I Belonged to Grandma #poetry

one key to her heart

I cannot remember

in what century I started

only you will know where I will end

In the hands  of a potter my form charted

in fine french porcelain he could depend

***

crated or hands carried me

though dropped a long time ago

I travelled across continent and sea

it was I guess my destiny

to become part of your large family

***

a grandmother’s wish and dream

to a young bride’s dowry

your taste has changed it seems

or is it loving memory

of a woman who gazed 50 years at me

***

more than 2 decades I grin

you have set me apart

never mind that I don’t fit in

for I always do in your heart

that I will always remember

****

 This very old piece of pottery never fit in with my other antiques but I have learned to love it all the same.

 

What’s the oldest thing you own? (Toys, clothing, twinkies, Grecian urns: anything’s fair game.) Recount its history — from the object’s point of view.

DP prompt for today – Antique Antics

 

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The Bloodied Thorn #flashfiction #shakespeare #amwriting

sandra-crook-3

I stand on the stage where I had given my life’s blood

I love the stage

the  drama that swirls center stage, in the wings and in the musty corners

my final role was Desdemona

That last night was my finest performance

“That death’s unnatural that kills for loving…”

If memory serves me well, Othello had been out of character that closing night

No ministrations could  calm

When they removed Desdemona’s body, they were unable to revive me

“She severed her own bloom,” he calmly stated

Tonight “my love” I meet you upon life’s stage

I pass on  bloodied thorn …

The photo prompt is shared by Sandra Crook (L’Amphitheatre des Trois Gauls, Lyon, France.) and opens the curtains for another week of Friday Fictioneers directed by Rochelle Wisoff Fields

Just for point of reference in the drama: “When they removed Desdemona’s body they were unable to revive me”  “me” refers to the actress playing the part of Desdemona. Thus Desdemona and the actress died tragically that night at the hand of Othello.

Le Croix de Guerre #Normandy #Calltoarms #hero #WWII #D-Day

Once  I was worn by an average man

he fought bravely in two wars

 he did not understand the cause

but faithful he answered  a call to arms

**

One war he fought for France

his parents actually never knew

he signed while a student of Sorbonne

young men do what they have to do

***

the unlikely are  pinned as  heros

awarded the Croix de Guerre

by those he chose to defend

untold stories of  bravery there

**

Then call to arms another War

No need to fight again

reveille dawned at  Normandy

honor required duty of every man

Today  in tribute to all the artists, writers, musicians, and poets who served their country for freedom. This story though fictional in nature is based on recalled accounts of the astounding bravery of men. The man I am constructing the story around actually won two medals in separate wars. I wish I knew all of his story but what I know was pieced together by stories I heard from his daughter, my patient, who had dementia. The Croix de Guerre his medal for bravery.

***

I am the bronze representation of the heart of bravery. “Bravery” it’s such a paltry word for a human’s willingness to make the up most sacrifice for another, for a cause, for the heartbeat of freedom to continue. I proudly rode upon the chest of such a man as this. “Brave” he would scoff at the word when others would toast his courage. I was not there the first time; I was still neatly packaged waiting in a box. What he did wasn’t brave; it was insane! Men were the equivalent to carnage on a field of blood that day; Flowers will never grow there again. It was dusk. The smoke and stench choked the strongest of men pulling out from the bowels the remnants of any unpalatable tin flavored repast. He looked out and for a moment he saw a specter; his commander who that morning had led a sortie. All had seemingly died in one momentary plume that drove  earth, gear, men, and blood into the morning’s sky.” Captain” he whispered as he clamoured out of the foxhole into imminent danger. “Noooo” his buddy choked a dry, throttled cry. “There is too much to live for don’t die!.” He was gone into” no man’s land”and no one could saw the heroism he rallied  forth.  Captain Murdock fell into his arms; his face gaping with unbelief. Dragging the captain  back to the foxhole, he beckoned for unseen hands. Depositing the Captain, he rushed back into the dark cloud pulling man after man back to the place they called “home.”  “Idiot,” was the enemy’s thought as he fired. Shots rang abount his ears, one pinged off an already scarred bucket of a helmet; one or two struck him in the arm,ut he kept on whispering “Father let this be your finest hour.”  It was! When the tally was taken at the end of the day, the score was enemy 2 victors 12. Two men had been blown sky-high, macerated body pieces  was all that was left. The blast had propelled the others from the epicenter of destruction. None could gather their bearings nor find their way back to safety. My master suffered pain from the two bullets in his arm until the day he died, but he lived to wear me. The others each went on to victories of their own – all survived to tell the story of one brave young American student from the Sorbonne who was studying French Literature. “A quiet taciturn sort of man” they stated. They would have laughed at the most unlikely type soldier, hero, but who could laugh at such a man?

I along with my twin heard many tales of bravery amongst brother medals. I was there the day that the words “let this be your finest hour” were spoken again. I couldn’t believe this man hadn’t learned from the war to end all wars. But here we were with more carnage and decay in a second war that would end all wars or life as we knew it. That day  my master sprung into his action barring the way to death’s reaper for more than a dozen young men who had followed him onto the beach at Normandy. Casualties were all about his feet,but he pushed and pushed further to knock out a viper’s nest that was putting holes in boys who could barely shave.

Because of my master, children were born and saw the light of new day who never would have been born. Grandchildren laughed on grandpappies knees  and another generation waved the banner against injustice because of brave men like my master who in a moment made the decision to die that other might live.

And so my family Le Croix de Guerre and I raise a toast to each man and woman who has served to make my world and yours a place where children are born to see the blue skies of another day.

Photograph; “Le Croix de Guerre” copyright L. Moon 2010

What They Gave To Save The World #Normandy #D-Day #WW2

They didn’t know it

at the time

so much of life

left behind

***

a sweetheart’s

lips never kissed

unsaid words

“you will be missed”

***

when duty called

 that cold bleak day

without a thought

life given away

***

Can you hear

the battle shake

souls and hearts

 earth that quakes?

***

And yet fear

bravely set aside

as many fell

nothing left to find

***

Our lives

have been profoundly touched

by those

whose sacrifice gave so much

***

field enshrouds a memory

of lives unfurled

 hearts marched on

 to save the world

****

I repost this archived poem in tribute to those who fought on that day.

I have read several harrowing stories about this day. A risk, a turning point, such sacrifice.

Thanks for the wonderful shot of Normandy http://www.flickr.com/photos/greenwichphotography/4855061062

Sur la Garonne- Bordeaux (poetry)

I hear you calling out to me

Where are you – my dear?

a mesmerizing voice beckons.

caught in a trance

I must answer your call

***

The Garonne runs so swiftly

cold rivulets run clear

I am pensive

Will I make it?

I might perish as I strive

***

Ask not this of me

I am consumed by fear

Oh darling please

You risk at love

I risk at life

I have fallen in love with Terence’s photography. Know you will too.

*http://www.flickr.com/photos/terence_s_jones/4744980397/in/set-72157624273692157/

Lunch, обед, Dejeuner (That Theme Thursday Thing)

Around the world – it’s time for

Lunch!!!

or обед

or depending on your time zone

Dejeuner


The word may be different

the length of the meal may too

but everyone comes running

with those wonderful smells

what would you do?

What’s For Lunch?

hmm

bread, le pain, хлеб

Avec

peanut butter, fromage, borsh

yum

and why not some

Soda Pop

Vin

Chai

to wash it down

my dears

For without lunch

we would go hungry

into dinner I fear

Thanks to themethursday.blogspot.com

Thank you for just the right photo: LanceFisher