Watching Time #poetry
They wont move while you watch
my mind wills the hands around your face
tick tick I can’t wait
open the glass face and let me in
move now move quick
my life is in your perfect sphere
midnight… one… two… three…
dawn rises beautifully clear
as you pull me close to thee
forever
… More than a bad dream #centussat #halloween
Cannot feel
no air to breathe
closed in on all sides
no one whispering “it will be alright”
this darkness more than a bad dream
Thanks to Jenny Matlock for this challenge she gave us all black and 25 words to give you a jump!!! Don’t look behind you!!!
The Turkish Chef #poetry #cuisine
That sexy smile
pulling me
willingly toward
secrets keys
to his past
*
Those deep onyx eyes
searching
for beauty
on distant shores
*
perfect hands
sifting
glass like
pieces of sand
silently
*
Word weaver
luring my senses
toward ancient
conquests
harems and moonlit nights
*
Turkish connoisseur
conjuring perfection
Flavors between our lips
Spice filled delights
Savoring each bite
wish you could have met this handsome man – a Turk whose art form is fulfilled in the kitchen. Stories woven as we tasted and sipped…
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No Boats in Your Milk
“Honey what are you doing with your breakfast?”
“Remember the story all the kings horses and all the kings men?
They couldn’t put Humpty Dumpty together again.
I felt so sorry for him that I couldn’t eat him.”
“hmm that must be the 100th excuse you have made for not eating breakfast this morning? Ok I give in I have one more stashed box of Captain Crunch. But no boats in your milk.”
This is part of a picture prompt for Centus Saturday hosted by the delightful Jenny Matlock
… And You!!! #Flashfiction
… and with them
last vestige of hope
swept away in the current
a stormy existence
**
That life boat
in the haze
called to me
it’s unattainable
***
… and so
I live
caught in the current
below the waves
***
one hope
the end will come soon
for what is there
to give me breath
***
thank you for …
a momentary ray
happiness
on that little boat
***
…and you must
stay afloat
for others
need hope
… and you!!!
Each Friday is awesome – many writers and bloggers get together and write a story in a mere 55 words. This piece is a little more prose and symbolic in nature. Thank you to G-Man for hosting weekly!
Thanks Mike for this awesome shot off Morro Bay…http://www.flickr.com/photos/mikebaird/3016985275/
The Clock Stopped Ticking #shortstory #trust30
We are afraid of truth,
afraid of fortune,
afraid of death,
and afraid of each other.
Our age yields no great
and perfect persons.
– Ralph Waldo Emerson
“Yes I understand” I said as I wiped a tear from my eyes. It was the worst thing I had imagined. Fast paced cancer that would consume my body in…
“What do I do first?” I scream at the unsympathetic walls. No response.
I sit down and do the only thing I know how to do write. My husband first; this letter is surprisingly easy for he can read between every line. He has read this scenario and has heard my fears. That’s done.
Next – My eldest he is all that is good about me. He is talented and will take his art further for he is brave. His mind goes beyond the galaxies and probes the mind. “What do I say to him? This is for you,” as I tuck the book of stories that were written for him and about him. My book will never a best seller but he will be. “I love you my dearest son goodbye for now.”
“How can I say goodbye to you? You are my best friend. With you I have travelled the globe. We should have been twins not mother and daughter. Here are the tickets and the airmiles I saved for all our future trips. Go – I will be there.”
“Little one: of all of them you need me the most. You have since you were born. You must let go now. Please be strong for both of us. I am in every note you play. Every duet you sing hear my voice combined with yours – forever.”
“Goodbye to you. I love you more than life itself. I breathe my last breath with a kiss of love and thanks to you with love from my soul.”
and with that last drop of ink …
Here is the prompt:
You just discovered you have fifteen minutes to live.
1. Set a timer for fifteen minutes.
2. Write the story that has to be written.
Shattered #flashfiction
Fluidity v softmotion
our worlds ~converge
some call it love
commitment
us
V
intertwined
united
undulating
as one
*
*
why
pushing away
small
sharp
ascerbic
words
crashing
against
my heart
listen
hear
cracking
begin
one line
becomes
another
ugly
ripple
sound
crashing
existence
until there is
nothing
toput
back
to
g
e
t
h
e
r
!
!
V
It’s another week for Flash Fiction on Friday in exactly 55 words with G-Man. The smashing host from coast to coast.
