When it comes to me…
Am I succor or slayer?
Sinner or savior?
Do you not understand what I’m about?
I could take you in…
…or take you out.
When It Comes To Me
2
Beaned
The bean’s the scene, potency gleaned
It’s the dark daily grind by far, har- har!
A buck’s a deer, yet scales appear,
What do mermaids have to do with stars?
Now I do insist on non-instant
For getting into hot water is tough
And granted thirty will leave me quite quirky
But a venti is never enough.
It’s derision, this double vision
To work uphold, I must first upend
It’s a blip, a drip, a tip, a sip
Hello darkness my old friend!
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Hmmm, maybe I do need more coffee…
Tale Weaver # 96: The Front Door
There is very little sound at this time of day. The slight wind brushing against the brick my building. The clicks of the changing traffic lights at the corner. The wheels of the passing car on the asphalt. I can even hear the intake of my own breath through my nose before I audibly exhale in a yawn. I look outside again.
The gabled and hip roofs of the Victorian and mini-colonial style houses across the street are all but dwarfed by the raised turrets that mark the roof of the cathedral at one corner of the long street and the flat squat roof line of the multi-storied tenement at the other. It is all but one dark shadowed mass as I peer through glass window of the front door of my building. In this very early dawn there is very little difference in shade between the dark concrete of the sidewalk and the blacktop of the asphalt streets save for the intermittent pools of light from street lamps. The sepia light, a dull gleam off the chrome and glass of the parked cars lining the curb. The lumens providing just enough visibility to guide you from one glowing sphere to the next giving only the simplest of details to keep one from tripping over a crack, or slipping off the curb. It has a film noir vibe. I feel as though I should be in a trench coat, instead of a winter one. The red, yellow, green of the stop light at the near corner is almost garish in comparison. The bright headlight of the sole car passing by, whose owner dares to be up and about even earlier than I, is near blinding in turn.
But this is the block on which I live; I know this block well. Even in the early morning dark I know the car in the driveway of the second Victorian from the left is maroon in color and has not moved in years from the rust I’ve seen on it. On the first floor in the colonial nearest to the corner a light turns on as someone wakes. Standing just inside the front door of the vestibule of my building I am warm in my favorite winter coat. I adjust my hat, scarf and gloves in preparation as I peer through the window yet again, on watch for one light in particular. As I spy the glowing marquee coming forth I open the door to the non-silence that is my street on an early winter’s dawn to catch my bus and head to work.
My day begins.
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Written for Mindlovemisery Menagerie’s Tale Weaver
Tale Weaver # 96 – December 15th – What you see out your front door.
Weekly Wordle #133 – Irrevocable
With an annoyed gnash of teeth, he swept the flower from the table. He heard her gasp at the door, saw her crushed face as the bloom sailed through the air.
Too late he remembered…
Knowing nothing could be done, they watch the snowy edelweiss float for the briefest moment, like birdseed tossed into the air, then seemingly hurtled towards the uncovered lantern for a curl of fire to capture it.
A sudden hollowness fills him – and he knows – his heart is gone.
He had scoffed at the old gypsy woman a year ago he rode away with his prize, her granddaughter.
Not anymore.
With an askance glance the charred remains of what could have been, the descendent simply turned walked away. It was his third warning. They both know, this time, it is irrevocable.
Smoky whorls landed oh so softly in his palms, soft like a kiss. Like the kiss of love he will never get to know.
…when her heart is gone, you will lose yours – forever.
He stood there transfixed for a long time. A ludic Narcissus, staring into his tear-stained hands long after the ashes were gone.
That was his curse.
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Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie – Wordle #133 “December 12th, 2016”
Gnash, Lantern, Edelweiss, Birdseed, Capture, Heart, Askance, Descendent, Irrevocable, Ludic, Ashes, Curse
You can use at least 10 of the words to create a story or poem. The words can appear in an alternate form. Use the words in any order that you like.
I challenged myself to a- use all twelve words b- use them in order given and c- write a story in under 200 words
In Step
1! 2! 3! 4! 5! 6! 7! 8!
1! 2! 3! 4! 5! 6! 7! 8!
