tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28663295776952351772024-03-13T13:33:48.926+00:00Panopticulated - writing when prompted to do so.Writing when prompted to do so. All writing on this blog is written after being prompted by weekly prompts or memes. Poems, prose, mictrofiction, flash fiction,Susannahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09581993763700327953noreply@blogger.comBlogger184125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2866329577695235177.post-42761482084853934542019-10-07T10:33:00.000+01:002019-10-07T10:34:29.082+01:00Did You Know...<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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There will be no returning ship or big oil strike to make
your fortune</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
There will be no big prize</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
There will be no safe space</div>
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There will be no finish line this year</div>
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<br /></div>
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The blue line stretches into the distance </div>
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Heat seared granite as far as the eye can see</div>
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<br /></div>
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There’s an itch you cannot scratch </div>
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There’s an itch you cannot scratch</div>
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<br /></div>
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There’s an itch…</div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Written for <a href="https://sundaywhirl.wordpress.com/2019/10/06/wordle-424/" target="_blank">Wordle 424 at The Sunday Whirl</a> </span></div>
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Susannahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09581993763700327953noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2866329577695235177.post-56934695441846380962013-08-11T08:26:00.003+01:002013-08-11T08:28:26.097+01:00Illuminated<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-BxvH0ONMYeE/Twx_d7QnbdI/AAAAAAAAHZU/mIGIP6rUL7Y/s1600/heart160.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-BxvH0ONMYeE/Twx_d7QnbdI/AAAAAAAAHZU/mIGIP6rUL7Y/s1600/heart160.jpg" /></a><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Oh, that stark light you sent to illuminate my pounding heart.<br /><br />Your striking colour - a stain on the grey concrete of me.<br /><br />This fire you ignite... incentive to race, to scatter seed, to love.<br /><br />I strain at these self imposed chains that hitch me to myself.<br /><br />I wallow in my indecision, as you circle ...and wait.</span></span><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">Written for <a href="http://sundaywhirl.wordpress.com/2013/08/11/wordle-121/">Wordle 121 at The Sunday Whirl </a></span>Susannahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09581993763700327953noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2866329577695235177.post-78952043900063073272012-02-26T08:35:00.012+00:002012-02-26T09:03:38.703+00:00Fixed to the spot<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-T3kRwosBX6I/T0nwHe7o97I/AAAAAAAAH-I/x6AiWIdExcc/s1600/ontheway.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 180px; height: 340px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-T3kRwosBX6I/T0nwHe7o97I/AAAAAAAAH-I/x6AiWIdExcc/s400/ontheway.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5713361613649147826" border="0" /></a>Cumbersome words, black and unwieldy,<br />sharp and sticky, they set like cement,<br />hindering the fluid flow of my progress.<br /><br />I am aware of the faint murmur of my answer<br />as it bypasses my senses and emerges fully formed<br />- tumbling haphazardly from my lips like rain.<br /><br />And I want to run - full pelt - away from the intensity,<br />away from the looming insanity, the spitting shadows,<br />but inertia gone, my body is reluctant to move.<br /><br />For I fear I may disturb the dense atmosphere,<br />I am afraid I may finally lose my place on the map. . .<br />a stray bullet <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">ricocheting</span> off the smoke stained walls.<br /><br />So I stay put, fixed to the spot, petrified in my place.<br />Entranced by the slow motion movement of his mouth<br />as it carefully enunciates the words I never wanted to hear.<br /><br />Written for <a href="http://sundaywhirl.wordpress.com/2012/02/26/wordle-45/">the sunday whirl</a> using the words below.<br /><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-NWP5kkCRBXY/T0nwoo2qKhI/AAAAAAAAH-U/J58A5FcQz4M/s1600/45.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 230px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-NWP5kkCRBXY/T0nwoo2qKhI/AAAAAAAAH-U/J58A5FcQz4M/s320/45.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5713362183248292370" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Image - Susannah Bec</span>Susannahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09581993763700327953noreply@blogger.com20tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2866329577695235177.post-72348242239984756112012-02-05T11:36:00.018+00:002012-02-05T12:29:58.389+00:00Haunted by her leaving. . .<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-tb7EfUhghyM/Ty5rUGStJXI/AAAAAAAAHuQ/dgVqE_i0eGU/s1600/familypatterns.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 140px; height: 140px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-tb7EfUhghyM/Ty5rUGStJXI/AAAAAAAAHuQ/dgVqE_i0eGU/s400/familypatterns.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5705615770955621746" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />I see her petulant mouth,<br />pink, pursed, and pouting,<br />as she lifts the heavy latch.<br /><br />I wince in sharp anticipation<br />of the metallic clang as it falls. . .<br />a klaxon announcing her departure.<br /><br />Her flashing eyes full of fire,<br />a last steely dart of rebellion<br />before she storms outside. . .<br /><br />into the vermillion twilight,<br />her staccato heels echoing<br />down the bloodshot sidewalk.<br /><br />Such a harsh,<br />spare, soundtrack<br />to accompany her exile.<br /><br />Spun gold hair billows<br />as she burns bridges,<br />and ruins best laid plans.<br /><br />Her leaving<br />will pick at the scar,<br />the crusty scab that would never heal.