Posts
scribbling eyes of a bleeding heart
drawn by a stranger of the arts
thoughts in many random marks
reminding us of Groucho Marx
straight from the white pages
in many splendid ranges
old memories from the future
found on the corner of time's juncture
sprouting out numerous reincarnation
ending in infinite self-destruction
created again by a black pen
practicing noisy zen
See the image that inspire this poem at Monday Mural
Noisy Zen
The Void
I cannot write
the unforeseen words
to fulfill the hungry pages
of twenty-four hour days
nostalgic exegeses
lackluster and tedious
covers the void inside and out
soon becoming temporary
abstract thoughts
obliterate without ever touching
the lines of any ledger
existing without beginnings
Everlasting Beauty
a modern regal face
fresh from the dying past
drawn upon layers of asperities
quacky she dare not become
preying to your captive heart
winsome lips of cranberry
silver eyes burnt
with cognitive mischiefs
colored cheeks in crimson roses
pity your sacred heart
for it would fling
across the universe
merely to breath in
a bit of her everlasting beauty
Friday 5: fling, cranberry, winsome, prey, quacky
Tangerine Nights
No. 5/No. 22 by Mark Rothko
tangerine dust gone
awry hindering red
white groves danced
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
tangerine nights gone awry
expose psyche
no thoughts obscure
Found this poetic form - Rothko at Mariacristina. How to Write a Rothko:
1. A Rothko (poem) can only be written while standing in front of a Rothko (painting).
2. A Rothko is three lines, three words per line.
3. Three of these nine words must be colors, and their position in the poem must be a tic-tac-toe.
4. Like all rules of poetry, break at your own risk.
The edge
Close to the edge, George's black loafers move steadily but slowly, sliding downward, he sits, careful not to look below. He wanted to see the sky before he leave Chicago but now sitting here, fingering the necklace with the baseball token, his thoughts drift off. He stare across the sky at the clouds that dance in rhythmic motions, changing their colors around in the dull space, getting ready to shower the people below. It was just yesterday that he questioned himself and thought it was the end for him but something has change. Emerging from the clouds, a black jet suddenly flew passed George causing him to fall, dropping the necklace, his hands grip the edge, barely holding on. This...is...not...my...day, he thought, seeing his lonely face reflected in the glass windows as he struggles to pull himself up back on the roof, changing his life completely.
Three Word Wednesday: Glass, Question, Token
Archived Dreams
underneath
limestone and ashes
bound in time
archived dreams
above
ten spirits
made of stone
encircling
protecting
but not from the sweet hurricane
that unsuspectingly
left soft fissures
revealing mass creations
of our relenting memories
Monday Mural
Rebellion
inside his left brown eye
a blue stain
permanently encircled in the tiny iris
a speck of rebellion
formed
in his previous life
they sparkle
whenever she appears
Lament
night time a long dark corridor that I often stumbled
in odd colorless motions through vacant houses
walking the halls scrapping the smooth wallpapers
an absent body barely half a soul
hanging by loose threads that you lovingly sewed
my tragic end to my tragic existence
no one could have save me not even me
an absent heart barely half alive
a ghost who blindly sold his limpness soul
for a life he did not deserved or desired
darkness hovering in these black eyes
an absent mind barely half working
an absent body barely half a soul
always trapped in my own hell
not knowing how to live
in this world where I sometimes occupy
I had learned nothing not a thing
not even to cherish or sing to your kindness
many days you have wasted keeping me alive
with your tender words and your sweet gentle kisses
those were the days where I felt most alive
don't waste your time remembering me, useless to even try
one day when you are all alone, you will find you do not miss me
you will release me from your tender aching heart
and know I am gone forever
This was originally for Poefusion's imitation challenge using the poem "Llanto por Ignacio Sanchez Mejias" but it didn't quite work.
