Category Archives: Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie

A Chance to Heal

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It is necessary to watch
Far in front of ourselves
To understand that we are lost
Alex Nevsky – “Jeter in Sort” (“Put A Spell On” – English translation)

It is necessary to watch
Where healing eyes have spoken
Healing braced in the ocean of tears crying
Grateful just to know we still feel
For in sadness is a chance to heal

Far in front of ourselves
Where healing time is forever frozen
Healing in prayers for the dead and the dying
For days like these when we simply cannot deal
And give ourselves a chance to heal

To understand that we are lost
Where healing hearts are ever broken
Healing we must always keep on trying
Giving our all to make the compassion real
Perseverance of faith for a chance to heal
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National Poetry Writing Month (NoPoWriMo) 2017
National Poetry Writing Month 2017 – Day 8
Write a poem using repetition

The Daily Post
The Daily Post
The Daily Post | Daily Prompt – Heal

A to Z Challenge - G
A to Z Challenge – Letter G
G is for Glosa –
This poem is written in a modified glosa

Mindlovemiserty's Menagerie logo
Mindlovemiserty’s Menagerie – Friday Music Prompt
“Jeter un Sort/Put A Spell On” by Alex Nevsky

A Long Season

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Feeling every second of the long season, it had been an especially rough time for her these past months. She can, and has done little else but, imagine how his penchant to skin a razor with his trade likely had him meander a little too long. She knows it was not greed that delayed him, compared to the mediocre craftsmanship of what was immediately available, he knew what their wares were worth and would not accept a sou less than. She did not begrudge him for an instant for it, but winter had assailed the mountain early. Its velvety white touch unusually brutal and endless, it was unsafe to travel the passage.

She thought she would go mad stewing in helpless isolation with the same cask of chores to occupy her days. Checking the store of supplies, because how on earth did those darn insects keep getting into the flour was beyond her ken, as if there were aught she could do had she run out. Checking the flue near religiously because only one lesson of waking, and nearly choking, in a dark smoke fill room was enough. He usually did that – checked the flue among other things. God how she missed him! His bawdy laugh, his soft whispers, his strong hands.  Her one solace had been her sewing. As his lutalica was what made him a master craftsman in his trade, she was with hers. A massive quilt in shades of blue, with white stars and one small red comet, with coordinating pillow covers, now adorned the bed she wearily crawled into.

She did not need a calendar to know winter was nearly over.  The winds were not so brisk. When she ventured out, the sweet scent of something green in the air adds to the warm sunshine finally reaching the foothills. With heavy lids she pressed her cheek to a star festooned pillow at last, even as she looked out of the window to the cold dark night and smiled with hope. The passage would be open and he would be home soon.

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Seeing Stars, Charcoal – Karin Gustafson

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Sunday Wordle #292
Sweet, Touch, Months, Adds, Sunshine, Stew, Cask, Red, Velvety, Smoke, Foothills, Long

MLMM Wordle #148
Cheek, Heavy, Insect, Skin a Razor(Drive a hard bargain), Instant, Greed, Helpless, Meander, Assail, Mediocre, Passage, Lutalica{Lutalica: The Part of Your Identity That Doesn’t Fit Into Categories)

Use at least 10 of the words to create a story or poem. The words can appear in an alternate form, in any order that you like.

ManicDDaily – Seeing Stars, charcoal
This story was going to be something different, and from a male perspective until I saw Karin’s lovely art, then everything changed.

MLMM Wordle 147: Pride Love Letter

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My Darling Vita,

I who would paint iridescent murals, pen epic tomes, sing the most tear-inducing of arias, for its sheer beauty, all in tribute of you, had I the talents for such, know that there is no earthly media truly worthy of encompassing that magical core that is you. All the hoardings of my imagination I have laid bare to you. So forgiveness is begged sorely as I attempt, still, to do such with this lowly pen and ink.

You are my Sol, and I a mere human heliotrope whose face, legs, arms, oh my entire being ever gravitate towards your light, your heat. My passion for your most beautiful mind burned long before you levitated in the chambers of this once hollow heart, now made hallowed by your presence within.  And once introduced to that flashover of heart, body, and soul – the harmonious ballet – of the grace of our physical expressions? Oh! Even when apart I am inseparable from you for there is not a recess in my being into which you haven’t penetrated wholly.  It is the impetuous which spurs me to beg of your return to my side as quickly as the gods allow.

