Monthly Archives: February 2013

Expectations

I am the monarch
of Monday
when the world
watches and
expectations are high,
it is Sunday,
when I’m alone,
I cry. . .


For Carry On Tuesday

Sunday Scribblings
and One Single Impression

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Filed under Poetry, Poetry - Prompts

within

Venus de Milo with Drawers - Salvador Dali, 1936

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

there came a time
when the only
place left to
hide, was
within
herself

.

.

for The Mag

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Love, Minus Cliches

love is described in terms
of the sublime —

stealing pieces of time
gazing into clear eyes,
testing the limits of flesh
while learning to fly,
being lost in each moment
with no desire to be found —

while these ideals may happen,
the real heroics
of love are found
in the discipline of patience
and persevering through
the tears of prophets.

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Graffiti

graffiti

 

 

 

 

awaken your mind,
heart and voice

rouse a spirit
of indignation
and righteousness

be heard and seen,
let your words be
awakened

history will remember
today if you refuse
to be silent

take what is written
on the walls, engrave
it on your soul

awaken yourself
to tomorrow

.

.

Anna at dVerse asks for graffiti this week. I looked at these stanzas as being separate pieces that could be ‘written on a wall’, or they could be taken together as part of the whole.

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Missing Land, a haibun

I found myself digging my hand into the flower box outside the restaurant, to roll the moist soil between my fingers, feel it imbed under my nails, inhale the fragrance, close my eyes to relive another time and place — he was old before I knew him, on one knee breaking apart a clump of soil with his callused, weathered hands, knowing by the texture and smell whether it was time to plant — when dirt and grass were underfoot, few of the roads were paved and the smell of steel and filth was unknown.

covered by concrete,
a future only found where
the earth remembers

.

.

This week Margo asked for a piece about “the land”. She was a bit more descriptive, but that is why there is a link, so you can go read what she has to say. 🙂

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One Time

There was one time —

at the cafe, a booth
in the back, after a couple
of drinks —

when she let herself go,
allowed passion to
overtake reason.

She wore a black dress
with white polka-dots.

There was another time…
but it is not so clear.

.

.

For the image prompt at The Mag.

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In Which Memory Replaces Reason

I remember watching her
as she stood on a beach
of crushed pink coral, bathed
in sea spray as waves

batter the reef, the dry salt
leaving designs on her skin,
like threads in the pattern
of a life unafraid to live.

I remember watching her,
lounging at a wrought iron
table in a New Orleans courtyard,
a plume of smoke escapes

open lips, empty bottle of rare
wine in one hand, glass held
with two fingers of the other,
ready to shatter upon the bricks.

I remember watching her
as she dances barefoot down
cobblestone streets — oblivious
to rain, thunder and onlookers —

while the music plays on
in her mind, refusing to
accept she is no longer
the princess of the ball.

Each memory a stain, an incident
never to be discussed.

.

For the Sunday Whirl.

Shared at the Imaginary Garden and dVerse

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