<br /><br />The one that fuses the dubious union<br />that spawned and raised her up.<br />She stayed and she survived.<br /><br />Until the house got too tight<br />and she feared she might die<br />- suffocate in its bitterness.<br /><br />And I still see her petulant mouth<br />as she opened the latch<br />- and left.<br /><br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-hJzuXEsmP7Q/Ty5sWbK8EUI/AAAAAAAAHuc/J8lg0ZoSgXQ/s1600/42.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 167px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-hJzuXEsmP7Q/Ty5sWbK8EUI/AAAAAAAAHuc/J8lg0ZoSgXQ/s320/42.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5705616910431555906" border="0" /></a><br />Written for <a href="http://sundaywhirl.wordpress.com/2012/02/05/wordle-42/">the Sunday Whirl</a> - wordle 42 - using all of the words.<br /><br />This collection of words bought forward this story. I love how these wordles do that! :-)Susannahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09581993763700327953noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2866329577695235177.post-76188972966167666472012-01-22T10:31:00.013+00:002012-01-22T11:11:46.570+00:00When Darkness Come Again . . .<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-zoYSvYdyWq4/TxvthrnvSOI/AAAAAAAAHk0/9sjinXXl8AI/s1600/redmoonthumbnail.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 142px; height: 110px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-zoYSvYdyWq4/TxvthrnvSOI/AAAAAAAAHk0/9sjinXXl8AI/s400/redmoonthumbnail.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5700410916268361954" border="0" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">Spread your whispering story.<br /><br />Those glittering shards that sing<br />of instinct and fine urges.<br /><br />Scatter some of your charm<br />upon this ashen soul.<br /><br />Scald me with your joy.<br /><br />Let me steal from you<br />the knack of carrying light.<br /><br />So that when the darkness comes again,<br />to pour its inky stains and crush my violet hope.<br /><br />. . . I can shout out to my sisters.<br /><br />With their hair streaming<br />and wild voices splitting the air.<br /><br />They will coming running.<br /><br />Whooping and hollering<br />and dancing in circles.<br /><br />. . . Until all of the shadows are gone.<br /><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">Written for Wordle 40 at <a href="http://sundaywhirl.wordpress.com/2012/01/22/wordle-40/">The Sunday Whirl.</a><br /></div><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-SjoSZJKWBDs/Txvl9M_POTI/AAAAAAAAHkE/lEQiC0470WI/s1600/40.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 130px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-SjoSZJKWBDs/Txvl9M_POTI/AAAAAAAAHkE/lEQiC0470WI/s200/40.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5700402592988739890" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-size:85%;" >Image and words - Susannah Bec</span>Susannahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09581993763700327953noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2866329577695235177.post-27954485951359234742012-01-15T18:33:00.006+00:002012-01-15T18:52:41.115+00:00A Greater Depthkneeling, praying, feeling<br />the rich black earth<br />alive beneath me<br /><br />still, quiet, aware,<br />as I contemplate<br />the illusion<br /><br />that broad panorama<br />streaked and dotted<br />with people and cars<br /><br />it flows like a film reel,<br />bringing to life the<br />big city spectacle<br /><br />while I, vain and proud<br />eschew the crisp notes,<br />sure in my resolution<br /><br />that beneath the surface<br />there's a greater depth<br />that is full of meaning<br /><br />and it is only dormant<br />to those, with no desire<br />to walk through walls<br /><br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">Written for <a href="http://sundaywhirl.wordpress.com/2012/01/15/wordle-39-a-bakers-dozen/">The Sunday Whirl</a> using all of the words.<br /></span><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-tYydbYpxvks/TxMgU_NOQBI/AAAAAAAAHgI/cdmAw3yp4Dk/s1600/winter-pond-wordle.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 238px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-tYydbYpxvks/TxMgU_NOQBI/AAAAAAAAHgI/cdmAw3yp4Dk/s320/winter-pond-wordle.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5697933498490175506" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><br /></span><span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 102);font-size:85%;" ><span style="font-style: italic;"> </span></span>Susannahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09581993763700327953noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2866329577695235177.post-8291585488061700902012-01-12T10:12:00.005+00:002012-01-12T10:49:23.272+00:00Undeserved<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-rbN_2KaKVs0/Tw61AtQSjzI/AAAAAAAAHaQ/kRczooB-LRk/s1600/imagedude.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 225px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-rbN_2KaKVs0/Tw61AtQSjzI/AAAAAAAAHaQ/kRczooB-LRk/s320/imagedude.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5696689602422804274" border="0" /></a>Your trust in me<br />was brutal<br />unflinching<br />undeserved<br /><br />and I<br />with sullen pout<br />and that fire<br />within me<br /><br />never let on<br />just how much<br />it meant<br /><br /><br />(for my father)<br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">Written for <a href="http://www.threewordwednesday.com/2012/01/3ww-ccliv.html">Three Word Wednesday</a><br />using the prompt words - trust, brutal and sullen</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 102, 102);font-size:85%;" >Painting by Susannah Bec</span>Susannahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09581993763700327953noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2866329577695235177.post-66862130466284723772011-12-25T11:09:00.007+00:002011-12-25T11:30:44.777+00:00Maybe it will take an Angel<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-XXYl5GsXjbI/TvcB2vxt7PI/AAAAAAAAHDo/OOln2ITh7pA/s1600/threeangels.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 224px; height: 370px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-XXYl5GsXjbI/TvcB2vxt7PI/AAAAAAAAHDo/OOln2ITh7pA/s400/threeangels.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5690018694255471858" border="0" /></a>My love doesn't need a manger<br />to hold the new born sun.<br />My heart has known glad tidings<br />and that joy and peace will come.<br /><br />For we can not all be shepherds,<br />and our voice may not be heard.