Thanks to Steve Jurvetson http://www.flickr.com/photos/jurvetson/80023028
&
Celestial Love by Ralph Waldo Emerson #worldpoetryday
Celestial Love
(Part of Ode I: Initial Love and Ode II: Dæmonic Love and Celestial Love)
Higher far,
Upward, into the pure realm,
Over sun or star,
Over the flickering Dæmon film,
Thou must mount for love,—
Into vision which all form
In one only form dissolves;
In a region where the wheel,
On which all beings ride,
Visibly revolves;
Where the starred eternal worm
Girds the world with bound and term;
Where unlike things are like,
When good and ill,
And joy and moan,
Melt into one.
There Past, Present, Future, shoot
Triple blossoms from one root
Substances at base divided
In their summits are united,
There the holy Essence rolls,
One through separated souls,
And the sunny Æon sleeps
Folding nature in its deeps,
And every fair and every good
Known in part or known impure
To men below,
In their archetypes endure.The race of gods,
Or those we erring own,
Are shadows flitting up and down
In the still abodes.
The circles of that sea are laws,
Which publish and which hide the Cause.
Pray for a beam
Out of that sphere
Thee to guide and to redeem.
O what a load
Of care and toil
By lying Use bestowed,
From his shoulders falls, who sees
The true astronomy,
The period of peace!
Counsel which the ages kept,
Shall the well-born soul accept.
As the overhanging trees
Fill the lake with images,
As garment draws the garment’s hem
Men their fortunes bring with them;
By right or wrong,
Lands and goods go to the strong;
Property will brutely draw
Still to the proprietor,
Silver to silver creep and wind,
And kind to kind,
Nor less the eternal poles
Of tendency distribute souls.
There need no vows to bind
Whom not each other seek but find.
They give and take no pledge or oath,
Nature is the bond of both.
No prayer persuades, no flattery fawns,
Their noble meanings are their pawns.
Plain and cold is their address,
Power have they for tenderness,
And so thoroughly is known
Each others’ purpose by his own,
They can parley without meeting,
Need is none of forms of greeting,
They can well communicate
In their innermost estate;
When each the other shall avoid,
Shall each by each be most enjoyed.
Not with scarfs or perfumed gloves
Do these celebrate their loves,
Not by jewels, feasts, and savors,
Not by ribbons or by favors,
But by the sun-spark on the sea,
And the cloud-shadow on the lea,
The soothing lapse of morn to mirk,
And the cheerful round of work.
Their cords of love so public are,
They intertwine the farthest star.
The throbbing sea, the quaking earth,
Yield sympathy and signs of mirth;
Is none so high, so mean is none,
But feels and seals this union.
Even the tell Furies are appeased,
The good applaud, the lost are eased.Love’s hearts are faithful, but not fond,
Bound for the just, but not beyond;
Not glad, as the low-loving herd,
Of self in others still preferred,
But they have heartily designed
The benefit of broad mankind.
And they serve men austerely,
After their own genius, clearly,
Without a false humility;
For this is love’s nobility,
Not to scatter bread and gold,
Goods and raiment bought and sold,
But to hold fast his simple sense,
And speak the speech of innocence,
And with hand, and body, and blood,
To make his bosom-counsel good:
For he that feeds men, serveth few,
He serves all, who dares be true.I cut my teeth on Emerson. The last stanza of this poem is not only my favorite but hopefully a creed I live by.
You Belong in Wonder full
I am dedicating this poem to Diana a beautiful and talented woman who i appreciate and who inspired this poem. Also dedicated to little girls all over the world who make it even though the world is a hard place.
Born to a life
so wrought with pain
none of your doing
Daddy took his life
unable to face another rain
***
Mommy was floating
on the top of her drink
sorrow pulled her down
like her olive
nothing left but to sink
***
Natalia you swam
against the tide
so smart
full of hope
striving to be more alive
***
What they could never attain
dear girl from another land
you took on bravely
soared like an eagle
now come take my hand
***
I will show you places
feel the universe pull
play with the stars
you belong
in Wonder full
A bit of background: I have been all over the world holding events for children. I am always drawn to the little girls whose lives are a mirror image of my own. The little girl I write about is Ukrainian whose daddy took his life. The small girl grew up in bars until one day her mother was thrown into prison. The woman who is raising her is a babushka ( a grandmother) raising a child with energy in body and in spirit. I am inspired by these survivors who never give up. They deserve Wonderful!!!
Golf at its best #microfiction
Fairy dust please do the trick.
The best in golf I have to lick.
…and my putter god is AWOL
Many Thanks to the Susan the fairy of Microfiction Monday. she waves her hand and things happen in 140 characters.