Her booted stilettoes are a forte staccato on the polished wood
Counter point to the allegro of the snapping castanets in her hands
1-2-3-4,
1-2-3-4,
Kitten heeled pumps are andante, in the diminuendo chords
Arms ebb and flow evoking waves, foliage that caters to a wind’s bend
1, 2, 3,
1, 2, 3
While soft soled flats give a dolce presence to the calando of the tune
Her fingers doloroso wiping imagined tears in the final longa before applause
1 and 2 and
Bare toes touch floor at last
Finite
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At Real Toads I am given inspiration to write a poem on shoes for Susi.
While at dVerse I Meet the Bar by giving some elements of music for Victoria.
FOF: It’s Time!
Overnight, giant snowballs of hay appeared in the field.
Well, maybe not overnight, but as a kid who didn’t have to do the work, it felt that way each harvest season.
There’s something in the annual sighting of those stacks. It’s a visual nod to that the family has made it through another growing season; that the farm animals will make it through the coming winter. Most important, once the last bale was done, Papa would walk into Mama’s kitchen looking like a scarecrow and announce “It is done!” Somehow my young mind associated those giant bales of hay as a harbinger of the coming holiday season, all the joy they bring, and would ask “Is it Christmas yet?”
Now, it is my job. My wife and kids smile annually when I step onto the back porch, brush off hay and shout “It’s Christmas Time!”
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Written for:
Finish Off Fridays #3: Snowballs of Hay & Garden Gargoyles (09.12.16)
A Recipe for Hygge
A large dose of merriment in the holidays that herald the coming of winter, regardless of hemisphere.
Delight in the dashes of Joy that are the a blanc beauty of fresh fallen snow.
Dollops of peace in enjoying the solitude of a good book or movie, new or old.
On a snowbound night – nothing re-hydrates like hot cocoa if cold; a chilled chardonnay if warm.
Dole heaps of compassion and goodwill for humanity’s less fortunate.
Whisk together friendship where the pot luck results in a smorgasbord of laughter and love.
Keep an extra roux of wisdom and strength on hand for rejuvenation to reduce the doldrums that may appear. Serve yourself and others liberally as needed in remembering it is only a season, and like all seasons, this too shall pass.
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What is Hygge? If you were to try to translate it, hygge (pronounced hoo-guh), like duende, it is more of a feeling than a word. It’s sort of a full-on embrace of all things toasty, cozy, and restorative to the soul, especially in wintertime.
Today at dVerse Michelle (Mish) tends the pub for Poetics and challenges us to create our own “recipe poem”, but not of the culinary kind. To instead, write about something more abstract such as “a recipe for love”. Thus, for those of us, like myself – who are not major fans of cold weather – I present my recipe for getting through the winter season quickly encroaching on the northern hemisphere.
dVerse ~Poets Pub | Poetics | Recipe Poems
We are in the first full week of December and several of my northern friends are already facing snow. It seemed a good time to get this recipe going.
Slice of Life Tuesday Writing Challenge : Two Writing Teachers
Imaginary Garden – The Tuesday Platform
Weekly Wordle #132
I know all of the windows are down and locked; that the shutters are closed against the harsh wind blowing. The torrential rain that drenched so thoroughly late in the afternoon has turned to chilling huffs of air drying by force, regardless of those who of us would prefer a traditional drying via the sun’s warmth. I know cannot actually feel its chill while safely ensconced inside, but, its howl seeps into my emotional marrow and I pull the quilt tighter around me in physical protection from its presumed frost. I imagine the wind as malevolent bellwether to the coming winter. Its simple breeze of earlier gathering a nuanced force – going from breezes, to winds, to gales that make weapons of weak branches and blow through fallen leaves causing haphazard grooves to chart our paths to the fence and beyond once the snow starts to fall.
It is late, past the witching hour, everyone has long since retired to the warmth of their beds. I am restless, so I choose to read. The soft bluish flame of the kerosene lamp on the table lights the nuanced world of words before me warmly. I pick up the lime half on the table near me to suck. Landlocked as I am, I flatter myself as the protagonist of the novel I read; lying about on a sunny beach with cool lime libation in hand.