<br />In among the haste and flurry,<br />of this very modern world.<br /><br />No matter how long we've pondered,<br />this strange life and its bold decree.<br />I know that most are still afraid,<br />to be all that we could be.<br /><br />So maybe it will take an angel,<br />to whisper gentle in our ear,<br />to tell us that it's okay to shine,<br />that it's the reason we are here.<br /><div style="text-align: right;"><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Image: Three Angels by Susannah Bec.</span><br /><br /><br /></div></div><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-His90J9DIp0/TvcD2lRel4I/AAAAAAAAHD0/I8F71moSJuw/s1600/christmas.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 159px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-His90J9DIp0/TvcD2lRel4I/AAAAAAAAHD0/I8F71moSJuw/s320/christmas.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5690020890459150210" border="0" /></a>Written for the <a href="http://sundaywhirl.wordpress.com/2011/12/25/281/">Sunday Whirl</a> using all of the words. Not great poetry, but I did my best! :-)<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center; font-style: italic; color: rgb(255, 102, 102);"><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 102, 102);">Wishing you all</span><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 102, 102); font-style: italic;">love, peace and much joy!</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 102, 102); font-style: italic;">- </span><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 102, 102);">Susannah</span><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 102, 102); font-style: italic;"> x</span><br /></div>Susannahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09581993763700327953noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2866329577695235177.post-69358354419940015082011-12-18T11:26:00.003+00:002011-12-18T11:37:27.026+00:00Three Seconds. . .In the three second lag<br />between your action<br />and my reaction<br />I saw it happen<br /><br />That hint of trouble<br />began to surface<br />instigating the game<br />we swore we wouldn't play<br /><br />This year has been one<br />of calm surfaces and blue sky<br />one in which I could believe<br />that luck was on our side<br /><br />That you were no longer<br />a citizen of that dream land<br />a denizen of those altered states<br />convinced that you could fly<br /><br />Feet firmly planted in the black earth<br />something in your eyes gave it away<br />and in an instant the blue sky changed<br />becoming purple and black like a bruise<br /><br /><br /><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ixZwXBFLZ5M/Tu3OQ5z1pvI/AAAAAAAAG7o/UFPaB9CWTC8/s1600/35.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 229px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ixZwXBFLZ5M/Tu3OQ5z1pvI/AAAAAAAAG7o/UFPaB9CWTC8/s320/35.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5687428694230279922" border="0" /></a>Written for <a href="http://sundaywhirl.wordpress.com/">The Sunday Whirl</a><br />using all of the words.<br /><br />This story just arose out of the words as if by some strange alchemy. The wordle seems to instigate that happening! - pulling tales out of nowhere and pouring them onto the page.<br /><br />This is not autobiographical.Susannahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09581993763700327953noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2866329577695235177.post-82471062937760777502011-12-11T10:09:00.020+00:002011-12-11T11:25:37.984+00:00When Love Arrives. . .What an enigma,<br />this weightless joy.<br />These rare and rapid pulsations,<br />that spasm and sparkle like glass.<br />It is as though some part of me,<br />long imprisoned, has been released.<br />I have been made spacious by this feeling.<br />The elements have fallen in the perfect order.<br />And I, as if in the grip of some strange magic,<br />am racing, tumbling, laughing and breathless.<br />through the bleak, windblown city streets,<br />headlong into your strong and gentle arms.<br /><br /><br />Written for <a href="http://sundaywhirl.wordpress.com/2011/12/11/wordle-34/">The Sunday Whirl </a>using the words below.<br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-51lf6mmb0dI/TuSBz5pkEBI/AAAAAAAAG2g/TbDkeAGXKZQ/s1600/34.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 224px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-51lf6mmb0dI/TuSBz5pkEBI/AAAAAAAAG2g/TbDkeAGXKZQ/s320/34.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5684811358296870930" border="0" /></a>Susannahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09581993763700327953noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2866329577695235177.post-2245401810443439162011-11-27T10:29:00.014+00:002011-11-27T11:14:42.740+00:00Staying Centered<div style="text-align: center;">I am the fulcrum around which my life rotates,<br /><br />I hear the rush and shudder as the cogs turn.<br /><br />Ruddy and metallic, this movement is vital.<br /><br />Freed limbs rotate. Idle thoughts rustle.<br /><br />It is not easy to be mellow and mindful,<br /><br />in this untidy world of man and machine.<br /><br />I may sound smug, but I am no longer gullible.<br /><br />I will continue to ignore the subliminal messages,<br /><br />pasted onto the detritus and divinity of my life.<br /><br />And let the spinning wheels slice the sunshine,<br /><br />into bite size pieces that I can eat.<br /><br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-4HwyaO_75Ko/TtISCOQdy5I/AAAAAAAAGv8/dobzOPRQz5s/s1600/32.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 190px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-4HwyaO_75Ko/TtISCOQdy5I/AAAAAAAAGv8/dobzOPRQz5s/s320/32.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5679621909463813010" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;">Written for Wordle 32 at <a href="http://sundaywhirl.wordpress.com/2011/11/27/wordle-32/">The Sunday Whirl</a> - using all the words. I just let the words take me where they wanted to go. I am not sure if I used Fulcrum correctly though?<br /><br />Now back to my NaNoWrimo writing! (with any luck I should hit the 50,000 words target by the end of the day.)<br /><br />I look forward to seeing where these words took everyone else. :-)</span><br /></div></div>Susannahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09581993763700327953noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2866329577695235177.post-74548628957912206892011-11-23T17:04:00.008+00:002011-11-23T17:57:40.810+00:00Trying not to move. . . .