If tonight … (#oneshotwednesday)
If tonight…
was to be my last breath
what would that last breath do?
I would pull down the stars
hand them over to you
***
If tonight…
was to be my last breath
I would with my lips
blow our names in the dust
held together with a kiss
***
If tonight…
was to be my last breath
let me see
I would cast all my love
to the outer banks of the sea
***
If tonight…
was to be my last breath
I would pull you nose to nose
whisper “hold me tight
until my eyes for the last time close”
It another day for One Shot Wednesday. Join us as we share and read the remarkable work of fellow poets.
Photo attributed to LSI Photography
Let It Snow (revised #Lyrics) sung originally by Bing Crosby
Photo thanks to Jon Candyhttp://www.flickr.com/photos/joncandy/5268534783/
Oh The weather outside is frightful
that’s not what the weather man promised
but the fire is so delightful
yes sparks are flying tonight
and since we’ve no place to go
Walmart’s having a sale
Let it snow, Let it snow, Let it snow
the song writers apparently had a snowplow
*
It doesn’t show signs of stopping
This snow is getting on my nerves
and I brought some corn for popping
can you go back for ice cream?
The lights are turned way down low
sparks are definitely flying
Let it snow, Let it snow, Let it snow
It’s going to be a chore digging out
*
when we finally kiss goodnight
you can tell this was written in the 40s
how I’ll hate going out in the storm
blame the lyricist not me
but if you really hold me tight
isn’t that what we’ve been doing?
all the way home I’ll be warm
your car does have heat
*
The fire is slowly dying
Finally the end to the song is near
and my dear were still good-bying
you CAN text when you get home
but as long as you love me so
at least until the guy at Walmart is available
Let it snow,Let it snow, Let it snow
Enough of the snow already!!!
*
The song “Let it Snow” was a popular song in the late 40s and 50s; Bing Crosby sang a rendition with his fantastic voice. I thought I’d spice up the feeling a bit. Below are the original lyrics.
Let It Snow : Lyrics
Oh the weather outside is frightful,
But the fire is so delightful,
And since we’ve no place to go,
Let It Snow! Let It Snow! Let It Snow!
It doesn’t show signs of stopping,
And I’ve bought some corn for popping,
The lights are turned way down low,
Let It Snow! Let It Snow! Let It Snow!
When we finally kiss goodnight,
How I’ll hate going out in the storm!
But if you’ll really hold me tight,
All the way home I’ll be warm.
The fire is slowly dying,
And, my dear, we’re still good-bying,
But as long as you love me so,
Let It Snow! Let It Snow! Let It Snow!
Many more festive poems on One Stop Poetry
And I’ve bought some corn for popping,
The lights are turned way down low,
Let It Snow! Let It Snow! Let It Snow!
How I’ll hate going out in the storm!
But if you’ll really hold me tight,
All the way home I’ll be warm.
And, my dear, we’re still good-bying,
But as long as you love me so,
Let It Snow! Let It Snow! Let It Snow!
| The wonderful Christmas song Let It Snow was created by lyricist Sammy Cahn and the composer Jule Styne in 1945. The words and lyrics of Let It Snow reflect the feeling of warmth and security associated with Christmas and also brings in the more modern customs of popping corn! The song Let It Snow was reprised in recent years when used in the Bruce Willis film Die Hard which started with the film’s hero travelling to meet his family at Christmas. |
Dreams and chocolate #poetry
Riding a dream
looked and sounded so good
chocolate flavored clouds
on the points of stars I stood
***
Refused to wake up
to dull and more gray
pushed the reality of life
fervently away
***
Imagining a life
with flavors
beauty and love
kept my sites strictly
focused above
***
star-dust and moon glows
knights on their steeds
my bountiful dreams
gave me all I could need
**
Forced to open one eye
then another
to behold boots, hat,and rope
blue eyes -oh brother
***
Walking confident
taller than any man
I gazed and I gaped
at his leathery hands
***
Looking at me
was all I could hope
then he talked in his drawl
and swung that stiff rope
***
Smelling I suddenly
found was so real
leather and Chaps
thrown in with the deal
***
dreaming is fine
for all of you
but I’ve found
what I needed
and chocolate too
Heart in the Sand (#short story)
Each day I came to the same place – the bay. The bay, her bay, was in the shape of a crescent. The first seamen had named it Half Moon Bay. I always smiled as I pestered my favorite man while looking out to the sea; the place we both loved the best. I would sit on the lap of my grizzled grandfather and beg him for a story. He had been a sailor here and had lots of stories to tell. His favorite, and mine, was a fairytale for sailors.
