Arrange the bones
in a triangle –
incant the words
three times three
Burn the evidence
erase your steps
Paddle off
into the mist –
You’ll be free…
(Must be getting in the spirt of Hallowe’en, or watching too many True Crime episodes, lol. Image my own.)
I’m a sapphire kind of gal –
crystal blue smouldering
sky-bright moody –
the whimsical imaginings
of a heart cast in stone.
(Image mine)
Even weeds reach for the sky,
as if heaven holds a secret,
as if liberation lies in the stars
and the day’s passage into night
is a promise – I reach for the sky
with my prayers, with my wishes,
am no more enlightened than a weed.
Paint-on rainbows
and special edition labels
do not a top-notch product make.
Have we not learned –
domestic audiences are moving on,
are more discerning –
Timing is off
for this pumped up
charade –
Stay committed,
conference,
effort is warranted
if real change is to happen.
I toil in the dreamtime
like a night manager
in a hotel without walls,
catering to clientele –
whose needs, so diverse,
rattle the rows of beds –
settling disputes and
encouraging discretion
and succeeding only
in waking exhausted.
I am like a keeper in
a hostile hostel –
trying to find a key
when there are no
doors to unlock.
(Inspired by sleepless nights and erratic dreaming, and submitted for Sammi Cox’s Weekend Writing Prompt – unlock. Featured image is titled “Self-Portrait with Colours” although my son says it looks more like a LSD trip – I didn’t ask. Alternate title: “I am Slowly Going Crazy”, lol.)
Is it just me, or is anyone else feeling low on energy these days? Wishing you all a laid-back Sunday.
Yesterday’s vibrancy
now faded markings
on boarded up facades
I stand on the edge
of loss, of ghostly
memories and ponder
what lies below –
perched as I am
on a precarious throne
have ignored the call
of the river, the beckoning
horizon, preferred comfort
over adventure, and now
in bitterness, blame those
distant shadows, certain
that the enemy lies
in foreign places,
never on home soil.
(Photo from personal collection was taken along the Rio Grande. Mexico sits across the way. The town we stopped in had many abandoned buildings, reflective of the economy, my guess.)
I like a crispy stalk of celery
to stir a Caesar’s spice,
or a wedge of tart lemon
squeezable in tea that is iced
and cinnamon is delectable
when steeping in hot cider
but never in my sipping days
have I requested a side of spider.
(Based on an actual incident. Photo is proof.)
A rowboat is a useful thing,
to get from a to b, but should
you dream you are stranded
with only one oar,
in a cesspool of sharks,
then I’d say you are hardly
equipped to handle the situation,
but don’t bail –
all you can do is hang on
and wait for the cavalry
(or better yet, Coast Guard).
Remember, save the rowboat
for romantic sunset cruise –
along the shore is best –
or an afternoon of fishing;
better to travel in deeper waters
with a more fitting vessel.
(There, I think I am done. The NaPoWriMo challenge today is to write a dream interpretation for one or more objects listed, which wades into my interest zone. I’ll leave the audience alone now.)
A teacup is a social thing –
fits neatly in matching saucer,
requires raising of pinky finger,
prescribed by social etiquette.
Should it break or, heaven forbid,
spill – its fragile, china composure
spewing hot trails on white linens,
then disgrace could be the theme
which only matters if Victorian
protocols are the priority – perhaps
it’s time to question antiquated
expectations and purchase a mug.
(NaPoWriMo challenge today is to offer dream interpretation for a specific symbol. I’m afraid I might overdo this exercise, as I find it quite fun – so just ignore further posts on the subject.)
One Woman's Quest 