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

MLMM – Music Prompt # 74 – Valentine’s Day Special – i am yours

Time stands still

She sits in the white leather armchair by the fireplace, her legs slightly akimbo as one arm casually resting on one side, one hand holds a snifter of brandy alternately glancing at its colors as she swirls, sniffs and sips its contents even as she silently watches me, waiting.

The fingers of the outstretched arm are lightly tapping the the chair. It is the only indication of her mood. I had to make a decision.

Though she has not uttered a sound since I walked in fifteen minutes ago, I hear her smoke on velvet voice in my mind as clearly as if she had spoken.

Are you sure?

Beauty in all she is

The black velvet jacket gaps just enough to expose the sheer lace of the scarlet basque that offsets her mocha complexion beautifully. Barely containing the voluptuousness underneath, it gapes enough to know it is intentional, but not enough to be indecent. The black leather pants fit snug, but not tight over her wide hips, luscious thighs. Her black stilettos are casually tossed to the side, but she sits with her toes in the plush carpet, feet arched as if she still wears them. As though her regal bearing could ever be lessened by some mere trifle as being shoeless.

Trust Me. Trust us.

I will be brave

Never able to hide anything, She watches my face as I stand before Her contemplating. There really was not anything to think about. The decision was made when i walked in the door this evening. Hell, i think She and i knew this was inevitable from when we first laid eyes on each other over a year ago. There is no place i rather be, there is no one else, but Her.

An imperial eyebrow arches as She sees the decision coalesce on my face.

This moment is me finally showing on the outside what we both knew i had accepted in my heart weeks ago. She rises as i move from the door to stand directly before Her.

With immense release, I vale to my knees, bow my head and submit.

Yours.”

It is likely only a couple of minutes as she makes me wait, but it feels like a thousand years before I feel the touch of Her hand in my hair, guiding my head back for a kiss in acceptance.

MINE.

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At Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie we are invited to use the lyrics of “A Thousand Years”by Christina Perri as inspiration to write about love and to “Feel free to take the subject in whichever direction that you desire.”

Music Prompt # 74 – “A Thousand Years”by Christina Perri – Valentine’s Day Special

Wordle #136 : As Fine As Brittle

After a spell of

Too many leavings

The robust soul ,

Where joy once flourished,

Has since fizzled

Into nights fetal-curled

In piteous tears.

A melody born of

A now insular life

Headlights

A cryophilic heart

One as fine,

Yet as brittle as china

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Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie – Wordle #136 “January 2nd, 2016”
Leavings, Insular, Cryophilic, Melody, Radio, Fetal, Pity, China, Headlights, Promontory, Spell, Fizzle

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.

dVerse Quadrilee #23 : Curl
The rules are easy. Write a Quadrille (a poem of exactly 44 words, not including the title), using the word curl in any form.

If You Look

Photo Credit: Lorraine (MLMM)

I see this decaying Mother Mary and burgeoning plant daily. It reminds me death can be found anywhere, but if you care to look, so can life.

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In a New Year’s Eve Flash Bash at Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie, we are  offered various photos and methods as inspiration for Flash Fiction to close out the year. The above photo spoke to me in a Flash Two: Tweet-tweet: write a tale of no more than 142 characters.

MLMM: Music Prompt #71 – “Waiting for Tonight”

In the sweetest dreams,
I have pictured us together
Now to feel your lips
–Jennifer Lopez / “Waiting for Tonight”

Waiting for tonight
I thought love was for others
More worthy than I
As each day I woke
To tear stained pillows
Yet how my heart beams
To be fated for a life
With a king to this queen
Joy bursting at the seams
In the sweetest dreams

Waiting for tonight
You were simply always there
But in keeping my distance
I didn’t see you get closer
Until I noticed there was something
In the way you touched my hand
For all my hopes were tethered
To protect me from hurt
I did not dare to believe
Yet in foul and fair weather
I have pictured us together

Waiting for tonight
You untied the binds
I thought fate had wrapped
Permanently broken tatters
To discover a heart whole
Tomorrows joy will eclipse
All the pains of yesterday
This new found love held
Tonight at our fingertips
Now to feel your lips

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Today at Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie, Sanaa hosts the Music Prompt with a New Year’s special, using Jennifer Lopez’ ”Waiting For Tonight” as the prompt. While Sanaa desires us to “…write down your deepest feelings regarding this auspicious event. How do you see or predict the year ahead, what are your hopes and dreams for the future. Feel free to take the subject in whichever direction that you desire.”, much to my chagrin, the temper(mostly)mental muse clearly desired to go the full on sap route for this. My eyes sometimes roll, but I don’t argue with the chick – I just go with her flow –  using Lopez’ lyrics in a classic glosa.

Happy New Years!

Music Prompt #71 – New Year Special,”Waiting For Tonight” – Jennifer Lopez

Tale Weaver #98: December 29th – Celebration

  • What I have done since last year.
  • What I haven’t done.
  • Do I still want to do it – whatever it is – this year?
  • New things I want to do this year.
  • Plot out the general steps to accomplish such.