Only to inhale and taste petrol instead.
I have been up so long I’ve become near nose blind to the gasoline scent of the lamp, never a good sign. Its scent is what reminds me of its presence and that it, like me, is not inexhaustible. I smile at my own little Faustian folly as I mark my place, put the book away and turn down the lamp.
I glance around the darkened room as I rise for my own slumber. The worries of the previous day now clutter at the bottom of a handbag to be dealt with on the morrow.
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Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie and Wordle
Gasoline, Lime, Bellwether, Late, Nuance, Marrow, Flattery, Clutter, Groove, Inexhaustible, Handbag, Faustian
Use at least 10 of the words to create a story or poem. The words can appear in an alternate form. Use the words in any order that you like.
I Am Ready
A million candles burning for the love that never came
I can’t say much has happened since
If you are the dealer, let me out of the game
If you want a partner, take my hand
If it be your will
I’d crawl to you baby and I’d fall at your feet
You want it darker
I am ready
Vilified, crucified, in the human frame
I swear it happened just like this
If you are the healer, I’m broken and lame
If you want another kind of love
I shall abide until
I’d howl at your beauty like a dog in heat
I’m your man
I am ready
Magnified, sanctified, be thy holy name
A sigh, a cry, a hungry kiss
If thine is the glory, mine must be the shame
If you want to take me for a ride
Let your mercy spill
I’d claw at your heart, and I’d tear at your sheet
with nothing on my tongue but hallelujah
I am ready
You want it darker
I’m your man
With nothing on my tongue but hallelujah
I am ready
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At dVerse Bryan takes honored guest turn tending the pub and challenges us to to give our best “cover” a poem by a poet whom you admire.
In tribute to a great poet who passed away earlier this month, with the sole exception of the I am ready refrain, all lines are from the following songs of Leonard Cohen: You Want It Darker – I’m Your Man – Hallelujah – If It Be Your Will – Closing Time
Decked Out
After eight years of living with a roommate I am under my own roof again. It was a long hard climb to get myself back into a solid enough financial stability to do so and I am so happy! It was almost like Christmas as I unearthed the things from storage that I had not seen in all that time.
Some of it was bittersweet: The clock with the traditional wedding vows and our wedding date – a wedding gift from my best-friend. The shadow box containing last flowers and card he sent me, that were received after he was gone (you can read that story here). My late-husband’s folded flag in its wood case. Of those three items, only the flag is out to be seen. I decided other than a picture, it was the only other physical reminder of him that was needed – even the kitchen magnets agreed.
My eldest was placing kitchen magnets of our astrological signs on the new refrigerator the way they were on the old one. When he placed Aquarius, Bill’s sign, on the door it fell to the floor and broke. He looked crestfallen showing it to me, worried about my reaction. I shrugged and explained, it’s been ten years and this is a new space. He was not supposed to be here prominently like this. My sign and my sons’ respective signs were the only ones needed.
Most of the unpacking was long, but happy: getting my king-sized bed back after years of sleeping on a full-size. My barely used pots & pans before everything happened just soap and water away from use again. Seeing my favorite books back on shelves and seeing the artwork I loved displayed again – squeeeee! What brought a huge smile to my face was uncovering all of my holiday decorations. I now have a closet that is full of nothing but holiday cheer. I was determined that my place would be free of any unnecessary boxes by Thanksgiving so I can spread that cheer.
For being back on my own meant I could return to doing what I could not do for eight years. My annual tradition of putting up the Christmas tree the weekend after Thanksgiving was back and I could not wait! I have a lot of decor. Enough that I can do color various themes. Oh, what to choose! I literally opened boxes and whatever three colors captured my eyes first were what went up.
Now, I am not going to lie, 2016 has been one doozey of year. Still, with journeys to Dubai & Abu Dhabi, Cuba and Italy now under my belt, I cannot claim it was all bad when I can walk in MY door and for the next few weeks I get see this:
!! Happy Holidays !!
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Slice of Life Tuesday Writing Challenge – Two Writing Teachers
Raivenne-lations 