<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-m77zVX_4rK0/Ts0oLgjDBnI/AAAAAAAAGrE/MixACdxGvdg/s1600/astmoonlighSM.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 140px; height: 118px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-m77zVX_4rK0/Ts0oLgjDBnI/AAAAAAAAGrE/MixACdxGvdg/s200/astmoonlighSM.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5678238883364669042" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />It was a shallow hollow<br />in which she kept<br />her misery.<br /><br />No depth at all.<br /><br />In fact<br />the slightest motion<br />would set it moving.<br /><br />Like a mini tidal wave.<br /><br />Back and forth,<br />gaining momentum.<br /><br />Until it would slosh<br />over the edges<br />and run<br />d<br />o<br />w<br />n<br />her pensive face<br /><br />following<br />the limescale trails<br />of its watercourse.<br /><br />And then<br />splish, splash<br />d<br />o<br />w<br />n<br />onto the ground.<br /><br />Spoiling<br />the shiny shoes<br />and cheerful gait<br />of those who were passing.<br /><br />She tried to keep it inside,<br />she really did.<br /><br />But she found<br />the constant stillness<br />so very very hard to bear.<span style="display: block;" id="formatbar_Buttons"><span onmouseover="ButtonHoverOn(this);" onmouseout="ButtonHoverOff(this);" onmouseup="" onmousedown="CheckFormatting(event);FormatbarButton('richeditorframe', this, 8);ButtonMouseDown(this);" class=" down" style="display: block;" id="formatbar_CreateLink" title="Link"><img src="http://www.blogger.com/img/blank.gif" alt="Link" class="gl_link" border="0" /></span></span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">Written for <a href="http://www.threewordwednesday.com/2011/11/3ww-cclxvii_23.html">Three Word Wednesday</a> using the prompt words - Hollow - Misery - Shallow.</span>Susannahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09581993763700327953noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2866329577695235177.post-38445431029113951302011-11-20T20:21:00.005+00:002011-11-20T20:38:22.239+00:00Personal EvolutionShe'd been trapped,<br />drowned in silence.<br />Oblivious to the planet<br />and its clockwork motion.<br /><br />She had skated on thin ice,<br />started fires and left them to smolder.<br />She was a maverick, a firebrand,<br />she walked on a knife edge.<br /><br />She was mindless, oblivious.<br />Unaware of the great universe,<br />and the fleeting spark<br />that was her life.<br /><br />Until the diamond<br />of her consciousness,<br />was honed and polished.<br />Rough edges smoothed.<br /><br />Then all of her facets<br />began to reflect the light.<br />And her clear eyes shone<br />with everything she was.<br /><br />And in the vast blue sky<br />of her now peaceful mind.<br />She watched as her thoughts<br />went floating by like clouds.<br /><br /><br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-C1IlzdnZgSg/TslhnKJ6wrI/AAAAAAAAGqs/gEEXpYGZ7Rk/s1600/31.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 171px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-C1IlzdnZgSg/TslhnKJ6wrI/AAAAAAAAGqs/gEEXpYGZ7Rk/s320/31.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5677176130645967538" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><br />Written for <a href="http://sundaywhirl.wordpress.com/2011/11/20/wordle-31-a-bakers-dozen/">The Sunday Whirl. </a>- Wordle 31<br /><br />I used all of the words. :-)<br /></div><span style="display: block;" id="formatbar_Buttons"><span onmouseover="ButtonHoverOn(this);" onmouseout="ButtonHoverOff(this);" onmouseup="" onmousedown="CheckFormatting(event);FormatbarButton('richeditorframe', this, 8);ButtonMouseDown(this);" class="" style="display: block;" id="formatbar_CreateLink" title="Link"><br /></span></span>Susannahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09581993763700327953noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2866329577695235177.post-41102777515563708792011-11-17T11:08:00.013+00:002011-11-17T19:35:29.600+00:00Looking For a New Day<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-heQcyvKuLa0/TsTsmkjnCbI/AAAAAAAAGms/liq0RKFERJ8/s1600/todayjpgshort.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 130px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-heQcyvKuLa0/TsTsmkjnCbI/AAAAAAAAGms/liq0RKFERJ8/s400/todayjpgshort.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5675921577785887154" border="0" /></a><span>"For I will run into the great tomorrow and my heart will be fast and my breath will be faster and there will be no time for sharp remembering or mournful cries for what has gone. For I will be running with the wind in my face, dismal concrete underfoot and yesterday behind me snapping at my heels. I will run through the night time city streets, through the neon and dispair, past the boarded windows and the broken glass, past the street lamps and their yellow glare. I will run though my breath may sting my burning chest, for I am running, racing into tomorrow.</span><br /><br /><span>And when the hard ground softens and welcomes my pounding steps, and the heavens and its million stars hover above me like a great blanket of glory, still I will run. Towards the mountains, toward the oceans, toward the great tree up there on the ridge that bears my name. I will not slow, I will not falter, I will run into the great tomorrow, and my heart will be fast and my breath will be faster and there will be no time for sharp remembering or mournful cries for what has gone. For I am still running and there will be no rest until at last I am home."</span><br /><br />Written for <a href="http://withrealtoads.blogspot.com/2011/11/kerrys-wednesday-challenge.html">The Real Toads and Kerry's Wednesday Challenge</a><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">Image: sb</span>Susannahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09581993763700327953noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2866329577695235177.post-17627448537305007112011-11-13T12:20:00.017+00:002011-11-13T12:56:16.394+00:00Going and then coming back again<div style="text-align: center;">________ I am walking a tightrope __________<br />there's no safety net<br />for this high wire<br />trickster<br />.<br />.<br />.<br />up here<br />all you need<br />is balance and<br />a point in space<br />to fix your eyes upon<br /><span style="color: rgb(153, 51, 153); font-family:verdana;font-size:180%;" >.</span><br /><br />I'm surrounded by the vastness<br />of the <span style="color: rgb(255, 102, 102); font-weight: bold;">pink</span> and <span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 102); font-weight: bold;">coral</span> sky<br />the altitude loans me<br />strength<br /><br />. I . pause . up . here . in . the . empty . air .