Oasis
She loves the beach, her quiet oasis, a place to be herself. Tonight, she stroll along the water, feeling unlike herself. Flipping off her sandals, she soaks her feet into the sand, feeling their subtle warmth. She turn off her cellphone, sit down on the sand and wish for a sign. Anything that can tell her she's not alone. She slide her head down and dream.
The smooth sound of the ocean surrounds her. But her mind could not escape her thoughts of tonight's fight. Why did she let her emotions controlled her? She should have stayed calm. But then she could not stop. All the hatred spilled out of her, everything she thought she could forgive. One outburst led to another, then another. Eventually, he stormed out of the house.
She heard the engine of his sports car driving off as she swept up the broken dishes, a wedding gift from her in-laws. Not knowing what to do next, she stood in the kitchen window and stared out at the night sky. Her eyes refused to shed a single drop of tears, instead they stayed firm, encased in their subsiding anger. She decided to go take a walk on the beach. She needed to go outside for a change of environment.
Now alone, she knew she had to tell him. She didn't mean to forgive him that first time or the second time. It wasn't alright for him to do that to her. She won't forgive him this time.
The cold wind whisper on her bare feet. Too cold to stay out, she gather up her phone and sandals and begin her walk home and eventually to pack.
See the photo that inspired this writing - Picture This #6 at Write Stuff.
Poem
finding worn-out words
soaking up their clustered
emotions sway freely
Limerick and Haiku Prompt from Mad Kane: poems about poems or poems about writing
Small circles
her smile spreads
hands ready
his lips downward
her hands lightly on his shoulders
she guides him
in small circles
he rides once again
his slips slowly curve upward
into a half circle
One Single Impression
Touching the nights of my youth
touching the nights of my youth
how I paced the halls
mesmerized by the tiled grids.
childish toys scattered
all dire at my feet
almost, always invisible,
my separation from self.
in me I rambled on in escalating anger,
my rage unsubsiding
infinite in their noose.
desperation garnering deep inside
my life I do not own
arrested in my own cage,
no love can reach me.
For Michelle's Imitation challenge at Poefusion. Here's the original:
(The poem (below) is a serious poem about losing one's childhood and feeling lost in an infinity of nights.):
Tutto Ho Perduto
by Giuseppe Ungaretti
Tutto ho perduto dell'infanzia
E non potro mai piu
Smemorarmi in un grido.
L'infanzia ho sotterrato
Nel fondo delle notti
E ora, spada invisible,
Mi separa da tutto.
Di me rammento che esultavo amandoti,
Ed eccomi perduto
In infinito delle notti.
Disperazione che incessante aumenta
La vita non mi e piu
Arrestata in fondo alla gola,
Che una roccia di gridi.
Walking Home
Street in Venice, 1882 by John Singer Sargent
Her faded yellow skirt barely touched the pavement as she walked the quiet streets home. Night began to fall forcing her to gathered her black coat tighter around her blocking the wind from seeping into her skin. The echo of a train momentarily broke the silent night as street lights were lit up by men in black coats. She quicken her strides, hiding her dark eyes behind her coat collars, her bruised red fingers holding on to her long dark hair and loosed red ribbon. Passing muddy white picket fences, ignoring stares from two drunken men simpering at her as they kissed their bottles, she sped up the pace again, almost running towards the vale of her streets. She sighed with relief at the sight of her house's brightly lit windows.
Friday 5: kiss, train, fence, vale, simper
On the train platform
On the train platform, he kissed her goodbye, his breath sinking into her chest, long and tender. She slowly left his arms and climbed onto the train, spreading her arms like wings, calling his name as the train began to move. He ran after her with his cheeks burning red but his eyes never left her face, mouthing the words, "I love you." She reciprocated by blowing air kisses that he tried to catch, lost his balance, tripped on a suitcase cart that sent him colliding with the concrete floor. He gingerly picked himself up, simpered and waved as her face disappeared in the train's mist. The train conductor fenced his laughter behind his notepad, knowing their vales of goodbyes every weekend.