Oh my love! What cost, on the pricelessness of us, can be latched? This war proves it is far too much and far too little all the same, but pay it gladly I will, when I know it garners this magic which is us. Upon my return, I pray that you hold as much fervor to endure its costs with me. Forever…

…and ever yours,
Violet

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In the early 1900s, in an era long before LGBTQA pride, but before LGBTQA shaming somehow became the societal de rigueur, English author Vita Sackville-West fell in love with writer and socialite Violet Keppel. The two embarked upon one of the most notorious love affairs in LGBTQA history. This affair is especially noted for Violet’s most beautiful, yet heartbreaking and poignant love letters to Vita. The above is my take on such a letter had gay pride and marriage equality existed in their day.

Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie and Wordle: Week 147 graphic

Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie and Wordle: 147

Latch, Ballet, Levitate, Heliotrope, Iridescence, Media, Passion, Harmony, Inseparable, Legs, Heat, Flashover

Use at least 10 of the words to create a story or poem. The words can appear in an alternate form.

MLMM – Finish off Friday #9: The Wait

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Clementine anxiously waited for the 5:40 out of the city, wondering if he would be on board. Why she could scarcely believe the amount of time that had passed since they last saw each other! She paced while twisting her handkerchief so tightly in anxious anticipation, it was not until the pain felt in her fingers from circulation’s lack stopped her.

Oh Clem, you’re being silly, stop it this instant!! 

She chastised herself harshly as she unwrapped the material, flexing her fingers until blood flowed again. Finally, the train was here! She kept rising on her toes looking for a sign of him. As the amount of those disembarking thinned, she felt her first sense of dread. When she finally saw the face of her love as he disembarked, she knew.

He came with the porter, who was begging her forgiveness for his folly – he had only wanted to hold the pretty bird just for a moment, he didn’t expect it to take flight.  Clem only had eyes for the empty cage that once held, Rosie, her beloved parakeet.  The woe in her fiance’s eyes told her before his words could.

“She is lost and gone forever. Dreadful sorry, Clementine.”

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Come now, you knew someone was going to go there, right?

Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie : Finish off Friday #9: The Wait 03.03.17

The Distance

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I cringe at the horizon that gives me pause as I sit on a crescent ledge and stew over the possibilities. There be giant monsters here.  I only need to travel a short distance, but the terrain from when I last visited this place has changed. The comfort of the familiar, now replaced by the exotic of a new clime.  Longanimity among my kind has made me tough, but cautious. I know how dangerous it can be, but I will not let fear be the pasty jailer that holds me back. Belatedly, I remember I was out in the open while my mind filtered through various strategies when the world vibrates in sound and a rapidly approaching darkness looms over head.

I’ve been seen by one of the giants that roam here. Death is all but a certainty when afflatus strikes and I make a run across the emerald landscape for the crevice ahead. The blast of air that propels me toward my goal is only equal in terror to the noise of the impact narrowly missing where I just stood.  I skitter into the narrow space between counter and the oven, hearing the giant bellow in frustration as I drop out of reach.

swat-green

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Yes, this from the view of the cockroach.
I fully bless (blame?) the Wordle graphic for the inspiration.

wordle-145

Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie | Weekly Wordle #145

Crescent, Exotic, Ledge, Longanimity, Filter, Stew, Pasty, Afflatus, Emerald, Jailer, Cringe, Noise

Use at least 10 of the words to create a story or poem. The words can appear in an alternate form, in any order that you like.

Let Me Be There

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Sometimes life just isn’t good,
Nothing feels right, nothing feels like it should
Let me be the one you call
Let me be there

It’s the Tree of Life, we all get to climb
But you may feel you’re out on a weak limb
If you jump I’ll break your fall
Let me be there

Abandon the flaws, just forget it
But never give up on belief in mirabilia, let it
Lift you up and fly away with you into the night
Let me be there 

When you feel the apotropaic fail
I can hold you close should you want to wail
If you need to fall apart
Let me be there 

Let me be the lucida of your soul
Should the darkness baldly enter, grow to take control
I can mend a broken heart
Let me be there 

Hey, it’s plausible that you’re only human
That there will be days when it’s just more than
If you need to crash, then crash and burn
Let me be there 

We’re all in this through tense and tender
So on the days that you feel different remember
You’re not alone
Let me be there
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Italicized lines from “Crash and Burn” by Savage Garden
Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie| Music Prompt # 75 “Crash and Burn”

Bold words from:
Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie Wordle #144 “February 27th, 2017″

Good, Enter, Tree, Mirabilis, Different, Abandon, Plausible, Lucida, Bald, Flaw, Apotropaic, Grow

Use at least ten in a poem or story.

Real Toads: The Tuesday Platform

MLMM: Atriocaval Shunt

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Can I live without him? Unfortunately, yes.
Will I want to? No. God, No.