<br /><br />m o t i o n l e s s<br /><br />as I contemplate<br />my next<br />__________move__________<br /><br />I am still and serene<br />.<br />.<br />.<br />Then<br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 153, 51); font-weight: bold;">yellow</span> and <span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(153, 102, 51);">buzzing </span><br />the<span style="color: rgb(153, 102, 51);">*</span> <span style="color: rgb(204, 153, 51);">*</span> <span style="color: rgb(153, 102, 51);">*</span> <span style="color: rgb(204, 153, 51);">*</span> <span style="color: rgb(153, 102, 51);">*</span> <span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="color: rgb(204, 153, 51); font-weight: bold;">B</span><span style="color: rgb(153, 102, 51); font-weight: bold;">E</span><span style="color: rgb(204, 153, 51); font-weight: bold;">E</span><span style="color: rgb(153, 102, 51); font-weight: bold;">S</span></span><span style="color: rgb(204, 153, 51);">*</span> <span style="color: rgb(153, 102, 51);">*</span> <span style="color: rgb(204, 153, 51);">*</span> <span style="color: rgb(153, 102, 51);">*</span> arrive<br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 153, 51);">*</span><span style="color: rgb(153, 102, 51);">*</span><span style="color: rgb(204, 153, 51);">*</span>swarming<span style="color: rgb(153, 102, 51);">*</span><span style="color: rgb(204, 153, 51);">*</span><span style="color: rgb(153, 102, 51);">*</span>around<span style="color: rgb(204, 153, 51);">*</span><span style="color: rgb(153, 102, 51);">*</span><span style="color: rgb(204, 153, 51);">*</span>my <span style="color: rgb(153, 102, 51);">*</span><span style="color: rgb(204, 153, 51);">*</span><span style="color: rgb(153, 102, 51);">*</span>stillness<span style="color: rgb(204, 153, 51);">*</span><span style="color: rgb(153, 102, 51);">*</span><span style="color: rgb(204, 153, 51);">*</span><br /><br />and rapidly uNRaveLLing<br />the sturdy rope<br />beneath my<br />feet<br />._.._.__.._.._.._.__.._.<br /><br />They are telling tales so eloquent<br />that I can not ignore their pointing finger ---><br />and the cleaning of my perception that comes with their<span style="font-weight: bold;"> </span>sting <----<span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:180%;" ><br /></span><span style="color: rgb(255, 102, 102);font-size:100%;" ><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">THE MOMENT</span></span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-size:100%;" > </span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-size:100%;" >AND I</span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-size:100%;" > </span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-size:100%;" >ARE ONE</span><br /><br />And I swivel<br />(my feet so sure and steady)<br />and I tread the thin wire I had been walking<br />_____________________________________<br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">back to</span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-weight: bold;"> </span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">the solid ground</span> </span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">from which I had first stepped out<br /><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span><span style="font-size:100%;">____ into thin air </span></span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">___<br /><br />___!___</span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-weight: bold;"><br />__________<br /><br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: left;">Written for <a href="http://sundaywhirl.wordpress.com/2011/11/13/wordle-30/">The Sunday Whirl</a> using all the words. . .<br /></div><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-weight: bold;"></span><div style="text-align: left;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Sn1Mf1Id12c/Tr-2v0PJYDI/AAAAAAAAGkw/u_IgEEoAI7g/s1600/30.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 142px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Sn1Mf1Id12c/Tr-2v0PJYDI/AAAAAAAAGkw/u_IgEEoAI7g/s320/30.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5674454988102393906" border="0" /></a>Hmmm, what makes you think I am avoiding getting started on my nanowrimo novel this morning. :-)<br /><br />(I had fun and killed quite a lot of time playing with this!)<br /><br />Hope all you others doing Nanowrimo are being more productive than me this morning! :-) - Susannah x<br /></div></div>Susannahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09581993763700327953noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2866329577695235177.post-21378200148160101582011-11-06T08:11:00.010+00:002011-11-06T15:33:34.188+00:00A Plaintive Missive to the Object of His Affection . . .In dappled light and shade you sit, strident and lovely.<br />Bearing your wicked beauty like a flag,<br />you reignite that fickle flame<br />I thought long doused.<br /><br />The coral pink pleat of your lips<br />pull forth a passion long forgotten.<br />The subtle swish of your skirt, a red flag<br />to the charging bull of me.<br /><br />And once again I am lost, intoxicated.<br />Plunged into delirium by that heady scent you emit.<br />Unbalanced, as it comes drifting on the sultry air<br />and unfastens from me, my reason.<br /><br />You are my laudanum . . .<br />You are my love . . .<br /><br />So cover your tender ears, and please pay no mind<br />to the vicious wail of my wounded and bloody heart.<br />For the pain you can hear, is that of my piercing,<br />as I fall upon the broken shell of this fierce longing.<br /><br />And though its keening pitch may seem extreme,<br />please forgive me, for I have no way to quieten its sound,<br />or to still the wild racing of my pulse. As once again<br />I am slain by that quick sharp sword of your beauty.<br /><br /><br /><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ftqZLw_j0Hw/TrZPv5Dfd4I/AAAAAAAAGjM/90lFykSZd3Y/s1600/29.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 178px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ftqZLw_j0Hw/TrZPv5Dfd4I/AAAAAAAAGjM/90lFykSZd3Y/s320/29.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5671808464907630466" border="0" /></a>This tale of a suitor and the object of his unrequited love was inspired by <a href="http://sundaywhirl.wordpress.com/2011/11/06/wordle-29/">The Sunday Whirl</a> and the words of wordle 29.