Friday 5: kiss, train, fence, vale, simper
Summer and Rain
She was born on a dark and rainy afternoon, so full of stillness that her parents thought her breath had been stolen away. Then the rain stopped, sunlight spilled through the window landing upon her porcelain forehead. Her eyes, one blue and one brown, opened then as if the thought suddenly came to her while her little hand reached out for the sunlight. She yawned and fell asleep bathing in the warmth of the sun. Her parents relaxed in two sighs of relief. They gave her the name Summer.
The years came and went, Summer grew to staying outside until the sun sets and even then, she would stand in her bedroom window watching the sun dive into the dark horizon. Not once did she tan or burn from the sun. Whenever her mood falters, somehow the rain would show up. She didn't necessary understood why she enjoyed being in the sun more than others but it makes her happy. On days when she didn't have any chores, Summer would run around the field, swimming in the warmth of the sun. Life was sweet.
At eighteen, Summer was still living the easy, carefree life. Her parents, Augusto and Autumn, did not pressured her into marriage. Even at this age, they felt she should make her own decisions. While many girls her age had already married with children, Summer remained by her parents' side. The thought of separation from them always pains her.
But one day, Augusto fell ill. Pneumonia, they said. He was gone after two days of being bedridden, buried next to his mother in the church's cemetery. The next day, Summer grew ill and the weather grew cold and rain for many days. From her bed where she laid, she can see the dark clouds covering the sky. For days, she spent in bed, hair all tangled, tears streaking down her cheeks, refusing to eat or sleep. Her mind was constantly occupied by her father.
Soon Summer grew weaker and the rain came down even harder. One night, Summer woke up and thought she heard the sound of thunder inside the house. She got up, lit a candle and wandered down the stairs, towards the kitchen where the sound seem to have came from. There she found her mother laying on the kitchen floor, pale as a sheet. She called to her but Autumn laid there all still, eyes closed, hand still holding half a pot of rain water. Blood was spilling out from underneath her head. She had fallen and hit her head trying to stop the roof from leaking.
Summer ran out in the rain, to the doctor a few doors away, the same man who came for her father. Together they rushed back to her mother but it was too late. She was gone. Summer fell on her body and cried. The tears flowed endlessly as the rain pour down like floods outside. She felt the doctor's hand on her shoulder but that brought no comfort to her. Loud thunder rang out in the sky. The rain continued its descend the next day even as Autumn was being buried next to Augusto.
Summer hid in her bed, drained and unable to carry on. The days slowly drifted by. Knocks on her door went unanswered. She did not know how long she been sleeping, only that it was snowing outside her window when she finally got the will to wake up. The dark days had weathered her skin with fine lines but hope spread in her heart as the days grew warmer. Her father always told her, no matter what happen, we still must carry on. She wiped away the last teardrops off her cheeks as the faces of her parents lingered in front of her.
The next day, Summer cleaned the house from top to bottom, washed everything she could see. Her body grew stronger as winter slowly faded into spring. But food was scarce and she need to do something to keep herself alive. Her mother had always taught her how to clean and cook, and her father constantly occupied her mind with new ideas but by herself, it was harder.
She ate the last supply of bread and milk, sold the two cows to her neighbors for some leftover tidbits and vegetable seeds and started work in the small field, planting all the seeds, working almost every day until she could no longer see in the dark. But her hard work soon paid off. The potatoes grew big, the tomatoes luscious, the cabbages a vibrant green, all ready to sell at the market. She gathered them up in a wicker basket made by her mother a few summers ago and slowly walked the miles to the market, stopping now and then to rest. Her hands were red and swollen by the time Summer got to the market. She was tired but hopeful.
She set up a blanket near a fruit stand and spread out the vegetables. It was a small space but that was all she needed. The busy market swarmed with people going in and out in every direction. The sounds of voices bounced here and there. The sun was still out but a small drizzle began to fall. Summer smiled her friendliest smile, waiting. She wished she had untangled her hair but at least her clothes were clean.