I sit here and listen to the beep of the heart monitor. It used to be a most gall and wormwood noise before – when it was attached to someone else. It is the most wonderful sound in my world right now. For as long as I hear that sound, that beep, I know his heart still beats, and as his beats – so does mine. Because he is my heart and no one ever wants their warm heart to be attached to a frigid heart monitor. It was so touch and go in the beginning, he coded twice in the ER. The damage to him was that massive. And I sit here by his side, again in the fruitless mental exercise of how we got here.

My bike was showing its age; I didn’t trust it enough to participate in the upcoming Annual All City Cycle so he and I were at our favorite bike shop perusing for a new one.  I was looking at a ridiculously expensive silver and carbon frameset when he called my name to check out a vintage apple red Schwinn that was on display near the showcase window facing the street. I turned just in time to see a car careening towards him at a rapid speed. A woman having a massive heart attack, lost control of the vehicle and crashed into the window of the store. It was less than a heartbeat’s pause – just time for me to scream, not enough time at all for him to dive out of the way before the car jumped the curb, shattering glass panes and my world into a million fragments.

I have been here nearly every day and night for over three weeks now. Our assistant Margie has been such a godsend, showing her talents by holding down the fort at the office in a cinch, but I can see the strain is beginning to get to her. We will give her one hell of a raise once we are back at the office. I will feel so guilty if the business falls into a less lucrative position that what it was before all of this happened. However, its potential failure will not appease the guilt I will feel if he awakens and I am not here. I have only left his side to shower because it drives me more than halfway insane – the grimy feel of being in a sterile hospital 24/7, and yes, I appreciate the irony of it.

There is a difference between sympathy and empathy and you learn it at times like this. Most of our clients are sympathetic, but business is business – they want theirs taken care of, and logically, I understand that. Yet I take one look at him lying there and I could not possibly care less right now.  One of our overseas clients, who had gone through what I’m going through now, sent over a nature sound machine. When I called to thank him and ask why, he says that he had used one when his wife was in a coma a few years back.  He does not know if really worked, but what could it hurt, right? I checked with his doctors first, who also agreed it couldn’t hurt, so I have played different sounds over the past few days.

Tonight, to accompany the palinoia of the heart monitor, I chose wind and rain sounds as it reminded me of our last trip to the coast a few months back for a different race.  A really great picture of us leading a pack of cyclists had made the papers and I pulled out the folded-up copy I always carry with me and grin. I remember the moment the shot was taken, the concentration on my face was less about the race and more about me not stopping to cuss him out yet again. That day had started out with rain and a three hour long argument, but ended with sun and our engagement.

Listening to the sounds and reminiscing, I fall into an exhausted sleep. I wake with him holding my hand.

Wait…he’s holding my hand…

I slowly move my hand to be sure and feel the grip tighten more.

My head pops up to see him smiling at me and I hear the raspiest, but most wonderful sound in three weeks, outside of the heart monitor.

“It’s about time you woke up.”

mlmm-cyclists

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Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie | Weekly Wordle #143

Apple, Frigid, Pane, Gall and Wormwood, Dive, Cinch, Halfway, Grime, Wind, Vintage, Palinoia, Pause

Use at least 10 of the words to create a story or poem. The words can appear in an alternate form, in any order that you like.

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Writing Prompt February 19th – Randomize!

For this week, we are asked to seek inspiration in random places. What does that mean?

1st  – Use the Wikipedia! Random Article button, and the article you get, is the title of your write, in my case Atriocaval Shunt.

2nd – Go to http://writingexercises.co.uk/random-image-generator.php, to receive a random image. Post this image and connect it with your written piece. I feel the Muses, especially Calliope, were being ridiculously generous to me when the bike race image came up. Thus the above story.

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Real Toads : Tuesday Platform

MLMM – Tale Weaver #107: Lost

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We are wandering through ancient streets and hills. Well, I’m wandering, for I have no clue as to our destination, if any, she is strolling. She’s avoiding the main thoroughfares as much as possible, taking alternate paths as only one who lives and breathes these streets can. I tease that I think we’re lost, but I envy the ease of how she knows her way around, casually acknowledging points of interest. I see how every now and then she starts to go for my hand, but then stops herself. I don’t know what to do about that, so I put my hands in my pockets and try to remember to keep them there. Otherwise, she is charming, engaging and yeah I like her, but nothing more. She knows this. When she smiles at me, the corners waver a little, and it makes me feel a little bad, but what can I do?

We stop at a quaint trattoria for one of the best meals that I can remember, which is not saying much. I am enjoying the meal immensely, lost in the deliciousness of it all, but she barely touches hers. I’m watching her push the pasta from one end of the plate to the other, not really knowing what else to do. As we pass the maître de upon leaving, he gives us a hearty enough sendoff, but somehow I know he knows what is going on between she and I.

