relationships

Bouquets of the Ramshackle

~ Annette Kalandros ~ 5 Comments
wk 227 ramshackle
https://sammiscribbles.wordpress.com/2021/09/18/weekend-writing-prompt-227-ramshackle/

https://amanpan.com/category/eugis-prompts/

With ramshackle shards
Of heart, soul, self
Falling away like the browned petals
Of a long-wilted bouquet,
We create a riotous noise
In ramshackle attempts
To find some connection.

Lumbering, awkward attempts
At reaching out to touch once again,
To replace, to freshen 
The brown wilted and missing parts
With new bouquets of spring
Whose stems sit in eternally
Fresh, clean waters.

We dream of a life lived
No longer ramshackle,
With no long-wilted bouquets
Of a past to haunt with falling petals,
But a life returning whole,
To move without noise
Through the world once again.

Honesty

~ Annette Kalandros ~ 4 Comments
Image courtesy of Wallpaperflare
wk 222 glow

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

of stone and blossoms

~ Annette Kalandros ~ Leave a comment
Image is my own





I am unsure how this happened,
but the stone grew, encasing me,
protective and cold, a walking grave
of comfort for many years.

Now, having grown moss over
the passing of so many seasons and
used to the weight of stone I carry
into the calm of night,
blossoms burst forth from this tonnage
of comforting cold stone,
this grave of a home I have known.

I would like to twist,
turn away from
such blossoms,
yet find I cannot.
I cannot gather dust to me,
creating stone again.
Cannot piece shards together
for there are not enough left
in this remaining dust.

As I rest in this place,
I will tuck these blooms away--
Until they bear ripened fruit,
Readied for picking.

Fragrant blossoms
that they may only be
for now.




			

	


				
					


	

			
Petals of Words
		

				

						 ~ Annette Kalandros			 ~ 3 Comments					

				

		

Photo by Yaroslav Shuraev on Pexels.com




 


 


I swore never to give my words away like blossoms in the spring.


Yet, I marvel at all the words I’d gather,


arrange for you in artful, elegant bouquets.


I’ve keloid locks where my words are stored.


I possess not the oils to soften those locks,


Trapping my words deep in their vault,


My words may never know freedom.


 


Yet, I find myself streaming petals of words for you


In hazy, lazy patterns,


Knowing you have the wisdom, the soul


To read my words much like braille—


A code of sorts–


So you can hear and know,


Though unspoken,


All my words bestow.


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 
			

	


				
					


	

			
In the Long Ago So It Goes
		

				

						 ~ Annette Kalandros			 ~ Leave a comment					

				

		

image courtesy of istock









 


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.


 


 
			

	


				
					


	

			
The Embroideress
		

				

						 ~ Annette Kalandros			 ~ Leave a comment					

				

		

Image courtesy of picClick




 



 


 


Like some ancient voodoo priestess,


Fears sits and smiles from her rocking chair.


Tilting her gray head to her work at hand,


Fear embroiders in red thread


The narratives of my old scars.


She stitches in orange and green thread


The flowers of my poorly made cobwebbed choices.


She stitches in black thread


The vanquished vines of  all my loss and pain.


She stitches in yellow thread


Her flowers of caution at the edges,


All the while chanting an ancient spell,


Giving her stitched yellow flowers


Magic to steal any power in the air,


Paralyzing– daring the pulse.


 


Fear stitches away in red thread


On the last cloth of daring I’ve left,


And I, I am paralyzed by the stitching made.


 


 


 
			

	


				
					


				
					


	

			
Next time– Get a Dog
		

				

						 ~ Annette Kalandros			 ~ 2 Comments					

				

		

pexels-photo dog





You should have gotten yourself a dog.
              No, really.  I mean it.  Instead of chasing me
              Until you caught me.
What you thought you’d found,
When you found me—
And that’s what you wanted me to be—
              A rescued dog—
                             Full of gratitude and loyalty for the perceived rescue.
                             With no record or memory of previous owners,
                                           Ah, an extremely important part.
                             A wagging tail at every word or look from you.
                             Sitting at attention, waiting patiently for you.
                             Desperate for any command you should happen to give.
                             Dutifully complying with each command, each wish
                                           You should ever express.
                             No friends, no family, no loves.  No needs
                                           Other than you and to serve you.
 
That is what you wanted
That is what you needed—
              In your own words—
                             To be my number one at all times.
                             After all, no one would love me better.
                             No one would give me a better home,
                             As you so lovingly liked to remind me.
                            
 
Next time get a dog.
She’ll feed your ego better.

			

	


				
					


	

			
Dreaming of You
		

				

						 ~ Annette Kalandros			 ~ Leave a comment					

				

		
Medusa


Image from lostgirlmyths.wikia.com


I dreamed of you the other night.

A dream in color and complete.

We both know I rarely remember dreams.

But this one I awoke from—fresh

With that it felt so real feeling.

Imagine my surprise

when I realized

this dream hadn’t dripped from reality.


We sat, it seemed, at some café

In Dallas or Houston,

Or perhaps, we were strolling

The streets of Provincetown,

Walking across the Golden Gate,

Hiking some trail up a Colorado mountain,

Riding the subway of Manhattan,

Driving the traffic jams of Baltimore or

Los Angeles. Perhaps, we watched the whales

Out on the Pacific or maybe it was the Atlantic.

For in the dream, the background shifted like

A chalk drawing on the pavement in a rainstorm,

The colors bleeding, fading, sliding into one another

The way we used to do.


The place doesn’t matter, in the grand scheme

And all, of any such dream.

You talked away as you always did,

Leaving me no room to breathe

Or even catch enough air to say a word,

Squeezing the freedom from my soul.

Your eyes glowed, shining sapphires with no rain.

Your golden bleached hair blowing wild in dream wind.

Your words twisted, tangled in on themselves,

Doing a contortionist’s dance,

Snaking their way into my ears and on toward

The inner working of my heart and brain,

Slithering under the door to my soul.


Once there, your words tried to bite away,

Injecting some poison into my heart, my brain, my soul

To twist me into saying all the things

You wanted me to say–

All the things your ego needed—


Like that oppressive August afternoon

When you argued nonsense to get me to say

I was to blame and beg to stay.

I never knew a slither of words

Could slide and twirl so many ways

like those ribbons of a gymnast, circling this way and that.

As you saw a snaking pattern wasn’t working so well,

I watched your frustration rise.

Your back straightened even more so.

Your eyes narrow almost microscopically,

Your thin lips disappear completely.


I woke then, laughing.

I think I startled my dog.

I laughed again—

To think the last few days I had been missing you—

To think I had once thought you beautiful as a goddess–

Even wrote Botticelli and Byron got it wrong.

Now I see Medusa

When I think of you.

It’s a bloody wonder I, myself, am not stone,

But the well of my hope is another matter.

			

	


				
					


	

			
Lies We Tell Ourselves
		

				

						 ~ Annette Kalandros			 ~ 2 Comments					

				

		
a85067d662325fd67f5b8aaf448668a1
image from Pinterest


The lies we tell ourselves

Such sparkling things.


Belief needed in the moment–

See diamonds, rubies, sapphires,

Gold, treasures to cherish.

Let the mirror reflect

The lies to eyes

And souls

In needing desire.

Do not hold them in harsh sun.

Too thin,

Too frail,

Too fragile

To withstand such blazing light.


Gently bury them deep

Beneath the soil

Of a needing heart

And the damp decay

Of foolish wants.

Let the lies take root

Growing into the very soul.


Believing

The lies

We tell ourselves,

We smile

To keep

The truth at bay,

As the lies grow

The rot of hopelessness

Into our very souls.