Drifting, thinking back
his face floats in and through her
suspended in time.
dreams
Sleep Sounds
soft puffs of air
you beside me
exhale, exhale
night quiet sounds
I smile, loving you
eyes close shut
lullaby of puffs
Ravens’ Pond
His family never knew.
That night, five years ago,
insomnia muddled mind,
he walked along the path,
curly black hair shining
iridescent in the silver moon.
Tangled tree legs pulled up roots,
parted slowly, limbs askew,
pointed sharply at the pond
never seen before.
Black water shimmered glossy,
pulled him closer, closer still.
Something winged, unseen,
flapped loudly, beat its wings
pulled him forward, forward more
toward the black pond, now a hole
pulled him forward, falling now
spinning vortex claimed his soul.
They searched for weeks,
never looking up.
Saw the new boy,
curly black hair,
on the prowl,
slingshot always in hand.
Never saw the raven,
flying round the steeple
iridescent, black,
beneath the silver moon
seeking divine intervention
to reclaim its human form.
Photo Credit: dimitri c
Insomnia
Half-pulled shade, headlights dance
in the space before the sill.
Thoughts of nothing and everything
bounce inside my head.
Days gone by reappear, faces blur then clear
generations meld one to the next.
Eye-open dreams change scenes quickly
acts play out in milliseconds.
Like a thousand moths flitting round the light
ideas, words, pictures, feelings, here then gone.
Time moves forward on a nearby shelf,
illumined dial ignores my stalled state.
I watch you beside me, face up, eyes closed.
You wear the night so well, sleep looks delicious.
I match my breath to yours, slow syncopation
like snow flakes falling in the dark of night.
No sound. One by one, breath by breath
and finally I drift.
Reflections
Have you seen the moment?
When the sun, in all her glory
becomes maker of the glorious.
Beyond warmth,
she turns light rays into magic
magnified by two.
Image maker supreme
in smooth-as-glass mountain tarns,
upon a building’s see-through wall
or in the garden’s sculpture pond.
The beautiful is embellished,
shines double delight.
In response to the Daily Post Photo Challenge: Ornate. Photos: Mt. Rainer at Reflection Pond in Mt Rainer National Park; The Dale Chihuly glass displays in Denver Botanic Gardens; reflection of Trinity Church in Boston’s John Hancock Tower; Stan Hywet Gardens in Akron, Ohio.
Panama Worker #898
It was the only evidence left.
He came to build someone else’s dream, a canal between two oceans. One year of back-breaking labor, and then a joyous return to Rosa and young Henry. His pay would ensure simple things they grappled for now. Shoes that fit a young boy’s ever-growing feet, and warm coats for cold winters.
He managed to escape malaria and avoid the brothels. His wiry mud-caked frame always alert. Nimble fingers. Quick legs. Just ten days more. Twist the wires. Set the charge and run like hell. Only this time, hell exploded in his hands.
Photo by Connie Gayer. Word Count: 98 words.
Flash fiction using this week’s photo prompt for Friday Fictioneers.
Old Woman?
I am an old woman
with the audacity to hope.
I shall wear purple
and travel to 1,000 places,
walk in the woods, eat, pray
and make love to a staggering genius.
I shall write letters from the earth
to all my friends above.
Tell them plain and simple,
at this age, the heart leaps
much higher than leaden feet
and I intend to do the long jump.
I will not stay off camera.
And I will settle for nothing less
than a raucous standing ovation
when I do decide to exit
center stage.
In the form of Found Poetry: created from book titles on my shelf – When I am an Old Woman I Shall Wear Purple, The Audacity of Hope, 1,000 Places to Live, A Walk in the Woods; Eat, Pray, Love; A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius, Letters from the Earth, Plain and Simple, and Off Camera.
October 31, 2015
Trippin’ through 100 Words
She got up on the wrong side of the bed
to a cacophony of sound.
Cats with top hats chased red booted unicorns
down the neon road
beneath her webbed feet.
Flamingos squawked,
slipping up a red licorice slide.
A bubble floated by
with Dorothy and Toto on a hammock inside,
stretched from one iridescent curve to the other.
She wanted to climb inside and lie down
or find some peppermint tea.
She licked her fingers
and slowly remembered
those funny looking mushrooms
on the other side of the bed.
Photo taken on our Alaska hike through the Tsongas Forest.
Decision Time
Lines and lines of cars move nowhere
tempers flare, boxed in, horns blare
appointments fester in my mind
hands clamped on wheel,
like talons on prey.
I crave, I need, I must have space.
Foot to brake, pump and pump again
peck my way, inch by inch
peer through smog and fumes
find a seam, create a crack
desperately seeking blue.
I crave, I need, I lust for air.
What if I quit?
Leave it all behind.
Try new wings, not a migratory line.
Free form, to soar, to find
real, life affirming air.
I can, I should, I will.
The Meeting Place
In my dreams
I often float to Neverland.
No fairies or pirate boys,
just a place where memories live.
Images once trapped in sepia tones
slip through the web of synapses.
The loving dead come visit me
as if to soothe my soul.
Their smiling faces calm me
into a deeper, softer sleep,
assure me, whisper to me
happiness exists here, on this side too.
lillian the home poet 