Marshal forces Of the earth, moon, orbits of planets, Laws of time, All we hold mighty and true, Stop everything in its tracks, Turn it all back Before the start of any of it, Falling away, Marshaled from memory.
Turn It All Back
Category: loss
Honesty
sammiscribbles.wordpress.com/2021/08/14/weekend-writing-prompt-222-glow/
to feel that glow,
let it flow within
and know in peace,
the truth held within it,
rolling slow warmth
like the sun in springtime–
that glow, that warmth—
nearly, yes nearly extinct,
such a rarity to be found
though some try incandescent tricks
in mocking mimicry
its rarity rivals the hunt for new alabaster,
which always served a cold master
and there are no dreams glowing still
of truth to be held within the fragile
beaks of hummingbirds forever
searching the lush gardens of Babylon
for a heady nectar that does not exist
The Vines of a Tiny Truth
The Sunday Muse Challenge from The Sunday Muse
With my thoughts dried out,
cracking like the earth,
the seeds of some miniscule truths
take root within my chest
sprouting monstrous vines to wind down,
clawing into this cracking earth
until escape cannot be had–
the only tiny truth contained within the seeds,
the simple one of sacrifice
in the day to day.
In the Long Ago So It Goes
In the long ago
Youth’s armor
Stripping down fates
In acknowledgements
Of ruined selves
Where someplace we lost
The spare threads
To stitch everything back together
And could never touch another
As we once touched the other,
Letting go dreams
Sprinkled with desires
That only served to choke
The future we swallowed
In gulped decades
While watching dreams
Drift and float like the blown off
Heads of dandelions
Until settling into the
Drudgery of what must be done
In the day to day—
No answers exist when
The only answer is
There be no magic here,
No fairytales, no giants,
No forever’s or an eternity
Yet there be no lies,
No castles built on air,
No innocent beings with wings to rip away
In devilish delight,
No trust found broken
In garbage cans.
And so it goes.
And so it goes,
In essence,
Neither was what
The other really wanted
Resentments the wooden
Puzzle pieces of a child’s game
Tumbled down over us
In crushing weight
Until only the dust
Of us was left
To be swept away.
First Day of May
Winds and rains came today.
I tried to follow the trail
They made.
But on this first day of May,
I was not strong enough–
To let the wind take me,
To allow pelting rain to abrade away
All my accumulated grime.
No freedom could I find
Within this day of winds and rains.
Decision on a Birdfeeder
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
Tuck It Away
Tell the angels
To tuck away deep inside their chests
Such a cotton candy fire of winter sky raging,
Roiling in clouds there
Undeterred by storms
Or answers
Or truths
Provide no magic, no elixir
For human loss or longing,
Aching and confined in such beauty.
The Price
Weekend Writing Prompt #194 – Beguile | Sammi Cox (wordpress.com)
Wish I could rest beguiled–
Believing willingly in soft whispered lies
If only for this little while of rest
As if slipping easily between
The waxen petals of lilies
And curling round the sweetened smell
Of wonderous blossoming softness—
Yet the price, the price of choosing
The rest of such beguilement
Tiny One
You wake this morning,
My Tiny One,
Your morning of sun and warmth,
Mine of damp, dense fog.
Yet, I know,
Know you’ve found them all,
The squirrel hunter,
The gentle soft one,
The lion-hearted protector,
And the human,
The human I told of,
Whose pockets contain
Tasty treats,
Who is a warrior, like you,
Tiny One, like you,
Whose body now whole,
No longer wasted at all,
Now strong.
This human can throw the ball
All day long for you,
And you, my Tiny One,
No longer standing on shaking, wobbly,
Wasted legs which seek to betray,
Can chase and chase and chase
That ball all day,
Returning it each time
To the human who
Like you, my Tiny One,
With battles fought and done,
With all the wars won,
Runs, runs free now, Tiny One.
So now, my Tiny One,
All your battles done,
All your wars won,
Run, run free, Tiny One.
Winter’s Grief
Icy cold wind walks.
Blinding sunshine ironic,
Burning horizons,
Promises of warmth
Unfulfilled in morning’s cry
Of grey storm cloud’s tears,
And then nothing left
Of fires or dreams curling,
Blanketing round us.
