Catching no rainbows on her hair-
She’s bound by her ravenous chi,
A loose strand of days
Like a body reaching
Through the sea of roses, stifling.
Her hand push away like wingless
Seagulls on a whim of air.
She’s going to crave less as
A legged mermaid amid earthed sea.
Cold waves shifted one conversation
In this displaced world where
She was forever left away.
Clouds came in pouring rain
Content in hiding her moon.
Poefusion #19 using Michelle's bare bone poem below:
_____ no _____ on her hair-
She’s ________ by her ______ chi,
A _______ strand of _______
Like a _________ reaching
Through the sea _______ roses, _______.
Her hand _______ away like _______
Seagulls on a _____ of air.
She’s going to _____ less as
A _____ mermaid amid earthed ____.
_____ waves _____ one conversation
In this ______ ____ where
______ was forever left away.
Clouds came in _______ _____
Content in _____ her moon.
Leave
Room in Brooklyn, 1932, Edward Hopper
subtle
was the touch of your fingertips
brushing against mine
your eyes
chased the sparkle of sunlight
brown debris becoming gold
surprise
was on your lips
as they pressed against mine
an ache
so new poured into my body
your gaze losing my thoughts
stay
but you leave me anyway
your feet barely touching ground
stranding me with half a heart
The first day
fresh green paint splashed on old walls covering faulty lines
brief laughter and timid whispering collide happily
with stomping sneakers ascending the hallways
sunlight and newly scented clothes fills the atmosphere
spinning the combination lock slowly repeating the numbers
inside my head as I lick my lower lip tasting the cherry flavored lipgloss
a crashing of familiar sounds echoing in my ear as locker doors slammed shut
hiding under my long bangs I stare at my purple nail polish
and casually immerse myself in throwaway thoughts
trying to ease my jittery mind as my fingers turn the dial again
suddenly the loud ringing of the designated first bell shakes me out of my haze
the locker door swings open sending everything scattering to the ashen tiles
revealing notebooks with red hearts scribbled all over the pages
I heard snickering falling to my ears as the crowd empty the hallway
embarrassment stinging my burning cheeks
I lower my head hiding in the long strands of my hair
the scent of pencils and lemonade escape into my nostrils
I let them sink in breathing in the newness of the day
rendering the thought of long school days still ahead
Friday 5: ascend, stomp, designate, faulty, ashen
Pensieve's Poetic License: School
brief laughter and timid whispering collide happily
with stomping sneakers ascending the hallways
sunlight and newly scented clothes fills the atmosphere
spinning the combination lock slowly repeating the numbers
inside my head as I lick my lower lip tasting the cherry flavored lipgloss
a crashing of familiar sounds echoing in my ear as locker doors slammed shut
hiding under my long bangs I stare at my purple nail polish
and casually immerse myself in throwaway thoughts
trying to ease my jittery mind as my fingers turn the dial again
suddenly the loud ringing of the designated first bell shakes me out of my haze
the locker door swings open sending everything scattering to the ashen tiles
revealing notebooks with red hearts scribbled all over the pages
I heard snickering falling to my ears as the crowd empty the hallway
embarrassment stinging my burning cheeks
I lower my head hiding in the long strands of my hair
the scent of pencils and lemonade escape into my nostrils
I let them sink in breathing in the newness of the day
rendering the thought of long school days still ahead
Friday 5: ascend, stomp, designate, faulty, ashen
Pensieve's Poetic License: School
Dark Night
coming for me
to settle down the anger
obnubilated dark words
home casts astray
a quilted city desperate, chasing
itself, the drowning
laid out in
the soft concrete and fragile
bone caves, electric
and darkness collided
together emerging anew, fragrant, coursing
through every vein
endless, lapsing, madmen
abandoned and lost women and
high-heeled babies
splintering, and businessmen
on a secret drinking trip
hazy nighttime traveling
this space contained
ourselves, raw, breakable, blood pulse
overheating and beating
and I stumble
through this all sliced by
a creeping night
............................................
This poem was created using this skeleton version by Nicole Nicholson at Raven's Wing Poetry. Read the original version here. I did not read the original until after I finish writing my version.
_______ _______ me
to _____ down ________ _________
___________ dark _________
__________ casts ________
a _________ city ________, ______
___________, the ________
________ out in
the _______ concrete and ________
_____ ______, electric
and ______ ________
______ _______ _________, fragrant, coursing
through _______ ________
_________, ________, madmen
______ ________ _______ women and
high-heeled _________
________, and businessmen
on a secret __________ _________
________ nighttime _______
this _____ _______
________, raw, _______, blood pulse
________ and ______
and I _______
______ ______ all _______ by
a ________ __________
............................................
Read Write Poem
3WW: Desperate, Lapse, Traveled
to settle down the anger
obnubilated dark words
home casts astray
a quilted city desperate, chasing
itself, the drowning
laid out in
the soft concrete and fragile
bone caves, electric
and darkness collided
together emerging anew, fragrant, coursing
through every vein
endless, lapsing, madmen
abandoned and lost women and
high-heeled babies
splintering, and businessmen
on a secret drinking trip
hazy nighttime traveling
this space contained
ourselves, raw, breakable, blood pulse
overheating and beating
and I stumble
through this all sliced by
a creeping night
............................................
