I Left My Heart #SanFrancisco #photography #haiku

 

wrapped in fog

tantalizing aromas

golden silhouette

 

 

 

 

 

Photo Challenge this week is My Favorite Place

Advertisements

Changes #poetry #photography

golden gate pm

Gold with little rain

I drive through the veil of yesterday

hoping little has changed

I can’t quite see behind

I see tracings of what lies ahead

the giants in today’s sky

are the least of what I dread

San Francisco and the Northern Bay area (of California) will always be considered home. I dont like seeing the changes that the drought has wrought on the state. I like seeing less the effects the drought is having on nature. Wildlife is driven into the cities in search of food and water. The deer are beautiful (though quite lean); the mountain lions a little less desirable.

The Daily Post Challenge for this week is Change.

Yellowed Christmas Memories #poetry #photography #dpchallenge

 

 

Brown are the edges

where so many fingers

over years have creased

 the words always warm

Yellow still the Christmas star

that brilliantly shines

in my child’s mind

over silent hill

Golden are the memories

songs long ago sung

visits to the City of Paris

beautiful ornaments they hung

Scrooge Merry Christmas

The prompt this week for Word Press Photo Challenge is Yellow.

Truth #haiku #photography #poetry #Gibran

 

“Should you care to write (and only the saints know why you should) you need to have knowledge of the art and magic of the music of words, the art of being artless and the magic of loving your readers” ~Gibran

palace-of-fine-arts.jpg

 

Art opens doors

Without truth we are blind

Stumbling over lies

***

Behold nature

art in its purist form

Truth will set you free

“When you reach the heart of life you shall find beauty in all things, even in the eyes that are blind to beauty” ~Gibran

 

This prompt from Chevrefeuille’s Carpe Diem is Truth and Gibran’s truth add inspiration.

 

Turn Back the Time #fiction #addiction

station clock

I stood before the hands of the giant clock. They teased me as they clicked:

“you can go anywhere in your past

choose but choose fast

before the hand has gone one minute

you will either venture

or quit it.”

I was faced with a genie in a bottle decision. Where do I go? What do I revisit? Can I fix “it”?

In that 30 second time span I chose. “Take me to the year 1968 and the place Haight and Ashbury in San Francisco.”

There I was in a paisley maxi dress with my hair braided. It was me but it wasn’t me. I wasn’t the flower child. My mother was. If I could only save her from this moment where she wrecked her life, my life, my family…

“Can you tell me where Saxi is?” I tried to keep from inhaling the air . The secondary smoke would result in a nasty headache or a “high.”

“She just left with Brad.”

Brad was an innocuous name for a destroyer of life. This creep came into the suburbs to captivate young, attractive women.

“Saxi,” I called as I ran along Haight . I followed a couple of very lost in the clouds hippies. Her eyes barely acknowledged me. The spark that said, I love you sweetie-pie was extinguished.

“Please come home, Saxi.” I whsipered.

haight

 

I had lived this moment so many times in my adult dreams. “Taxi” I whistled with all my might. I shouted this time holding out a Twenty  which did the trick. Quickly  I grabbed her arm pulling her into the car before she could think in her drugged oblivion.

“Take us to the train station.” I had no desire to have that creep follow us. We were leaving San Francisco and home for good.

****

The hands moved forward more gently as they shadowed Saxi’s wizened face. Her last, dying words “Thank you for rescuing me sweetie-pie.”

***********************************************************************************************************

 

 

The Haight Ashbury district in San Francisco was known in the 60s and 70s for it’s free love, free pot, free clinics. Long lines of tourists would motor through the district to see the strung-out hippies. I knew several teens who ran away to Haight. Even though their parents eventually got them “back”, they never came home. The heroin addiction in my baby-sitter rendered her an “on again off again “junkie for the remainder of her life.

 

 

This week’s writing prompt for Word Press Daily Post was Time Machine.

The photograph of the street sign is from the San Francisco China Times