no sense of
taking steps
as I am
pulled
tugged
dragged
down the aisle
merely watch as pews
pass peripherally
like effects from
a 3D movie
black attired bodies
glance at me
with blank faces
as I pass
no features
only tears
I stop at the
three open-lidded
boxes waiting
against the wall
releasing a pent up
scream
as I see the
faces within
Filed under Poetry, Poetry - Prompts
(Photo credit: Hannah Gosselin ©2012 Phippsburg, Maine)
Two of my aunts used to run a country store down at the lake. It was more than that really; you could get everything from an ice cream cone to a new wig made on site. The ice cream was more popular.
My Uncle Bill and Uncle Fred would man the porch. They were pranksters by trade and both had retired from their hobby of teaching. They spent most of their summers, even before they retired, in rocking chairs on either side of the stairs leading to the front door. No one could enter the store without going by at least one of them.
They were harmless and fun and part of the reason people stopped in. Both of them always carried a notebook and a pen. One of their favorite pastimes was to write short little poems about everyone that came by, especially tourist and anyone new. They were usually funny, or cutesy, and short. Occasionally someone would justify something serious, but never hurtful. Mostly they were along the lines of:
Red in her hair
and on her toes,
but neither as cute
as ice cream on her nose.
They would tear them out of their notebooks and give them to the person they were written about. Occasionally, someone would keep one and cherish it, but mostly they ended up in the trashcans inside or blowing across the parking lot.
I worked there summers growing up; me and Big Tony. We were the only employees. Big Tony was about forty, deserving of his nickname, and a bit slower than most folks. In thinking that is. He was a hard worker. We would take care of the trash, sweep the floors, restock shelves; whatever my aunts needed. I liked working with Tony, he smiled a lot and never had a harsh word for anyone or anything.
Years later, after my aunts and uncles had passed on along with the store, I would stop in and check on Tony as often as I could. He lived in an assisted living place and seemed to enjoy it. We would take walks and occasionally go back down to the lake and fish.
One day he decided to show me his room. It was neat and clean, just like he had always been; bed, chair, table, TV. The usual set up. But covering the walls were hundreds of pieces of notebook paper that I remembered so well. Each one had a small, hand written poem about someone that had passed through that store: discarded, left behind.
“Tony, how did you get these?”
“I used to pick them up. Out of the trash, off of the parking lot.”
“Why?”
“Besides you, they are the only friends I have.”
My visits to Tony become more frequent. When the time came, I collected all of his ‘friends’ into a scrapbook and made a copy. The copy I kept, the other was on Tony’s chest when they closed the lid.
Written for the Flashy Fiction photo prompt.
Filed under Creative writing, Flash Fiction, Free Write, Short Story
The chase was over,
she had lost,
dead end room.
A lock on a flimsy door
the last barrier to
her tormentor.
Insidious, triumphant
scratch of
nails on wood,
before it shatters
inward.
13 Frightened Souls (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
Something new, why not? This is for the weekend challenge prompt at Trifecta: “Write a horror story in 33 words, without the words blood, scream, died, death, knife, gun, or kill. Good luck.” Not having any experience in the genre, reading or writing, I am sure it is amateurish and trite at best. But like I said, why not?
Filed under Creative writing, Poetry
In a moment of
still solitude I shall
rest my hand upon
the earth and feel
its pulse and rhythm.
In a moment of
still solitude I shall
remove the veil of
self from my eyes to
see all I have ignored.
In a moment of
still solitude I shall
hush the clamor of
hustle and bustle and
hear the wind breathe.
In a moment of
still solitude I shall
remove this protective
skin and absorb through
raw pores the essence of life.
Shall I, at that moment,
weep with the knowledge
of years of privation,
or embrace possibility
with tears of ecstasy?
solitude (Photo credit: AndyRobertsPhotos)
For the dVerse Poets prompt from Victoria Slotto. Theme: living in the moment.
Filed under Poetry, Poetry - Prompts
One last thing,
before you go,
there are a few more
task you have to do.
You must take back the
last time we kissed and
remove this feeling of
your lips on mine.
The scent of you must
be removed from all
my clothes and the
towels and sheets.
Pictures must be burned
and memories erased,
that blanket cannot stay,
or the plant, or the cat.
Be gentle throwing your
luggage about, remember
that you carry with you
my heart.
Not
that I shall
be needing it
again.
Accessories (Photo credit: N．L)
Written for the Poetic Asides Prompt for a ‘one last thing’ poem.
Filed under Poetry, Poetry - Prompts
Fragment of a scent,
nothing more —
a passing stranger
jostled in a crowd,
not her.
A fragrant memory
of another time,
mere remnant of a
previous life.
Eye of the crowd (Photo credit: abrinsky)
A minimalist approach to Three Word Wednesday. Words to use: fragrent, jostle, remnant.
Filed under Poetry, Poetry - Prompts
I could not resist another quick one for Margo’s image prompts.
The jury visibly relaxed,
Judge Johnson leaned back,
both attorneys smiled a little,
the defendant tried not to react.
Decisions could now be made,
Big John had stood to speak;
people would be swayed,
for truth was all he spoke.
Filed under Poetry, Poetry - Prompts
Somehow the dog knew, had known for days.
Made mother cry every time it sat by the window
and watched him in the yard. Damn thing was in the
back of the truck before his suitcase.
I waited outside while he told his momma goodbye,
this was going to be hard enough without seeing that.
We did not talk much on the way to the bus station, I kept
glancing at him, wondering where the boy had gone.
We sat and waited ’till time to load, making sure to not
look each other in the eye; I knew I would break. The dog
with her head in his lap was almost more than I could take,
he could barely touch her, much less say her name.
Face-to-face, our first man-to-man handshake, both
scared to speak, neither acknowledging the other’s tears.
I broke down and hugged him, he did not resist, then
pushed him to the door, told him to call his momma.
Stayed there a while after the bus left,
petting the dog, reviewing memories through tears.
Tonight would be quiet, and bedtime hell,
when the dog tried to sleep in his room.
Written in response to Margo Roby’s photo prompt (but the poem is supposed to stand without the picture, so you will have to go to her site to see how I did)
Filed under Poetry, Poetry - Prompts
I remember her laugh,
deep sighs late at night,
the rickshaw ride through
Chinatown and leaving out
the Do Not Disturb sign into
the afternoon in New Orleans.
Her favorite roses were violet,
she liked root beer and loved
almonds and carob covered raisins.
She tended to hack up a cake
rather than cut into precise pieces,
lemon being better than chocolate.
All of this, and more, I can recall,
but as I sit and listen to the songs
of night things while watching the
specter of her dance and writhe
in the shadows of the fire, an image
of her face I cannot bring to mind.
Written from Shawna’s Monday Melting word list. Words to include:almond, root, fire, carob, hack, lemon, specter, violet, writhe, disturb.
Filed under Poetry, Poetry - Prompts
I broke down and recorded a recent rant I posted.
Go HERE to listen. Let me know what you think.
RANT, this way (Photo credit: Nesster)
Filed under Poetry
Awakened Words 