Tag: #Relationships

Gems of Dawn and Sunset

Image is my own

 

If I could gather a handful of dawn and a handful of sunset,

I’d cut and polish each handful into gems

                       For you to keep,

To take out and wear as you would wish,

For there are no stones of value containing beauty enough

To give you but these that are not true stone—

 

Yes, a handful of sunset,

A handful of dawn—

Their beauty ever constant,

Yet ever changing—

Daily renewed—

The only things containing beauty enough

For you.

 

The Gargoyle

Foggy Night and Moon Light over The Gargoyles of Notre Dame in Paris (Courtesy of istock.com)









When the prowess of early morn


And the touch of dawn’s fingertips


Overwhelm my heart and soul,


I am reminded of some story


I heard somewhere as a child—


From a book or cartoon


Or some sitter’s wild


Imagination of bedtime tales,


The story of the gargoyle


Who was beckoned


To a place in heaven


By an angel fair.


 


And there the gargoyle stayed


For a day or three or more


Or maybe a week or three.


For a moment,


The gargoyle knew sweetness and joy,


Thinking, perhaps, for once, just this once,


The universe had smiled down


Upon one of the gargoyle race,


And felt the cracking of stone begin.


 


But the gargoyle, being a gargoyle,


A somewhat silent, stony creature,


Soon bored the angel who withdrew,


Having angel business to attend too.


 


The gargoyle knew. Knew from the start too,


But had hoped it was not to be held true–


That angel and gargoyle were not a pairing to be made.


Such creatures being out of each other’s realm


Cannot last but a season or two.


So, the gargoyle fell to earth again


To crouch forever upon a building,


 Keeping watch upon the city and the sky. 


 


The gargoyle knew this was the nature of things


And thought itself blessed for ever having known


The sweetness of an angel.


For what angel had ever doted upon a gargoyle?


The gargoyle asked.


 


For years, the gargoyle crouched,


Watching the city and the sky,


Remembering, reliving the sweetness


Known of an angel.


Yet wishing such sweetness had never been tasted,


Never been touched,


Forever was too long to remember


The memories encased in stone


Where wind and rain would never touch,


Would never wear them away.


 


Thus, the gargoyle paid the price


For allowing stone to crack.


 


 


 


 


 


 
	


	
	






	
	

		
Buried
	


	

		

Image courtesy of The Guardian





https://amanpan.com/2021/07/08/eugis-weekly-prompt-network-july-8-2021/









 


Can’t really say how it happened.


But it did.  All those years ago.


Some may say it’s a pity or a sin.


All I say is I survived.


 


It was the lava, really.


That’s at fault.  Yeah, maybe


me, since I did let it in.


Into my network of arteries and veins,


letting it flow until it coated


everything inside.


It cooled.


I turned to stone.


I walked in skin and could yet bleed.


But, sure enough, inside—


I was stone.


I felt nothing.


And that felt good—


To be cold as stone.


No longer part of the network of humanity


Though I walked in it—


How perfect it felt


to feel inhuman,


to feel nothing at all–


At least, for a little while.


 


 
	


	
	






	
	

		
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 Work of Spring
	


	

		

image courtesy of anoregoncottage.com

















I clipped away dead branches





From the living shrubs today.





Not an easy thing,





But a thing that must be done.





Strange it is how dead things





Will cling so tightly to the living





As if to squeeze





The last remaining bits of life away





And thus, have company in death and dying.  





 





There is yet more to do





So only the living things are left





To flourish in the spring sun.

	


	
	






	
	

		
Emerge
	


	

		

Image is my own









 




Days lengthen,





The sun returns





In an earnestness





We have not seen in months.










Not yet does the earth send warmth





Enough to climb through the soles of our feet–





Not yet warmth enough to creep onward up our legs,





Stretching, reaching toward our souls,





Where I carry the wish I have of you





One day, perhaps—





Perhaps, I may find the courage to grasp





In an aching, aging hand the bone to break





And set loose the wish I have of you.

	


	
	






	
	

		
Among the Ruins
	


	

		

Image courtesy of Pinterest.com





Tuesday Writing Prompt Challenge: Tuesday, December 22, 2020 | Go Dog Go Café (godoggocafe.com)




Walk with me among the ruins


I will show you the points of interest–


Notice the weeds grown up


between the cracks of stone,


the chambers filled with mold,


the temple fallen, the altar cracked,


seeming to fold.


Imagine who may have walked here


once so long ago,


wracking havoc with fire


upon those who called this home.


The fires burning to spite


the cold winter rain.


Those who survived left


staring into winter’s


icy back eyes


in the heart of it all.


 


 


 


 
	


	
	






	
	

		
Your Darkness
	


	

		

Image courtesy of Pinterest









Ripples of a soul


Touching mine


To find, to feel such joy–


 


There is nothing


Of eloquence in luck.


Only brutality


To be had


In coincidence.


Nothing of sustenance


In fate or destiny.


 


So, show me not the good side.


No best foot forward


Do I want to see.


We are damned and damaged all


From the emptiness


Of first impressions.


 


I care not to taste the beauty


Within your soul.


But I thirst for the darkness


Of all the monsters


You have hidden away.


Display for me


The ugliness of all your demons


Dazzle me with blackest diamonds shining


Within the soul of your devil’s self.


 


Then let me decide


Not by beauty dazed,


But by darkest of demon devils unfazed


To know and love you


Anyway.





	


	
	






	
	

		
Rope
	


	

		

Image courtesy of Etsy















Endless mantra of your obsessive need–





Recited daily, hourly, till a rope twined,





Weaving a noose around me.





https://sammiscribbles.wordpress.com/2020/08/29/weekend-writing-prompt-172-endless/

	


	
	






	
	

		
Of Need and Desire
	


	

		

Image courtesy of Sue Vincent




https://scvincent.com/2020/08/06/thursday-photo-prompt-fantasy-writephoto/



So very willingly,


I placed my head into danger’s toothy mouth


When I climbed the Pilgrim’s stairs–


Until dizzy from the height,  


And the steepness of the effort–


All done to look upon


A pure crystalline blue sky


Caressing a sapphire sea—


A fantasy of need.