Tag: Sammi Cox

After The Party

99 emails await attention
brain, like legs, plastic –

To do’s flood consciousness,
constrict breathing –

The sun, reacting to yesterday’s
intensity, has stayed away –
a co-conspirator in misery

I wait for illumination –
clear direction on how
to begin, motivation
to follow

Dampness seeps in –
a body-snatcher –
I must move

Emptied wine glasses
linger on countertop –
remnants of celebration

I turn the faucet to hot
immerse glass and flesh,
will progress.

(Written for Sammi Cox’s Weekend Writing prompt: illumination in 73 words.  Also linking up to Fandango’s flood, and Ragtag Community’s plastic.  Image from personal collection.)

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Sleep is For Other

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.)

Love Talk

It’s like cycling uphill
in three lanes of traffic
in a snowstorm

trying to communicate with you

I keep peddling –
sending signals –

but you’re like the SUV
spraying slush in your wake

hindering  progress,
ignoring my needs…

Aren’t we soulmates –
in tune, hearts beating as one –
words superfluous between us?

Then why am I about to expire
and you’re just revving up?

No telepathy at work here.

Empathy lacking, too.

(Sammi Cox’s weekend challenge is telepathy in 72 words)

Losing Direction

Certain, are we,
of the direction chosen,
authoritative in our drive…

yet, impulsivity rides along
and our assets are but plastic,

and these dreams of ours
are they even realistic?

Oh how adversity casts aspersions;
how easily plans crumble

focus deteriorates, threatens
to abandon, desire takes a back seat
to the dictates of old agendas…

we revert, wait for endings –
certain closure will refuel purpose…

and fret: is resolution even possible?
and is it necessary

or can we reload,
set course anew,

let faith keep us afloat?

(Inspired by a dream and written for Sammi Cox’s Weekend Writing prompt #63: crumble, which challenges us to write a composition in 88 words.)

Speak No Evil

Suspect
these sentiments,
gnarled and ungrateful,
only serve to tip the scale
in favour of cynicism

have, therefore,
decided on self-
imposed quarantine;
will be keeping thoughts
to myself, thank you.

Suffice to say
that having confronted
multiple betrayals,
and insurmountable
heartache, all pointing

vile accusations
at a lack of discernment,
and questionable self-worth,
I am currently not imbibing
romantic dribble –

Oh, dear! I’ve said too much.

(Inspired by the daily promptings of: Fandango (suspect), Ragtag Community (scale), Daily Addictions (intimidate), and Sammi Cox’ Weekend Writing Prompt (quarantine).

Image produced by yours truly.)