In Dreams Come True Is This

In dreams come true, is this, yon maidens sigh
The knight so brave, a truth none can deny
His heart doth love, but just for one to see
Someone special who knows not what could be
His love he’ll give when battle’s end is nigh

And she, damsel who finds herself too shy
Doth watch her knight of dreams ride off thereby
Knows not the knight could love someone like she
In dreams come true is this

It will pain less, she knows, come by and by
For now these tears are hers alone to cry
Upon his death whispers it comes to she
To learn so late his love was hers to be
Her heart alive, with love, only to die
In dreams come true is this

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In Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie  – host Teresa asks us to pen a short episode in the fashion of a medieval romance tale in prose or as a Rondeau.

 

Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie : Saturday’s Mix – May 13th 

 

In the Time of James

His world had been comprised of hastily constructed philosophies, which upon close examination, had failed him and promptly collapsed.

It failed James as a child whose smart mind disagreed with being limited by his scrawniness of sickly body. All were sure he would be buried before his parents would be. His mother would mash together any and every concoction anyone told her in dogged determination to prevent such. Decades later he would semi joke that he could still hear the nasal voice of his mother coaxing him to consume the shed skin of a snake, that some witch – though he usually pronounced that word with a b –  had convinced her would help.

It failed at puberty when the truth of what he was became evident. Where was sickly he becomes strong and different. Oh, so different. He is outcast by those who are terrified of what he had become. Unconditional love apparently had its conditions after all. Those early years on his own were hard.  He was not there for the passing of his progenitor. And as far off as it may be, he knew no one would be there for his passing. That which made him unique had also made him lonely.

As time passed for him, the more he rebuilt himself, the more it failed him. Logan learns to be the best there is at what he does, “…but what I do best isn’t very nice.” Coworkers came and went with jobs and time. He lives vicariously through others’ primitive view of what a normal life should be, as the pâro of his own wedged its way through any hope that friends, true relationships would ever be his lot.

Then he met a young girl named Marie. In rapid succession he then met Scott and Ororo. And Jean. And most important he met Charles.

Finally, his life started to pile up memories that were of not of just co-workers, but colleagues, not acquaintances, but friends. It took some time to get there, you don’t unlearn things taught via decades of heartache overnight, but he got there. In time he learned new philosophies that stayed. He was still unique, but not alone. He had people he knew had his back as he had theirs. If they were not of his blood, it didn’t matter, he had family.

Still, that which makes him unique has him watching as his family passes over time. Even he himself starts to feel its affects as he begins to fall victim to its ravages. He had accepted his fate his life, but Fate had one more trick up the sleeves in the form of Laura. In the dusk of his days, as even he was running out of time, he learns of his daughter. His old philosophy failed him, but this last once he could not complain for Laura was there. Her hand in his, as time caught up with him at last.

Logan Noir - Image with Wolverine and Laura holding handsImage: From Logan Noir – Wolverine (James “Logan” Howlett) and Laura holding hands.

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Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie: Wordle #154

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.

Pile, Smart, Pâro, Vicarious, Mash, Nasal,
Disagree, Witch, Shed, Primitive, Wedge, Scrawny

Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie: First Line Friday 12.05.17

It’s that every other Friday again where Dylan gives the first line, and we all get to write the rest.

MLMM – Saturday Mix: Dear Diary

Painting of a man, with an open umbrella, walking along a riverside promenade on a rainy day. A bridge and skyscrapers in background.

Artwork: Glenn Hunt

Is this what they mean by “I feel like a school girl”? I had no idea being with you could be this freeing, this decadent! The feel of your warm skin against mine. How your eyes glassed over as I plunged deeply into you – how messily you came apart! The feel of your disassembled body in my hands. Washing all the blood from the sheets was hard, but worth it. Angela Matthews, my angel! I thank you for the gift of your life yesterday, each time I walk along the pier, I will honor your watery grave wih all my heart.

This was dated April 22nd. Autopsy confirmed the timing is correct. He likely would have gotten away with all of them had our team not found his journal.”

The detective visibly shuddered with revulsion as he folded the copy of the journal entry, then looked to the gathered press for questions.

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We’re asked to write a page from a diary using the above photo as inspiration.

Mindlovemiserty's Menagerie logo

Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie: Saturday Mix – April 22, 2017: Dear Diary

A Chance to Heal

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

MLMM – Finish off Friday #9: The Wait

 

fof-img_2017-03-03

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

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

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

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

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

 

Saturday Mix – Silly Soliloquy

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