<br /><br />I didn't know whether I would be joining in with any prompts this month, as I am taking part in Nanowrimo for the second year. But I was up early this morning and my plot was eluding me, so here I am. :-)<br /><br />Please forgive me if my posts and visits are rather sporadic this month, I will be back. - Susannah xSusannahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09581993763700327953noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2866329577695235177.post-7651577163946455332011-10-23T21:05:00.019+01:002011-10-24T08:13:28.373+01:00No More BridgesYou take out your blade<br />and cut down the clouds.<br />Their softness a blight<br />in your hard edged world.<br /><br />You collate all the bridges<br />and you set them a burning.<br />Until everything's destroyed<br />but their rusted-out bones.<br /><br />You drag the singing bird<br />down from the cloudless sky.<br />Its feathered beauty, stretched<br />and ragged in your idle hands.<br /><br />You judge the nods and winks<br />as evidence of your belonging.<br />A cracked glaze on a broken pot<br />that leaks, and spills, and stains.<br /><br />You think it is just beginning,<br />the tide rolling in and carrying<br />your long awaited ship in its swell.<br />You do not see the rocks you made.<br /><br />And you can straighten the cushions,<br />put on the kettle, and bake a fine cake.<br />But your house is barren, and the path<br />to your doorway is covered in thorns.<br /><br /><br /><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-BwAIdHuYzus/TqR0CRazkQI/AAAAAAAAGfc/TvKSgryYT2g/s1600/wordle-27.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 190px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-BwAIdHuYzus/TqR0CRazkQI/AAAAAAAAGfc/TvKSgryYT2g/s320/wordle-27.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5666781813523321090" border="0" /></a>Written for <a href="http://sundaywhirl.wordpress.com/2011/10/23/wordle-27/">The Sunday Whirl </a>- using all of the words.<br /><br />A strange and bitter tale arose out of these words for me this week. I 'got' the first two lines and just went from there.Susannahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09581993763700327953noreply@blogger.com21tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2866329577695235177.post-18730796554584493722011-10-20T18:58:00.015+01:002011-10-20T19:46:12.464+01:00Not Broken. . .I am not broken - I am dancing<br /><br />Forgive my feet<br />while I learn the steps<br /><br />(I'll stick to the shallows<br />until I can face the ocean)<br /><br />I am not broken - I am dancing<br /><br />Sunlight across my shoulder<br />a mantle I'll gladly wear<br /><br />(forgive my false causes<br />as I drop all my woes)<br /><br />I am not broken - I am dancing<br /><br />I will draw back the bolt<br />that kept my door locked<br /><br />(and applaud as hoops topple<br />I'll jump through them no more)<br /><br />I am not broken - I am dancing<br /><br /><br />Written for <a href="http://sundaywhirl.wordpress.com/2011/10/16/wordle-26-a-bakers-dozen/">The Sunday Whirl</a><br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-_u-fDLS60mg/TqBixshppAI/AAAAAAAAGbg/YRIsYBSwjiQ/s1600/baker26.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 92px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-_u-fDLS60mg/TqBixshppAI/AAAAAAAAGbg/YRIsYBSwjiQ/s200/baker26.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5665636937137497090" border="0" /></a>I wrote this on Sunday but wasn't pleased with it and thought maybe I would try again later in the week, or even give the wordle a miss this week! The words really didn't flow for me this week. But I have decided to post it anyway as I really don't like to miss the Sunday Whirl. :-)Susannahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09581993763700327953noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2866329577695235177.post-68813316020136285502011-10-18T12:34:00.011+01:002011-10-18T13:00:05.139+01:00Scarred . . .For Poets United's <a href="http://poetryblogroll.blogspot.com/2011/10/midnight-snack-007.html">Midnight Snack </a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-_mo7-bwAQ6o/Tp1kypGopSI/AAAAAAAAGaA/r7wxIc3a6io/s1600/scar_by_annamariademari-d4d1cud.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 324px; height: 430px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-_mo7-bwAQ6o/Tp1kypGopSI/AAAAAAAAGaA/r7wxIc3a6io/s400/scar_by_annamariademari-d4d1cud.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5664794727491872034" border="0" /></a>Autumn wraps around me,<br /><div style="text-align: left;"> like a cloak.<br /><br /></div>Spent leaves,<br /><div style="text-align: left;"> falling.<br /></div><br />Shards of stained glass,<br /><div style="text-align: left;"> swirling.<br /></div><br />Firebrand fingers touch<br /><div style="text-align: left;"> the ground.<br /></div><br />Long shadows, stark and blatant,<br /><div style="text-align: left;"> trace your steps.<br /></div><br />Words fall from your lips,<br /><div style="text-align: left;"> like bombs.</div><br />Detonating on impact<br />with my heart.<br /><br /><br />Inspired by the picture above: <a href="http://browse.deviantart.com/photography/people/?order=11&offset=48#/d4d1cud" target="_blank">Rage</a> by <a href="http://annamariademari.deviantart.com/" target="_blank">AnnaMariaDeMari</a> at deviantARTSusannahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09581993763700327953noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2866329577695235177.post-38118726488646853792011-10-09T11:50:00.007+01:002011-10-09T14:30:29.746+01:00He is Gone. . .She swallows hard, closes her black lashed lids,<br />head tilted back against the heavy organza drapes.<br /><br />Listens as his automobile roars. Kicking up gravel<br />like a rambunctious child, it <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">squeals</span> away into the night.<br /><br />The hat-rack is empty, it stands like a punctuation mark,<br />highlighting the fact that they are both now rendered obsolete.<br /><br />By his departure, he has purged the ballroom of its dancers.<br />Left this big old house fallow. Already she senses the decay.<br /><br />He will be long gone, into that world of whisky and neon.<br />Backslapping cronies will admire his balls, keep his thirst slaked.<br /><br />While she will chase a solitary crumb of hope around this vast room,<br />worrying at it as she ages. Wondering what she could have done better.<br /><br />Her life a stagnant pond. She needed him to stir the surface,<br />bring life to the brown muddy water she had become.