Whispered Tales

Image courtesy of Pinterest.com

A phoenix rises in flames

From out the left side of my chest

With feathers of flame yet,

Set free to fly where it wills.

 

One day, it will return,

Nuzzling deep inside my chest again,

All the ashes gone,

All flame having died away,

Its fiery colored feathers

Whispering, singing to my blood

Of beauty seen,

Of tantalizing things touched,

Of all the air breathed, smelled, felt,

Of the sounds soft and harsh heard

All along the way around the earth.

 

Through the whispered tales

Of those fiery feathers

My blood will tell me

Where I am to go.

 

Decision on a Birdfeeder

image courtesy of publicdomainpictures.net

 

I hesitate in remembrance

as if the fates would choose

a day of gray and leave me there,

as if a blossoming could be had upon

a second visitation to any day.

 

The creamer clouds disperse and swirl

in my extra strong coffee

like memories of things I wanted–

never had, never attained

all those years ago.

 

Stirring the coffee still,

I stare out the kitchen window.

Decide against a bird feeder

filled with black oil sunflower seeds.

I do not want cardinals here.

People say cardinals are spirits

of those you’ve lost come to visit you—

No.  I want no cardinals here.

No spirits of the lost to visit or say hello.

No twittering or chittering away.

No vibrancy of color outside this window.

No.  Not here.  Not in this place.

 

I’d rather this be a spiritless place,

A virgin place, void of spirits, void of touch—

 

At least for a time

 

 

 

Where the Heart Is

Image from the openingbelle.com
Written in response to https://sammiscribbles.wordpress.com/2020/05/09/weekend-writing-prompt-156-home/

Isn’t home where the heart is?
Or where you hang your hat?

My heart, well, I don’t know.
I seem to have misplaced it
Somewhere along the way.
I think I just mistreated it
And it decided to run away.

Didn’t treat it tenderly–
Let it get bruised,
Broken, bashed about.
So, it up and decided
It was time to go.
It bought a one-way ticket
On a now defunct airline
And went to catch the sun
On some tropical beach.

But that’s what happens
When you carelessly
Fling your heart around.
It develops shadows,
Misses beats,
Valves leak.
Then it gets pissed off,
runs away,
and home isn’t
what it
used to be.

Ghost Limb at 3 AM

3 AM

I turn

Reaching,

Searching,

Stretching,

Grasping

For you,

A ghost limb, removed,

Amputated.

Yet,

The yearning,

The craving for

The softness of your skin,

The warmth and smell of you

Remains

An ache,

An itch,

A host of phantom feeling

Deep within the ghost limb

In the center of my chest.

Knowing

Rewind the archives of a past
Find little worth remembrance

And now, only hours,
Removed from your side,
I could close my eyes,
Reach out my hand,
Trace each line and curve,
Comprising your grace,
Feel each rise of breath
And sleeping sigh
Leaving your chest
Resting against my back
And all my hard, squared off edges
Become like wax,
Softening and melting away,

Knowing,
For once, in all my years,
Knowing.

Modern and Clean

Let’s play house

Without the home.

 

It’s all arranged so prettily

No mess, no fuss,

No dusty hairball under the couch

None of the huff and puff

To blow a life down

 

Just learn to float on the surface

No need to swim in the deep

 

Keep it all to memes

Or 30-second bleeps

Nothing more needed

With all things clean

Trash at the Curb

Trash by the curb
Cardboard boxes nested
One within the other
Standing upright, resting
Against the edge of the smallest,
An old collage Walmart picture frame,
Matting included,
Old photos still within the frame,
A wedding, a first baby then a second,
Graduations and first cars,
Pictures telling a story of a family,
Colors faded by the sun
Having spent years by a window