She had moved from Boston to the bay to paint. She was a beauty so the sailors say. Her hair was long, the color of copper. In the sunlight, her hair reflected fire – a fire some said burned in her heart. She was a solitary individual with no friends; she seemed to carry a burden from the past. The fishwives waggled their tongues telling whoppers of her entertaining men when no one saw. Yet, she walked alone with her easel and paints to the water’s edge each day.
One day a stranger came to the bay. He was looking for work. He had worked on crabbing boats and knew the sea. He walked to the edge of the bay singing a sailor’s tune; he was a fine baritone they say. He saw the coppery flame first. By the time her face turned to reveal her profile he was in a trance. “Her porcelain skin needs to be caressed,” he wanted to cry from the highest mast. When their lips met for the first time; the rain ceased and a rainbow bathed the bay in radiant color. They were never apart except when he was out on a boat. Then it happened, a nor’easter unusual for those parts. It tore of roofs of several homes. Only a piece of rigging from his boat washed ashore. Her vigil, to the last of her days, was to go to their beach, collect shells. Sometimes their little boy went with her. Each day she drew a heart with his name in it, wishing that somehow the sea would convey a message to the one she loved. The day she died a rainbow bathed the bay in radiant reds and blues.
Each time I recalled the story, a tear came to my eye. We had quarrelled; he had left on a ship. I didn’t mean what I had said. I drew a heart in the same spot, in the sand, with our names knowing somehow he would know that I loved him.
Thanks to SIS for the photo prompt. you can read more from this prompt here.
Too Much to Dream For
I seek you
like a drug
an escape
from now
***
A Pipe dream
get-lost in space
never- in touch
fantasy in my head
***
they all
offer
a haven
an escape
***
Reality
too harsh
life
icy cold
***
my dreams
fresh
warm
safe
***
pastoral
magical
dreamy
***
don’t make me
wake
up
***
there is too much
to dream
for
Head of the Class (micro fiction)
They told me it would be fun
that I would be the head liner
a head turner
the head of my class
I wasn’t expecting it to end like this….
Susan is a class act. Each week she hosts micro fiction monday over at stony river. Check out the great micro fiction and join in.
Silence (One Shot Wednesday) #poetry
The space between our words
almost as piteous
as the distance between
our hearts
***
Unbearable silence
when you abandon me
I am left enslaved
on a thought
for days
***
To measure loneliness
by absence
of sound
expounds emptiness
***
my heart is trapped
in this vacuum
silence
will be
my ruin
Each week One Stop Poetry aspires to join poets together to express and inspire. One Shot Wednesday is an open community for those who love to write poetry.
“It had to be you… (microfiction in 160)
Wonderful you – it had to be you.”
She rummaged through the storehouse of memories in her mind.
Had he known how much she had loved him maybe he …
****
What do you think he would have done had he known how much she loved him??
****
Thanks to Monkey Man for the weekly challenge and delight of writing short stories. Please join us and give 160 a try.
I Hate My Life Monday
Did you know Mondays are traditionally days that rank at the bottom fifth of the week? Why? It is the start of the week and the weekend rates so much higher.
I decided to write about why I hate today rather than bash my head against the wall today.
I hate this Monday in particular. It may go down in my top ten worst days on earth. Well maybeeeee.
For starters, I went away for a fabulous weekend with my family to one of the loveliest places on earth – San Francisco. It was awesome. The weather was fantastic, we watched the city start decorating for the holidays, people were in a great mood from the world series win, my daughters were happy because they bought a load of clothes sale, I was even happy to get a break from the computer.
We were capping off the evening by eating at one of our favorite places on the waterfront. On a clear evening, the water glistens with the life of the city; it is a delightful experience. As we were walking to our table, I hit a slick place on the floor and my new high heels came out from under me. I was able to get up and dust myself off. At that point, I didn’t even think of the embarrassment factor as I was worried if anything was broken or bruised. I sat down at the table enjoying the view for five seconds and started moving my hand and wrist to see if it was ok. Well it was fine except for the shooting pain when I moved my wrist. I spent the meal icing my wrist hoping to keep the swelling down; needless to say the pain kept me from enjoying my Caesar salad with spicy shrimp. I kept ice on it and managed to get the car out of an uphill parking spot with one hand and back to the hotel. After wrapping it for the night, I knew it would be worse or better in the morning. Well it wasn’t worse but it wasn’t better. We no longer have insurance so going to the doctor only happens when things are really bad. Did I mention that I am writing (or supposed to be) 50,000 words with Nanowrimo this month. I took one day off, from writing, to be with the kids. My wrist has now decided on several more days. Though it is better today (probably not broken but still immobilized), I can only write with one hand – probably for weeks. So I can’t write, I can’t work (requires lifting). No, I can’t afford to lose the money.