The crowd grew bigger but no one stop to even look at her or her vegetables. Summer felt disappointed but kept on smiling, hoping. Then she saw a dark figure coming near. A man carrying a large basket full of fruits and vegetables was walking straight towards her. The man set down his basket and pulled off his hood revealing a handsome but rugged face. He proceed to checked out the potatoes, holding a few in his hands, admiring them like work of art, then placing them back down. Summer tried not to stare. She was not used to strangers but his face was kind. She was proud of her potatoes but she could not speak as boldly as she would at home. "How much for two?" he asked, his voice thick but gentle. She couldn't get her voice to work so she held out two fingers. His lucid gray eyes fell on her hands and then to her blue and brown eyes. She lowered them just as the rain came down harder. Summer barely noticed it as they fell onto the man's coat.
The man pulled out five coins from his coat pocket and placed them in her hand along with droplets of rain. Then he grabbed two large potatoes and dropped them in his basket. The man refused as Summer held out more potatoes. He gently pushed her hands away and said, "Enough," pulled his hood on and lifted his basket with both hands. He gave her a smile and walked off. She can still feel his warm hand on hers as she watched him walked away, disappearing into the crowd.
Summer held the coins in her hand and smiled like a young child. She wiped the coins dried on her skirt, fingered its smooth surfaces and placed them into her pocket. She felt so proud of herself for making her first sell. She had always came with her father but never directly had to handle a customer before, always standing on the side waiting for her father's instructions. Now she was doing this by herself. She blinked the tears away and remembered how her father always told her to smile if you want to sell.
Soon she realized that it was raining. She looked up at the sky. The rain was coming down but none fell on her. She looked at the crowd running for shelter, left and right. Then up at the sky again at the rain falling like wooden sticks. But she was not wet nor any rain fell on her vegetables. Summer smiled to herself and wondered if she was dreaming. She pinched her cheeks and felt them flushed. She stuck her hand out but the rain steered clear of her fingers, going out of their way, instead splashing water onto the nearest lady carrying a big umbrella. She tried again but no droplets fell onto her hand. Summer shrugged it off as more people stopped by, some with umbrellas, others wet with tiresome eyes. It seem she was the only one with dried vegetables to sell. Towards the end of the night, she had sold everything. The rain had subsided by then. Summer skipped all the way home, jumping on puddles now and then, carrying the empty basket, her pockets' full of money, jingling happy noises.
3WW: Money, Tangled, Understood.
Wandering
her hands
flutter like a bird
pulling
at tangled hair
her eyes
dangle in their socket
weaving
from one object to the next
her mind
split in half
knows not whether she exist
she walks
the streets
waiting
wandering
Monday Mural
Spring
all my memories have left
on a long virgin journey
chasing after spring's dalliance
Cafe Writing/ Monday Poetry Train/ One Single Impression
Among the rabble
a sylph
sparking with fizzy
having no suasion
freckled
with all the wrong verbs
she begins to wonder
is she among the rabble
of untamed strangers
always speaking
with no sound
Friday 5: sylph, rabble, fizzy, suasion, freckled.
The piano player and the fly
His long, slender fingers graced the black and white keys, tenderly pouring out sweet, timeless melodies. The room's quiet voices, sounds of plastic spoons and wrapping papers soon faded away.
He fingers effortlessly moved from key to key, his mind inside the music. He kept his eyes open, enjoying the view of the cloudless blue sky through the tall, large glass windows. Sunlight filtered through splendid spots of colors onto his hands.
The tranquility of the moment was temporary disturbed by the appearance of a black fly. It flew here and there, landing on the piano and then on the keyboards and finally on the thin skin of the piano player's left hand. It stayed put and each time the player shook his hands to get rid of the fly, each time it came back, more determined than before. When the music ended, it flew away.
It came back again when the player started on a new song, this time landing on his right hand. The piano player kept on playing even when his fingers itched. After the song was finished, the fly flew away again. The player scratched his fingers and started on another song.