<br /><br />Once she had sparkled, gushing and singing as she rushed,<br />over and around the rocks in her path. Once she had been fluid.<br /><br />But she had let the sides of her life be narrowed by silt. Until<br />her channel was a trickle, mud banks keeping her static.<br /><br />Her garden overgrown. She had <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">relied</span> on him<br />to keep it weeded, to <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">nurture</span> the beauty there.<br /><br />When he had stopped, she'd watched, powerless<br />as her flowers were strangled and died.<br /><br />Oh how she had hated him for that.<br />And now he was gone.<br /><br />It is your <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">responsibility</span> now, he had shouted,<br />as he had bounced down the winding stairs like ball.<br /><br />It is my responsibility now. The words rang<br />over and over in her head, like a bell.<br /><br />From deep within she felt the water rise,<br />it bubbled, it surged, it burst the banks.<br /><br />She opened her world weary eyes, there was a light.<br />Her parched life, irrigated by water springing from her core.<br /><br />She watched as all around her, new life sprouted. The ballroom<br />now filled with flowers. Birds singing in the dead of night.<br /><br />She threw back her head and laughed as joy took flight,<br />whirling around her head like a cloud of butterflies.<br /><br />It is my responsibility now. The words rang<br />over and over in her head, like a bell.<br /><br />It is my responsibility now.<br />He is gone.<br /><br /><br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-fO5tvyHgY0A/TpF8xCSGKmI/AAAAAAAAGUc/m_BFaSS0l8w/s1600/25.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 197px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-fO5tvyHgY0A/TpF8xCSGKmI/AAAAAAAAGUc/m_BFaSS0l8w/s320/25.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5661443388449630818" border="0" /></a>Written for Wordle 25 at <a href="http://sundaywhirl.wordpress.com/">The Sunday Whir</a>l (using all the words.)<br /><br />Tricky words this week I thought - but it just stretches me to write something I wouldn't usually! I didn't really know where this was going to go until it went! :-) If you know what I mean.<br /><br />It would have been so easy to write an unhappy ending - but I don't like those, so I didn't. :-)Susannahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09581993763700327953noreply@blogger.com24tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2866329577695235177.post-8367943308773444492011-10-02T10:42:00.016+01:002011-10-05T10:31:54.192+01:00Lost and Found<div style="text-align: left; font-weight: bold; color: rgb(204, 204, 204);font-family:verdana;"><span style="font-size:130%;">NIGHT (dark) LOST </span><br /><br /></div>The church spire lunged up toward the heavens,<br />piercing the clouds and making splinters of stars<br />that fizzled and dazzled in the blackness of night.<br /><br />The shadowed cobbled walkways were now empty,<br />and midnight and its neon signs screamed of adventure,<br />making promises to all those who were lost and alone.<br /><br />Long litter lined streets, stalked by loud youths and<br />too naked women, who criss cross the concrete like chalk.<br />This is no place for fearful souls who can not face the shadows.<br /><br />Myriad headlights, cars rushing on their way to somewhere else,<br />except for those that slow crawl the circle of city streets,<br />looking for short skirts and street corners.<br /><br />Sitting on this cold hard bench, amidst the take away cartons,<br />the drunken shouts, and the smell of stale urine in the air,<br />I close my eyes and try to remember who I am.<br /><br /><br /><span style=" font-weight: bold; color: rgb(204, 204, 204);font-family:verdana;font-size:130%;" >DAY (light) FOUND </span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;">I was fearful and lost,<br /></div>alone and in need of adventure,<br />the circle that I was walking was too small.<br /><br />I paced the streets,<br />searching for something concrete,<br />I was looking for signs, looking for salvation.<br /><br />Effervescent water splashed,<br />creating music in the cobbled courtyard,<br />the church spire towering like a needle sewing clouds.<br /><br />I looked up at crows whirling,<br />acrobats in their blue sky playground<br />and I imagined they were calling out my name.<br /><br />And the moment sparkled,<br />called on me to remember something,<br />something long forgotten or maybe never known.<br /><br />Myriad doorways flung themselves open<br />and the muddy stream of my thoughts settled at last.<br />In that pure clear water was a perfect reflection of my face.<br /><br /><br />Written for this weeks wordle at <a href="http://sundaywhirl.wordpress.com/">The Sunday Whirl</a><br /><br /><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-EE8v5a0PyRo/Tog0k8lOENI/AAAAAAAAGRU/4I0_U8cQlsw/s1600/leo24.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-EE8v5a0PyRo/Tog0k8lOENI/AAAAAAAAGRU/4I0_U8cQlsw/s320/leo24.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5658830741133201618" border="0" /></a>I had trouble with this weeks wordle words!<br /><br />Church and cobbled just didn't seem to flow into anything I wanted to write.<br /><br />So I persisted and actually wrote three different pieces. I have put two of them in this post as I think (hope) that they work together.<br /><br />As always even with words that make me stumble, I really enjoy the wordles.<br /><br />- Susannah :-)Susannahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09581993763700327953noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2866329577695235177.post-79437895204881762922011-09-26T09:59:00.006+01:002011-09-26T20:47:29.746+01:00Love All . . .The shaft of light was no accident.<br />The shimmering halo<br />it cast around your<br />beautiful head,<br />was fitting.<br /><br />We would chat.<br />Volleys of tumbling words,<br />batted carefully back and forth<br />over the cumbersome net<br />of our politeness.<br /><br />Occasionally the motion slowed.<br />We would shift uncomfortably<br />in our seats, eyes averted.<br />And you would look outside,<br />at the faceless passers-by.<br /><br />Watch them,<br />strolling from shop to shop.<br />Arms full of their baggage,<br />that was always so much<br />smaller than ours.<br /><br />A strange silence<br />would descend over us,<br />like a great blanket woven<br />with longing, and all that we<br />couldn't, shouldn't, say.