As I Lay Me Down To Sleep. . .

In my dreams
I slip out of my skin
easy, like a cool breeze
sweeps across an arid land,
kicking up dust. I spiral upward
my vessel empty, matter discarded,
as my soul runs, fervant and illuminated,
for the truth swallowed whole leaves a coating,
a residue of goodness that glows in the dark.
I hear the roar as I slip back into my self,
feeling weight turn heavy in my trunk,
ears buzzing, earth bound again.
I find myself clothed in flesh,
wrapped in a mortal cloak
incarnations holy gift.
Spirit and matter
joined again
as one.


Written for The Sunday Whirl
using all of the wordle words.

Isn't it amazing where the words take us!
That is what I enjoy about the wordles,
you never know where you will end up. :-)

Some moments are always remembered

You were so beautiful then...
Your laughter rang like a bell,
riding the September air like a wind blown lark, joy filled and full of sky.

I remember the moment it struck me. In an instant I was flooded with the stark knowledge that I loved you, deeply, utterly, totally.

It cut through the very fibre of me. So deep, that even now, when a half century has passed and you have been gone it seems a million years. There are times when the southerly breeze blows soft in through my window, that I can still hear your voice and feel your gentle hand squeeze my fingers. Just as you did that day we smiled for the camera, and I knew without doubt that you would be mine.


Written for Magpie Tales - Inspired by the photo above.

Love or Something Like it . . .

Graffiti stained granite,

daubed with the markings of life.

Incendiary slogans shout for freedom,

there's a revolution in the making.

The too handsome stranger

has words that spin like plates,

and sparkle like screw top bottles,

all fizz and wasted glass.

Straight backed, he will not slouch,

though fervant desperation

spills from the cracked

cheap vessel of him.

She sweeps up the cold ash

as it falls from his burnt out life.

Cleansed of all her preconceptions,

she is taken by his strange beauty,

enchanted by the wild shine of his eyes,

and the way that the afternoon light

falls gently around his shoulders,

like a cloak.

Written for The Sunday Whirl using all of the words.

if I die young . . .

If I die young
I want you to know
that however it happens
I was ready to go

It may not ring true
but I think you will find
that believing it so
will give peace of mind

So goodbye and good luck
may your life be fulfilling
and when your time is up
I hope you'll be willing

For life is a journey
an adventure, a game
we come into it alone
we go out the same

Our birth and our death
are two sides of one line
just the way it should be
. . . part of the design

The moments are precious
so don't hang around
just relish the living
each sight and each sound

Then if you too die young
I know that you'll know
that however it happens
you were ready to go. . .


For the Saturday Centus prompt - If I die young. . .

Rules: Use up to 150 words AND the 4 words of the prompt (154 total maximum words)

SUNK

I am a shipwreck
battered by time and tide
sunk by the weight of the ocean

my anchor is gone
I sail no more

I am a shipwreck
pinned to the seabed
water swirls and slops above me

my crew still on board
fifty fathoms deep

I am a shipwreck
battered by time and tide
sunk by the weight of the ocean


Written for Sunday Scribblings prompt - Shipwreck

Fifty One S's

Sensitive surfaces,
Such slippery slopes.
Sounding spent shackles,
Singing sweet sweet songs,
Serenades to shaken sanity.
Stains on a savage salvation.
Soothing scarred serenity,
Subtle senses sparkling.
Scenarios shimmering,
Scintillating symmetry.
Seriously symbiotic.
Strings of sunlight,
Sky saturating.
Serendipity,
Streaming.
Shining,
Souls,
Sacred.

For the Thursday Think Tank prompt #62 - The 3rd letter of your first name.

AWAITING THE PAINTER

My bland walls,

are in need of your paint.

Daub them with
your precious colour.

Vibrant and wet,
let it drip. . .

Running rivulets,
down the length of them.

Hues bleeding,
merging into one another.

Creating new shades as they go.

Please, take up your vivid colour,
and paint this wall Red.

Written for Mag #78 at Magpie Tales Inspired by the picture above.

TAINTED

Is it sacred?
that sporadic tremor,
as you turn your head
toward the skyblown dawn.

Does the stigma
of your bright longing,
hinder your fluid movement
as you pledge a foul allegiance,
to those plaster reproductions
of your unrequited love.

You can not enmesh with illusion,
for fantasy is seditious in its unfolding.
Each tuft of grass, that is soft covering
those interminable, unspeakable,
nether regions of your mind.
Understands the taint
of your tread.

It knows its place,
beneath each touch
of your hard soled foot.


Written for wordle 17 at The Sunday Whirl

I almost gave up on this one earlier today!

I had written the first four lines straight away. . . as soon as I saw the wordle words, they popped into my head fully formed. Then I went away and left them simmering!

When I came back to them this evening, I was able to finish this piece, (after looking up 'seditious.' - I do hope I have used it correctly!)

As always I am really pleased that I was able to use all the words! :-)

I would be interested what conclusions the reader comes to about this. As I, as I usually do, just felt my way through, letting myself be guided by the wordle words. And now I am trying to piece together 'the story' inside the words.

Too Long In The Dark

Drench me with your summer love,
for I am not immune to darkness.

Smother me, until I radiate light
and pulse with all I have
left unspoken. . .

for I have been alone here,
and you are sunlight
knocking
at my
door.

*

For three word wednesday - this weeks prompt words were - drench, immune, radiate.

Girl in Exile

Sidestepping the arid thoughts

of these, her every day torments,

she swept the kitchen.

Blue broom pushing yesterdays crumbs

over her threshold, and out onto

the cold cement of another day.

The egg yellow sun crawling

over bland suburban rooftops,

scars her morning with its slanted light.

Its luke warm fingers roaming

her upturned face, exploring the weight

of her world on her shoulders, her slow walk

tender footfalls on unforgiving concrete.

In her head she sees the grasses of a distant plain,

and hears the plaintive notes that have become

her internal soundtrack. Playing on repeat,

looping over and over. An accompaniment

to her search for those rusty keys,

and lost prophets,

of home.



Also entered in the thursday think tank for the prompt She

Written for The Sunday Whirl - Wordle 16 (I managed to use all the words.)

This one almost constructed itself. Rather than having an idea to start with, the phrase 'everyday torments' came to mind and I went from there. It wasn't until I got to the end that I figured out 'the story'. Strange isn't it, how some of these just write themselves? Last weeks wordle was amazing in that respect for me. This week, it didn't flow quite so easily and I am not so pleased with the result as last week. But! I AM always pleased to have managed to use all of the wordle words. :-)

Blossom Time

Inspired by this beautiful image from jinksy and for In Tandem #4

There was always magic,
when the blossom came.

Confetti strewn petals,
rode on the breeze.

Fluttered in the air,
like snow flakes.

That sweet fragrance,
captivated me. . .

and made each day
a fairytale.

Somehow the world
was changed.

No longer
mundane.

It was intoxicating.
It was transcendant.

There was always magic,
when the blossom came.

.