The Words Rebel

I had an argument with all my words today. 

For they would not stay
in their delightfully organized spots.
Seems, if you will,
they wanted to jump around and play,
ignoring the sense of my color coded dots.

I must admit I lost my patience, yelling,
“We will never accomplish
anything useful if you play
In this most rambunctious way.”

To this, they in unison whined,
“Why must we be serious all the damn time?”

And to that, I could not provide argument.
Thus, we decided to play
And took a vacation today.

Periphery

Image is my own. Taken at the Museum of Fine Arts, Houston

VJ’s Weekly Challenge: peripheral – One Woman’s Quest II (onewomansquest.org)

Periphery

The whitest teeth

Of one brother’s smile.

Hair so black

The curls shine blue,

My mother’s hair

A forehead with a line

Of slicked back black hair,

My real father.

Clark Kent glasses,

The frames of the coke

Bottle bottom glasses,

My other brother.

The whisper of an accent

mingles with scent of Old Spice cologne,

the man I thought was my father–

Fleeting things—

Such imagery captured briefly

In the corner of the senses

Some strange trick of heart and mind—

The mind’s empty, missing parts perhaps

Playing the trickster

With edges of the senses,

So we think we see, hear, smell

The seeds of things we grieve.

Images of the dead

Cannot be real.

Such things as ghosts

Do not exist.

These ephemeral flashes

Of the senses share no breath,

No grace of God gives life

To them as they melt away

Before a half breath

Can be taken.

So, I stood

Still

Afraid to breathe

Afraid to blink

Or let the tears

That gathered fall

When I saw

A lion’s mane of hair

As you tilted your head back

To smile—

For six years—

I had not seen you

Felt you

At all–

Until

I stood

Gazing at Van Gogh’s

Field with Irises near Arles–

Your favorite flower—

Irises–

and art you loved—

the first time

in six years,

I feel you nearby—

I am stilled—

Until

Someone else moves

Beside me,

A distraction,

And you are gone.

But you linger with me

Like a wonderful and strong

perfume

The Chase of Words

Image courtesy of Windows Report

VJ’s Weekly Challenge: The Chase – One Woman’s Quest II


 

The words—

It is the always—the words—

I have always been

Searching the sidewalks, paths, trails, highways, the sky outside

     For the words—

Combing gently through those I love

     For the words—

Hunting the faces of strangers, my own face, my dogs, my friends

     For the words—

Scouring the hearts, the souls of those I observe

     For the words—

Ransacking restful, peace giving nature

     For the words—

Scourging even, in the chase, my faith

     For the words—

And they are never perfect.

Leaden

image courtesy of scvincent.com
https://scvincent.com/2020/06/25/thursday-photo-prompt-silver-writephoto-2/

I can not begin to hold

the silver in the twilight air,

for it too quickly slips from my fingers.

My feet stuck in my quicksand thoughts

of moonlight shimmering on silvered hair

so, stop any step toward a silver chance,

Slipping away like silk as twilight

Fades into velvet night.

Renew

Image from Gumtree.com

Begin with unpacking

the loss of years.

Perhaps, for once,

Win the battle with tears.

Start over clean, new.

 

Carry emptied, broken down boxes,

bundled and tied, sticky at the edges

with their old used tape, to the curb.

Balanced no longer on narrow ledges.

Breathe now, once again.

Written in response to: https://amanpan.com/2020/05/25/eugis-weekly-prompt-renewal-may-25-2020/

Color Dreams

https://godoggocafe.com/2020/05/26/tuesday-writing-prompt-challenge-tuesday-may-26-2020/

Today’s prompt: End a piece of prose or poetry with the phrase “I miss you”

 

Don’t know what to do

when I dream of you.

Waking, I want to drench

my brain in pure bleach,

soaking it through,

until all the colors of you

out of my soul leach

and no longer do I miss you.

Washing the World

Image falling into the rain by Moonlight-Rainstorm on Deviant Art
https://sammiscribbles.wordpress.com/2020/05/23/weekend-writing-prompt-158-downpour/
Use the word downpour and create a poem or prose piece in exactly 88 words.  

 

It does begin with whispers of wind,

Steady, slow rhythm of fattened rain drops.

The distant rumbles begin.

Then the slight, quick flashing starts.

Soon the wind howls.

The rain beats as if a beast

Against the windows.

The rumbles, the shouting of an angry God

At the petulant child of a world.

The flashing, the cracking whip

Of our forgotten master.

The downpour is here,

The sobbing of the forgotten,

The hated, the poor,

The ones we were to love.

No ark on this horizon is seen.

The Spider’s Life

Image from Sue Vincent Thursday Photo Prompt

https://scvincent.com/2020/05/21/thursday-photo-prompt-painted-writephoto/

This week’s prompt ~ Painted

For visually challenged writers, the image shows a rather oriental red bridge over a  pool covered with waterlilies and surrounded by trees.

She lived a painted life.

Careful with her brushes

Always touching up

A chip, a mark, a ragged flaw

As she found them.

If she found a rip or tear

In the precious canvas,

It just would not do,

But she would oh, so carefully

Apply the much-needed glue.

No.  Not a single person could tell.

Not a single person knew.

 

No one knew the time

And care and money

She spent on this

Carefully painted life–

Of verdant grasses,

Irises of every shade

Deepest purples

To palest pinks,

The lush canna lilies,

Fragrant gardenias and lilacs,

The splendor of magnolias,

The stately cedars.

 

Everyone speaks of a gentle stateliness,

In the air of her personal dress,

Her blonde locks, and her wounded blue eyes

As they looked out

Upon the careful paint of her garden lair,

A spider inspecting her web.

But her victims knew

Of every rip and tear

And all the rot beneath the paint.

For her victims lay silent, faint

Cocooned beneath

Many coats of paint.