He kept his eyes closed this time. He didn't noticed the fly was back until he felt something nipped his finger. He opened his eyes to see the fly on his right index finger. But he kept on playing. After that song, he smashed his other hand down on the fly. He lifted his hand to see a tiny bits of blood where the fly used to be. He wiped the blood off with his handkerchief.
The piano player was exhausted. He decided to take his break then. He climbed down the ladder from the balcony where the piano always stood, a small corner of the restaurant, up where anyone can see him. The ladder was the only way up and down. Four hours each day was all he ever stayed up there. He called it his temporary home away from home, his tiny apartment where he and only his piano lived.
He took a walk and had a hot dog before finishing up his last hour. His head was spinning slightly when he sat down in front of the piano. But as he began his song, he was soon feeling better. His fingers felt like liquid against the keys. His feet, soft against the petal. Still he continued to play, completely engrossed in the music.
Then the music was gone. He realized he could longer reached the keys. He had shrank to almost the size of a small dot. With his voice almost gone, he shouted but no one could hear him. He jumped and jumped to get someone's attention but with no success. He felt numb and disoriented. He saw his reflection then in the glossy surface of the piano. A tiny dark fly. Was that him? He stared and stared and finally knew, he was no longer himself.
The he heard the loud sound of the piano, booming out his music. He looked up and saw himself or an image of himself, sitting there playing the piano, enjoying his music. He could do nothing but stay in his spot. Soon the music seeped into his ears and soothed his mind. He started flying around the piano.
3WW - the words are Apartment, Began, Numb.
Kindness
the clouds gloom over the sky
casting their dark shadows
a sudden hand upon my shoulder
your face beaming down at me
I smile walking next to you
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
the sun beam down heavily
drops of sweat drip down my cheeks
a sudden shadow
your smile beaming down on me
I smile walking in your shade
One Single Impression
Ophelia Adieu
Artwork by like_wow_24
roaming inside my memories
I saw your face
the red sun behind you
your eyes
wanted me to stay
your lips
warned me to leave
unable to hide
my strayed thoughts
I ran
far away
from your bedeviled mind
into the dark woods
the sky turned night
covering me
hiding my despair
my body
my tears
melted into the river's body
water roses entwined themselves
into my hair
my red dress
I laid here
awaiting
for love
for death
Monday Mural
Parallel Existent
we met
as strangers
two views
of the same world
living under
the same stars
the same moon
the vast distance between us
vanish
as our lives blossom
in front our twin eyes
For my new photo project: Two Lives. I was also inspired to write this by reading Sandy Carlson's poem: Parallel Lives.
Monday Poetry Train
Sundrenched World
he casually throws her books
out the window
towards the sundrenched world
boggle by their snake-like descend
he watch them
snugging his eyes
as they fall instead
onto the green hood of his unpaid car
the alarm burst through the quiet air
causing a rather unexpected racket
The title is from a song by Joshua Radin. Read other Friday 5 here. The words are, racket, snug, green, boggle, snake.
Wednesday Morning
Read Part 1 here.
Read Part 2 here.
Read Part 3 here.
A strange scent fill his nose down to his lungs. Smoke, the kind only a fire can create. He can hear Aurora coughing now. His lungs aren't doing any better. He can barely breathe.
Smoke filled the elevator and Aurora's panic heighten. Sean seem so calm but his face now has a worry look. Aurora bang on the elevator's door, calling for help. Is there no one out there?
Aurora's delicate voice shouted for help. Sean can hear her banging against the elevator doors with the umbrella he gave her earlier. He needs to do something. What was it they tell you in school - to drop and roll? What use is that in an elevator? Sean can hear a fade siren traveling near. The air is getting increasing hard to breathe and yet Sean try to keep himself calm. He can sense Aurora's panic, hear her uneven breathing. She speaks loudly on the emergency phone but there's no answer. She drop the phone with a soft bang and slide onto the floor.
Emergency alarms echo from outside the elevator. On the floor, Aurora pull her legs to her chest and wrap her arms them. She could barely see with only one emergency light on. Sleepiness continue to consume her body.
