not know I have seen you

with cock in hand, demanding

to take me from behind.


When I refuse, when my voice

is a tiger mosquito whine pleading

for tenderness,


your mouth is no spring house,

no artesian well, but a cistern

brimming with foul water.


As you pleasure yourself,

cursing me through gritted teeth,

your hips falter, losing their rhythm.


M. Stone is a bookworm, birdwatcher, and stargazer who writes poetry while living in the foothills of the Blue Ridge Mountains. Her poems have appeared or are forthcoming in San Pedro River Review, SOFTBLOWCalamus Journal, and numerous other print and online journals. She can be reached at