No straight road,
no easy, out of the pod,
solutions – complexity,
it seems, reigns.
I travel circular paths
past ancient structures –
having erected statues
to past wounds – present
walls barely standing.
Unseen forces drive –
societal angst, perhaps –
know only that life
is possibility, and I
sorrowfully lag.
(Written for Twenty Four’s 50 Word Thursday, with help from the daily prompts of Fandango – easy, and Ragtag Community – pod. Image supplied by Deb Whittam of Twenty Four.)
Naughty thrilled her –
lacked inhibitions toward elicit,
tantalized by promised ‘nice’
Imagined blood red petals
strewn atop steamy suds,
champagne flutes and
intoxicating entanglements.
Fantasies never ran to
infested walls crumbling
in barren captivity –
his version of naughty
turned her blood to ice
nothing about the scenario ‘nice’.
(Tonight is the last Open Link night at the dVerse pub for 2018, hosted by Grace. I am submitted this poem, inspired by the prompts of Manic Mondays 3 Way Prompt, and Twenty Four’s 50 word Thursday. Image provided by Deb Whittam of Twenty Four.)
Alternate realities
parallel linear logic –
Non-ego driven forays into
magical mysteries –
answers not supplied –
Float in orgasmic,
ethereal landscapes –
kaleidoscopic colours
unseen by cloistered eyes
Behold irrationality –
a mad whirlwind of all-time
convening into a single moment
The portal’s open,
step aboard;
make sure your ticket
is round-trip.
(Submitted for Twenty Four’s 50 Word Thursday challenge. Image supplied by Deb W.)
This confined life –
carefully construed –
ingrains order,
commands discipline.
I can free myself
from urbanity,
declare adventure
as prerogative, but
how long before
I release the need
for control, unburden
internal restraints
let go, and open
to divine rhythms?
Doubt I possess
the trust required
to live with such
uncertainty.
(Submitted for Twenty Four’s 50 word Thursday. Photo is part of the prompt.)
Escape sits
stalled,
waiting,
one small key
an ounce of courage
and off I’d go,
a wake of water
heralding my exit.
Instead,
I retreat –
courage resides elsewhere,
such exhilaration
belongs to youth –
will ponder adventure
another day –
wait,
stall,
escape
into a nap.
(Written for Twenty Four’s: 50 word Thursday. Photo supplied with challenge.)
Finely cut crystal –
silver and gold –
sparkle and entice.
A table fit for royalty.
Savoury aromas evoke visions
of sumptuous gravy,
delectable roast,
crisp-cooked vegetables,
and decadent desserts.
She’d stop to admire her handiwork,
but the children, hungry
and bored with the waiting,
tug at her hem.
Waiting.
It is her greatest strength.
Prepare, prepare,
then wait.
They’ll arrive shortly, noisily
full of their days,
fail to remark on the preparations
They’ll sit
be served
praise the deliciousness
gobble up seconds
push back their chairs
wander off
for a kip
or a smoke
and she’ll linger
picking at congealed gravy- covered mashed
unconsciously dabbing at a red wine stain
and marvel at how she accomplished it all
without bitching
without protesting
a trouper till the end
What’s that you say?
She’s sounding a bit like the martyr?
Oh no, you’ve found her out.
Superwoman has a dark side.
(This was originally penned a few years back, and I resubmitting it here, edited, for Twenty Four’s 50 word Thursday. Photo is courtesy of Deb Whittam as part of her prompt.)
Life! One day rushing to collect kids, stopping for the dry cleaning, and praying the slow cooker is indeed cooking; and the next strolling down uncluttered lanes, contemplating absence. How did we get here? How did we dream so big and land so humble? Gone are big homes and hefty mortgages. Hell, we’re down to one car. Sunday dinners with the family are memories and nowadays, my head spins to think of cooking for more than we two.
Now we speculate about time left. Ponder what distances will support us. Shall we travel, avoid the winter months, and if so, will our health cooperate? Will the children understand? Forgive my melancholy. The silence is echoing off the walls, and I am reflective today. Not in a good way. I’d best get myself outside for some fresh air.
Time slips through fingers
palms reaching outward, hopeful –
Fall’s hues distract woe.
(Written for Twenty Four’s 50 Word Thursday, and dVerse‘s open link night. Photo supplied by Deb Whittam)
Like fisherman throwing their lines,
she casts her spells…imagines
the universe as an ocean,
conceives of elementals, hungry
for bait, waiting to nibble at her intentions –
as if words hold sway –
thinks patience is her key,
believes that with just the right lure,
she can reel in destiny,
determine fate.
(This piece is inspired by the combined prompts of Willow Poetry’s What Do You See? and Twenty Four’s 50 word Thursday – image below.)
Cigarette butts
no longer linger
concrete, but
I swear the cloud
of smoke lingers,
the sweat of adolescent
anxiety – the suffocating
pressure to comply –
Names escape,
but I remember
smugness and
rivalry, and
the spine-crawling fear
of confrontation,
and indisputable
in my mind
are the scars
of being so alone.
(Written for Twenty Four’s 50 word Thursday prompt. Image supplied by Deb Whittam.)
Shipwrecked –
tossed ashore by blatant lies,
women’s cries lost
in political gales
Collins says
#MeToo
is valid,
should be continued
Just not this time
Might as well
throw one life preserver
for the millions drowning
Hope GOP have
their own life jackets
handy for the tsunami
that is imminent.
(Written for 50 Word Thursday.)
One Woman's Quest 