Sean could hear her breathing getting worse. Should he try to comfort her? What could he say or do? He can't even see her. She probably couldn't see him in the smoke. He carefully slide down next to her. The low humming of a Patsy Cline song whisper through the thick air.
"It's "crazy."
"I know. What are the chances of being stuck on an elevator in the dead of night in a small apartment building with barely any real architectural structure?"
"No, what I meant was, the song, 'crazy.' Patsy Cline. You were humming that tune."
"Was I? Sorry." Aurora didn't feel strange or embarrass but didn't want to continue humming. Her father had always told her to stop that habit.
"Don't be sorry. It's beautiful. You voice, I mean. I'm not just saying that because we're stuck in an elevator. I really mean it." Sean can tell she was not calming down now but it could be the the smoke. Her voice is now less shaky.
It was not a confession but to tell someone you barely know your hopes and dreams - that is just plain mad but Aurora feels she can tell him anything and it would matter to him.
Sean listen to Aurora's voice carefully as she tells him of her many failures. Her voice soon trail off after a while. She couldn't stay awake, her body feel so tired, so sleepy.
Sean try to keep her awake with his own story, his denial with his blindness. Her long hair briefly touch his cheek now and then to signal her sleepiness. He would call her name loudly every now and then to keep her awake.
But soon when Sean call her name, there's no respond. He even repeat it again and again, louder and louder, shaking her shoulder. No answer. Her head finally falls on his shoulders. She must have lost consciousness. He can hear slow breathing. He wants to wake her but then hears the sound of the elevator doors being pry open. "Over here!" he shouted at them.
It was twenty minutes after midnight, officially Wednesday, when the doors to the elevator finally open. Together, Sean and Aurora, awake after a couple of urging from Sean, escape the cage that is the elevator.
For Fiction Friday: Start your entry with a fire.
Tuesday at Midnight
Read Part 1 here.
Read Part 2 here.
Not wanting to go home yet, Aurora wander the empty sidewalk. Sean's umbrella neatly folded in her hand. The rain had ceased but the grounds still wet. She steps on a big puddle of muddy water crossing the street, letting the water seep into her shoes. She could not feel the liquid dripping in and onto her skin. As her glass door entrance.
Waiting at the elevator, Aurora hears a clicking sound coming from behind her. Turning her head to the sound, she was surprised to see Sean. Wasn't he home before her? She check her watch, almost midnight. His face coming nearer, embarassed, she turns her view down to the dirty tiles. The clicking stop next to her.
Aurora's eyes dart down to his canvas sneakers, black with white trimmings and white shoelaces. They shine from the wet rain which is now dripping down onto the tiles. The sounds echo in the air or is that her heart? He turn his head and a pleasant smile splash across his face as if he suddenly notice her. Does he know she's staring? She quickly turn away again, pretending to admire the artwork that is the elevator button. How crazy is this, he can't even see her!
"Hi." His voice a pleasant half baritone. He is close enough to smell her deodorant. Baby powder, he thinks.
"Hi." What a stupid respond she thought. A small giggle escape her lips. She hope he didn't hear that. It was twice now that they had been in contact and both times she felt like a fool.
"I'm Sean." His hand, white as a sheet, stretch out to her. She hold it as if holding silk, shaking it gently. "What's your name?" Pause. Sean pretends not to know her name even though he had heard people calling her many times near the elevator. Then, "Don't you live next door to me?" That was stupid. Of cause, she live next door to him. Hasn't he bumped into her at the elevator when she first moved in?She probably doesn't even remember him.
Sean, you dummy, quick, think of something smart to say. Sean's mind skip through many images but could not find anything worth repeating.
"Uhm, yeah. I mean YES!" Aurora almost shouted her reply, squeezing her eyes tightly shut for a moment. Why is she so stupid? She opens them again and told him her name.
"Goddess of sunrise." Sean's smile send hot and cold tingling down her spine. His face only an a few inches from hers. He can feel himself blushing. To Aurora, it felt like his brown eyes were looking directly into hers.