It was early afternoon when we started this impromptu tour. It was now dusk and the city was becoming a different kind of alive. There was something vaguely familiar, comforting about it that tugged at me, but I could not put a name to it. Ever watchful, she could tell it was bothering me and blatantly grabbed my arm to pull me around a block or two, turn a corner and then stop. I look up and grin.

We had been strolling around these Rome streets all afternoon, and I knew I saw it in distance earlier as we walked a part of Via dei Fori Imperiali. It seemed so far away then, I was wondering if we would get to it at all, but here we were now standing right in front of it. The Flavian Amphitheatre, or as the  name the world mostly knows it by, The Coliseum, beautifully lit up for the night.

As she had held my arm, it was only natural that she takes my hand to hold; I don’t try to retract it. Her fingers are long, her nails short, yet well-manicured, and like her soft smile, I see the tiny tremors belying her nervousness as I notice the ring on the third finger of her left hand. A ring that I know was not there a few minutes ago. I am lost for words as it all comes together. I thought she was a good friend. Yes, but no.

She is my fiancée.

This afternoon, the places we stopped, the maître de at the trattoria, this moment – all of it a rehashing of the day I proposed to her, at dusk, here in front of The Coliseum. For me this afternoon was a random, but wonderful wandering. A change of pace from the emptiness that has become my life. For her it was bittersweet reminiscing. A gentle rehashing in the hopes that it would trigger something of the life we had before the car accident wiped my memories. An urgent prayer it will trigger something. A desperate plea trigger anything.

It triggers nothing.

She knows me intimately, yet I really don’t know her from any of the other tourists milling around us. Her eyes are beseeching the words that cannot fall from my lips. I shake my head sadly, watching as tears form and start to trail down her cheeks, with neither of us doing anything to abate them, as I feel lost anew.

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This week, Lorraine asks us to weave a tale with the threads of lost.

Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie – Tale Weaver #107: Lost 16.02.17

 

The Sunday Whirl: Wordle-286 – Bar None

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Three people walk into a bar; stop at the top step and look around…

The place truly had seen better days. Cloth covers most of the major furnishings.  What was not covered by cloth was under the same thick layers of dust that covered the cloths. A few shafts of sunlight slanted across the room giving an otherworldly sparkle to the dust motes that took to flight upon their entrance and were now resettling. Desaturated of color, the many gray and black shades of dirt and dust gave a horror film quality to the place. In spite of the dust, decay had not taken root. The place had solid bones. The owner was willing to sell it for practically a song as long as someone else was willing to spend for the necessary repairs that certainly would be needed.

With a dramatic flair she takes the few steps down to the main level and walks over to a corner, grabs the edge of a cloth and flips it over onto itself revealing the upright underneath. It was unusual for its time period. Heavy walnut with mother-of-pearl inlays greeted them. Well, what was left of the inlay that is. The inlay was chipped in some places and outright missing in others.  The wood itself had its own dents and stains. Looking at it you could all but imagine someone zoot suited pulling up a stool and hammering out the rhythms of a resounding rag.  She played a couple of chords of what could be called a melody with some love and care and tuning.

Next she unveils a table which had similar inlay work. She leans a little on the table, testing its strength, nearly falling to the floor as the wobbly legs finally revealed themselves and the table broke in half as it crashed to the floor sending up a cloud of dust.   She spies the dubious face of one her companions as she fans the dust away from her and she sighs.

Slowly, they uncover the other furnishings.  Like the first table, most were in some state of disrepair, though the chandeliers looked to be in good enough condition that nothing more than a little, perhaps a lot, of elbow grease couldn’t fix.  The more they looked, the more it seemed she could see the dubious companion’s hope fall even more. The realtor knew the place was going to be a challenge.

Without a word she and the other companion look to each other knowingly. Together the husband and wife turn to the realtor looking at the two of them pretty much resigned to not making a sale.

“We’ll take it!”

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sunday whirl
The Sunday Whirl: Wordle – 286

challenge, face, half, melody, rag, resound, rhythms, root, song, stool, unusual, upright

Saturday Mix – Silly Soliloquy

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footsteps in snow
Caught in Ol’ Man Winters blow,
It was not far I walked  in this snow
And the masses shy from my harried face,
Ignore how I pace, my steps retrace
For what was mine, now gone, I cannot glean
From whence the place it was last seen,
Oh how its lack makes my heart wrench
When I thought I spied it ‘pon you bench
But it was a trick of the sun’s glare
To make me think it could be there
In defeat, to bathroom I go to silently bawl
And find it still there by the stall
Some thought it’s trite how I bemoan
But it was not they who lost their phone!
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For the MLMM Saturday Mix Bastet  invites us to write a short soliloquy. I find my self in a silly mood, thus a silly soliloquy. Willie Shakes has nothing to fear from the likes of me.

Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie Saturday Mix – February 11, 2017 – Bastet