In what has become ritual, I spend the first couple days of the new year contemplating all the days of the previous one. It starts here with my being on this roof, making lists. It’s late and I enjoy the silence, but non-silence that is the norm for the City in the middle of night as most of the noisy fantasy that is New Year’s Eve revelry has faded into the quiet reality of New Year’s Day.  It’s cold, but I like it. It means I have the roof to myself.  Having done this for so long, everyone that matters knows where I am, and not to bother me. I come down when I’m ready or at 3am, whichever comes first.

I create these lists and then put them away in a drawer, not to be seen again until the next year. More like goal setting than resolutions, I try to accomplish what’s there to the best of my ability. Having done this for a dozen or so years, I like to review old lists first. See how my priorities have changed over time. Some years, every single thing I thought to do gets transferred in whole to the coming year. Some years, like this one, though not complete, I’m surprised and delighted by how much was done. However, one specific bullet point has transferred over for the past two years. It annoyed me to no end it somehow remained uncompleted for three years. I was determined it would not carry over into yet another year.

I glance at my watch, it’s 02:57. And as expected, I hear the old massive springs of the roof door screech when it opens at 03:00 exactly. The hall light spills onto roof momentarily, revealing a familiar shape, before plunging us back into semi-darkness as it closes. I immediately pull out a flashlight and turn it on, letting her be the moth to its flame as she makes her way to me.

Once she’s in front of me I let the flashlight shine on my notes, specifically on the last bullet point for this new year as rainbow points from the diamond ring resting in the crease of the notebook sparkle on the page while I silently plead to the heavens

  • Ask her to marry you. Pray she says yes.

I rise from one knee when my prayers are answered and swing the bright flashlight over the side of the roof in big circles.

“What are you doin– oh!”

I laugh hearing my brother’s cheering from street level as he lights fireworks at my signal. One of her favorite things, I cannot help but grin as she is completely entranced by the glittering skies for a few moments before remembering I am there. She sheepishly turns to me when the roof door squeals open again as family and friends also knowing the signal join this new celebration.

changing-seasons-01-1

Image © Mara Eastern used with permission

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We are prompted to use the picture and weave a tale in which a celebration occurs. Being it’s the end of the year, a New Year’s celebration is the obvious go to; I just gave it a little something extra.

Tale Weaver #98: December 29th – Celebration

Photo Challenge #145: Just A Little Tighter

– Painful by Natalia Drepina

– Painful by Natalia Drepina

Holding onto hope
What it once felt like
I wrap it just a little tighter
But it’s a slippery rope
Trying to cope

With so many sins acquired
Every time I remember
I wrap it just a little tighter
Around the sorrows in which I’m mired
But my hands are getting tired

My soul the garrote
Sometimes untangling
I wrap it just a little tighter
Around my throat
In desire of Charon’s boat

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Today at  MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie Photo Challenge #145 we are prompted to use above image as inspiration for a poem or short story. This is what came to me.

Fourth Rule

In a posh hotel that all but has avarice etched into its über sophisticated decor, a very shapely body in an expensive little black dress, with very shapely gams in equally expensive high-heels, sits legs crossed at the bar in all her expensive glory. Her ebon mane is relentlessly coiffed in an updo that looked like it took some time to accomplish. Naturally long lashes hood piercing eyes that seem to see everything and zilch simultaneously. Other than her sanguine lips she is barefaced. Beauty such as hers, really doesn’t need much else. One set of red taloned fingers lay casually on her sparkling clutch, the other holds a drink, its contents mini tidal waves of motion as she swirls it idly.  The drink could have been premium top-shelf or basement level swill for all the attention she appears to give it.

The bartender tries to strike up a conversation. I can tell his sandpaper voice is as grating to her as her voice is dripping with honey to him as she politely, but firmly blows him off.

Everything about her says bored sophistication.  The been there / done look that of one who truly has  been there and done that repeatedly. Even as she sits in a casual lean, there is a correctness in her posture. For all her apparent boredom, there was a remoteness about her. Something irrevocable, festering just beneath the surface. I know that look.

Crap. Not tonight.

Taking a seat two empty stools away from her, I curse under my breath while ordering a club soda for myself. Without a word or looking, I slide the small bottle with Amphetamine towards her. Just as silently and blindly she stops it before it crashes into her hand. She downs a couple of pills, downs her drink and slides the pill bottle back to me, her motions full of the apology she can’t speak. I pocket the bottle and shrug taking my drink back to a side table to observe.

In the mirror behind the bar we see when her date-to-be enters the lobby.  It’s not even five minutes before he hits on her. I’m sure the mark thinks it’s his charm, but I can see when the pills start to take effect. The remoteness morphs into a subtle wildness that adds to her appeal as they chat aimlessly for a few minutes more. Eventually he offers a gentlemanly elbow and she accepts. She nods at me once nonchalantly in passing. It is the only direct look my partner and I have exchanged since first entering the bar, signaling the sting is a go as she head to his room, hopefully to arrest him.  The pills rattle in my pocket as I stand to follow them a few moments later. Rules are rules – I know it’s wrong, she knows it’s wrong, but it’s Fourth Rule time, we need to get through this. We’ll deal with her possible addiction tomorrow.

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Written for Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie – Wordle #134 “December 19th, 2016”

Relent, Wildness, The Fourth Rule (There is an exception to every rule.), Barefaced, Amphetamine, Swill, Tidal, Sanguine, Irrevocable, Avarice (greed), Zilch, Sandpaper

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.

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.

FOF: It’s Time!

hay
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)