If that wasn’t plenty, I was looking for something on my email and found a draft document. “Huh “I thought “must be a duplicate. ” So I checked. The two fantastic poems that I thought I had submitted to a magazine (one that likes my style) were never sent. Deadline is over and I could break my hand out of frustration.
I actually could go on there is more but you probably get the gist of why I hate today.
I may trash my novel and create a weekly blog: “I hate my life Mondays” for others to rant.
You might wonder how I wrote this; my Chihuahua is an excellent typist so I dictated.
If you had something that happened on your Monday that was less than wonderful, please feel free to comment; I mean rant.
My Novel – The Artist’s Daughter
If you wonder where I have gone, I didn’t fall into Alice’s proverbial hole, I am trying to finally complete something. It has been a goal to write a novel since I was 16. I’ve taken a few stabs; the manuscripts are lying around somewhere. I will still be writing poetry it helps me relax when I write in volumes – Though my poetry may make little sense.
For the next month ,I will be heavily entrenched in The Artist’s Daughter
Join me on my website for Day One of my attempt at a Nanowrimo novel.
It’s hard living with a genius. It’s impossible living with a legend. That has been my lot in life as the artist’s daughter. Will I ever find a rhythm that is mine? When will I stop being recognized as hers?…
Summer Fun ( Microfiction Monday)
They were out for some summer fun
with the gang.
When Craig,
the class clown, got it over the head
with a ski and drowned
the fun expired.
I was not along on a ski trip ,with a bunch of my friends, but sadly this did occur. Craig was a great guy. Makes you realize how fleeting life can be. Appreciate the day (today) that you have been given.
Thanks to Susan of Stony River for another week of MicroFiction with a photo prompt. Join in on the fun or come by Susans to read more.
I try (Microfiction 160)
I’ve tried this so often.
I want it to work.
Can you sense my desire?
My arms reach around your neck.
I bring my hands forward.
I always fumble at tying your tie
This is one of many microfictions in Monkey Mans Flash Fiction. Join us
Another Day with my friend Madison
“Today was such a great day,” Madison smiled at me.
He showed me all the decorations he had chosen to put up for Halloween.
“Those are way cool Madison.” I gave him a high-five.
Just then some neighborhood boys came by.
Madison wanted to show the decorations to them.
He didn’t know how to say “hey guys check out the decorations.”
Madison is a “show” kind of person.
So he “showed” the boys by doing a little decoration dance.
I thought it was adorable; it showed his enthusiasm.
The boys yelled, “Hey stupid pants. Where’d you learn how to dance?”
He looked at me for a moment. Then the comment connected.
He had just had some children at school that day call him “stupid.”
This comment jabbed at his heart.
He ran in the house, up the stairs, sat on the floor, and pounded it.
“I’m stupid,” he kept pounding over and over and over.
“Oh Madison” a tear fell from my eye as I too felt a jab to my heart.
If only big and small people would realize that special needs people have feelings too.
Maybe Madison can’t always express himself the way that your blond hair blue-eyed boy does. But then again can your boy add, subtract, multiply, or divide numbers in his head faster than a calculator??
The community at large does not realize that it takes senseless jabs at special needs people all the time. One of my employees, this week, showed me several dolls. One was a man in a wheelchair, another a deaf girl, and the third had leg braces. She laughed and thought it was ridiculous that there would be dolls like this. A tear burned in my eye for the ignorance of people who can’t see past the disability into the heart of a child, a man, or woman.
Madison there will be too many days to count where people will call you “stupid”; my hope is there will be many more days where you rise far above the stupidity of man’s opinions.
I wrote this for Kidsensational a sight celebrating differences. Visit them to meet some talented folks.
Moondustwriter Thursday – featuring Laura Mercurio Ebohan
Join me today at Moondustwriter Thursday for a treat.
Published italian poet Laura Mercurio Ebohan shares her delightful poetry with One Stop Poetry.
“I decided to complete a series of poems that I had started writing a while back in a complete intimate dimension, looking inside and exploring places where often we do not really go, taken by every day life anxieties and routine experiences.”