<br /><br />Then I would jostle my papers,<br />move my chair, clutch at straws.<br />Until, like a great white bird<br />taking flight in a black sky,<br />your gaze would return to me.<br /><br />And the dangerous dance<br />we were participating in,<br />would continue. While we<br />pretended that it really<br />didn't mean a thing.<br /><br /><br />Written for <a href="http://sundaywhirl.wordpress.com/2011/09/25/wordle-23-a-la-viv/">The Sunday Whirl</a>.<br />(Using all of the words.)<br /><br /><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-2Md6g6FYvaM/ToA_uK2KjzI/AAAAAAAAGOM/kGKeufpRdmQ/s1600/23.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 143px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-2Md6g6FYvaM/ToA_uK2KjzI/AAAAAAAAGOM/kGKeufpRdmQ/s200/23.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5656591194395414322" border="0" /></a>Susannahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09581993763700327953noreply@blogger.com19tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2866329577695235177.post-71285249084864611692011-09-20T08:56:00.030+01:002011-09-20T13:09:08.981+01:00Wake Up Call. . .<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-bh07PAAxDn8/TnhMnui0KhI/AAAAAAAAGLg/SxzDFSaLMvs/s1600/Textmessing_Girl_by_Reggaemanyo.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 283px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-bh07PAAxDn8/TnhMnui0KhI/AAAAAAAAGLg/SxzDFSaLMvs/s320/Textmessing_Girl_by_Reggaemanyo.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5654353577556322834" border="0" /></a>There were times,<br />when the days just slipped by.<br />Oozing into one another.<br />Ill defined chunks of time<br />liquidised, homogenised,<br />missed.<br /><br />Until the moment,<br />you appeared in the middle<br />of that long black road, (the one<br />that led to all my tomorrows)<br />you barred my way, forcing me<br />to stop.<br /><br />Derailed.<br />Suddenly conscious, of all that<br />before was just background soup.<br />Awake, aware, swallowed by feelings.<br />One message that changed<br />everything.<br /><br /><br />Written for <a href="http://poetryblogroll.blogspot.com/2011/09/midnight-snack-003.html">Poets United Midnight Snack 003</a><br /><br />Inspired by the picture prompt above - "copyright Adam Andersson"<br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:red;">"<a href="http://reggaemanyo.deviantart.com/art/Textmessing-Girl-138973275" target="_blank">Textmessing</a> Girl"</span> </b>by</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;font-size:85%;color:#990000;" > </span><span style="font-size:85%;"><a class="u" href="http://reggaemanyo.deviantart.com/" style="color: rgb(25,107,167) !important; font: 11px Trebuchet, sans-serif; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">Reggaemanyo</a> at Deviant Art</span>Susannahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09581993763700327953noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2866329577695235177.post-82602958215821341022011-09-18T11:37:00.005+01:002011-09-18T12:12:11.188+01:00Knowing when to speak. . .You speak of sheep.<br />The modern man asleep at the wheel.<br /><br />While you, with your vigor and verve,<br />have your ready muse, pouring forth<br />from your elegant and tapered fingertips.<br /><br />You do not see yourself, in the mirror of the parry<br />and thrust that you use to strengthen your ego<br />and reinforce the satin thread of your diatribe.<br /><br />And as I walk your book lined corridor,<br />to the green walled den, that has your smell<br />and your superiority stamped onto its silk lined walls.<br /><br />I yearn to tell you that an opal does not get its fire by learning,<br />that some things intrinsic and raw, have a power<br />that intellect has long forgotten.<br /><br />But my eye is caught by a moth, fluttering,<br />blustering against the cold hard glass. Shut off<br />from the majestic trees and the moon, rising<br />like a great silver disk in the violet sky.<br /><br />And I see it as an omen,<br />an oracle speaking in hushed tones,<br />talking of a deeper truth.<br /><br />And it cuts so deep, that when<br />I open your slow and creaking door<br />and see that there is no light.<br /><br />And that your studious eyes<br />are roaming my face like a map.<br />Looking for my lips. Searching<br />for the x that marks the spot<br />where the treasure is buried.<br /><br />I swallow my tongue, smile,<br />and don't say a single word<br /><br /><br /><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-StCNBPt55zc/TnXKJhHCPcI/AAAAAAAAGLA/ehBtSSXDlEg/s1600/22bake.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 141px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-StCNBPt55zc/TnXKJhHCPcI/AAAAAAAAGLA/ehBtSSXDlEg/s200/22bake.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5653647172089036226" border="0" /></a>Written for Wordle 22 at <a href="http://sundaywhirl.wordpress.com/2011/09/18/wordle-22-bakers-dozen/">The Sunday Whirl</a><br /><br />I so enjoy the wordle as it seems to push me to write things that are not anything I would write without their help. I find it fascinating and always look forward to seeing what story the next one brings hidden in its words. :-)Susannahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09581993763700327953noreply@blogger.com22tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2866329577695235177.post-90786202524369032812011-09-15T20:20:00.007+01:002011-09-17T09:55:06.806+01:00Exposed . . .I pace the perimeter.<br /><br />With measured steps<br />my stride is fast, my gait even.<br /><br />I do not falter.<br /><br />Even when you throw lines<br />laced with your charm.<br /><br />Designed to trip me.<br /><br />To halt my progress,<br />force me back to the centre.<br /><br />So you can see my eyes.<br /><br />In this glass house,<br />I long for walls.<br /><br /><br />Written for <a href="http://poetryblogroll.blogspot.com/2011/09/thursday-think-tank-66-glass-houses.html#more">The Thursday Think Tank</a> prompt - Glass Houses<br /><br /><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-h4YUx_sY6rw/TnJQdLQcE1I/AAAAAAAAGJo/9qpEtBoLXr0/s1600/how_do_you_feel_about_living_in_a_glass_home_0.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 148px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-h4YUx_sY6rw/TnJQdLQcE1I/AAAAAAAAGJo/9qpEtBoLXr0/s200/how_do_you_feel_about_living_in_a_glass_home_0.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5652668944471561042" border="0" /></a>Susannahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09581993763700327953noreply@blogger.com10