"I'm no goddess." She left out a nervous chuckle as she said this. The urge to kiss him run through her mind. Why is she thinking that? She brush the thought quickly away as the elevator doors begins to open.
She walks inside to the corner of the elevator while Sean stand on the other side, placing his cane to his side.
A few seconds into the ride, the elevator suddenly give a jolt, stopping their thoughts for a moment. Panic run amok in Aurora's mind. What if the elevator drops?
"That's just not logical as we are not even on the second floor yet." Sean's voice cuts through the air.
Did she said that allow? Aurora's voice shake as she spoke. "Uh, yeah, illogical."
How dumb is that, Sean? Sean shouldn't have answered. She wasn't even speaking to him. Though there was no one else on the elevator. A strange scent fill his nose down to his lungs. Smoke, the kind only a fire can create. He can hear Aurora coughing now. His lungs aren't doing any better. He can barely breathe.
Smoke filled the elevator and Aurora's panic heighten. Sean seem so calm but his face now has a worry look. Aurora bang on the elevator's door, calling for help. Is there no one out there?
Read part 4 here.
3WW words are Rest, Sidewalk, Twice.
Change
spring will be coming but
no change will ever be enough
to satisfy my rusty mind
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I think I change my mind
too many times to notice
when change came for me
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
One Single Impression
Not my memories
faded paint dripping dried liquid
trifles from a long ago memory
swiftly disappearing with each touch
falling down to the cracks of some else's past
merging together in time
wallowing in the other's emotions
Monday Mural
21 Dreams
"Tea Rorschach 1-21" by Jennifer Hines
These are my memories, my dreams, you said. These twenty-one paintings hanging in my living room. You said I painted them after many nights of dreaming and waking.
I have no memory of ever having touched a paintbrush and yet the feeling of deja va coursed through my brain, etching fragments of tiny scenes. Each incomplete bits settled for a second then disappeared back where they came from.
Each night they stared down at me, begging me to look at them. Each night I stayed awake studying them hoping for something to jolt my mind. But each night the details blurred more than the night before. Drawn to their odd shapes and colors like an invisible string that had tied itself to my fragile body, I pulled and tucked but the strings stayed in place.
You came one night to accompanied me but your presence only confused me more. Cryptic in your words, you said,"They're all there - your dreams. All twenty-one of them." You started to touch the middle one but you suddenly pulled away before your fingertip ever touch the surface. You turned to me and smile, kissed me on the cheek and walked out the front door. Your footsteps barely audible against the soft carpet.
After you've gone, I ran my thin fingers on their rough surfaces, each one a different texture, each unique in their own way. Vivid images of children playing in dried autumn leaves splashed before my tired eyes. Then they were gone. Their faces were a blur but I cannot mistake the happiness behind them.
One night, I dreamt about you. We were having lunch at one of our favorite restaurant. You were sitting in front of me, legs dangling off a silver chair, your apple cheeks beamed brightly in the afternoon sunlight. You stared at me with your beautiful eyes as you asked me questions after questions about the show we've just saw at the museum. It occurred to me suddenly what those paintings represented - twenty-one dreams that I had wished for. You, I shouldn't have forget, my sweet child. But now that you've returned to me, the paintings don't seem so foreign now. Their colors becomes less vivid each day but their hidden meanings still remained. Someday they will come to me. My other twenty dreams.
Monday Mural
Blue
blue
her color, her mood
a faded hue with no distinction
between her and it
a blur of a melting heart
barely visible to the naked eye
traveling only between moments of
somber and obsess thoughts
dissipating
in the interval of time
is there solace somewhere outside herself?
Ride The Monday Poetry Train
Walking
walking down your street
slow dreaming in the waking world
I see only your broad back
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
hunched over reading a thick book
you sighed and yawned and then took a look
down to where I spied
then make a cried
hey you! get off the fence, you crook!
For Limerick and Haiku Prompt
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