This poem was created using this skeleton version by Nicole Nicholson at Raven's Wing Poetry. Read the original version here. I did not read the original until after I finish writing my version.
_______ _______ me
to _____ down ________ _________
___________ dark _________
__________ casts ________
a _________ city ________, ______
___________, the ________
________ out in
the _______ concrete and ________
_____ ______, electric
and ______ ________
______ _______ _________, fragrant, coursing
through _______ ________
_________, ________, madmen
______ ________ _______ women and
high-heeled _________
________, and businessmen
on a secret __________ _________
________ nighttime _______
this _____ _______
________, raw, _______, blood pulse
________ and ______
and I _______
______ ______ all _______ by
a ________ __________
............................................
Read Write Poem
3WW: Desperate, Lapse, Traveled
Sliced Moon
I watched as the night sliced the moon in half
my heart pounding, split open
a cut I tried to mend with shaky hands
exhausted in the wait, my fingers bled
the hormonal winter, a frozen dusk
holds my thoughts inside a bleak cloud
I slowly drifted into dreamland
still waiting for your return
Tuesday Title: Hormonal Winter
my heart pounding, split open
a cut I tried to mend with shaky hands
exhausted in the wait, my fingers bled
the hormonal winter, a frozen dusk
holds my thoughts inside a bleak cloud
I slowly drifted into dreamland
still waiting for your return
Tuesday Title: Hormonal Winter
Wet Day
Wet Day on the Boulevard, Paris, 1894, Alfred Stieglitz
are you looking at me looking at you?
across the streets sunlight separates us
a line drawn by dust
you turned away too soon
your face erased by the memory
of rain
August Postcard Poetry Fest
The Last Summer
Thea often spoke of a memory that drains her heart and mind, a memory not easily told. Inside the folds of her delicate skin, a throbbing sorrow that escapes her whenever she tells me of this. Then her crystal eyes would return to their aqua-greens and a smile would erase whatever emotions she had expressed.
I was staying at my grandfather's cabinet not far from the river. As I was looking for a spot to spend the end of my summer, away from everyone, I saw a glint in the distance. It was the morning after a small hurricane that had left some of the trees scattering about and floating in the water. I thought perhaps that was what I saw. I walked toward it, hoping for a closer look.
Thea was laying near the edge of the river, unconscious. Her clothes were tore in small areas and her skin all bruised and covered in seaweeds. I cannot help but think she was the most beautiful girl that I have ever seen. At first I thought it was a mirage, my imagination gone wild but as I walked closer and even dared enough to touch her, I knew she was real.
I took off my shirt and wrapped it around her. I was barely strong enough to carry her, nearly dropping her. I placed her near a tree but didn't know what to do. Cold winds from the night before had stuck around but that didn't seem to bother her. She seem to be dreaming something sweet as the smile on her face never left her. I watched her as she slept.
I couldn't stay with her through the night since my grandfather would have come looking for me. But when I returned in the morning, her bruises seem to have healed themselves.
The next day when she finally woke up, I found her by the river, her orange hair blowing in the wind, lights glowing all around her. If I was dreaming, I didn't want to know. She smiled at me as if she knew me all her life. She gave me a hug, my awkward response didn't change her smile. I got her some clothes from the cabinet.
Modern life seem farther away every day that I spent with her. Strangely enough Thea has a British accent. It was a pleasure listening to her speak, each syllable a taste into the past. She always managed to capture the moment, linger it in my mind. I felt happy and surprisingly able to be myself around her. She told me unbelievable tales that even though they might not be true, I wished they were.
Thea taught me how to swim. We would race each other but she would always win. She has an extra advantage over me but I didn't mind. I show her my fishing skills but her eyebrows knitted together in a frown and I knew then what it really meant to her. She was once trapped in a web with hundreds of fish and knew how devastating it was being someone's prey. That was the day I decided to be an vegetarian.
She called me Jarod even though my name is Jerry. I smiled and let her renamed me. She was a loner, like me. She has the confidence and wisdom of a sage but often she would surprise me with her childish behavior and endless laughter that somehow would seep inside me and have me laughing along.
Toward the end of the summer, I knew she had to leave. I wanted to be selfish, beg her to stay, but I didn't. She didn't belong with me and yet I could never go with her. She was never intended to be here, just passing through on her way home when the hurricane came. I realized she had chosen to stay with me. She could have left at any moment, any time. I knew I would be miserable without her but I also knew she shouldn't stay even for me. We didn't mention how or when. On the day she chose to leave, we had a long talk, it was the only time I ever felt confident enough to confess what I was feeling. She sat quietly while I spoke, her eyes following my nervous hands.
We said our goodbyes in the same place where I had found her. She gave me three kisses, one on each cheek and one on the lips. I felt strangely happy but sad at the same time. The first girl I ever kissed and what did she do afterward? She jumped into the river and swam away.
It was so many summers ago but I can still remember her sad eyes, the way they change colors when she looks out to the water. I shared with her what I never thought I could with anyone. Our loneliness of living created a bond. It was unusual and yet seemingly normal at the same time.
Naturally I became a marine biologist. I spend my days studying sea life but the memory of Thea stayed with me. She had somehow placed inside me a happiness that I can never reproduce no matter how many times I try. Whenever I sail the sea, I wonder if I would see her. I wonder if all my travel might just end up where she is. I would often take out the seashell necklace that she had left me and think of her, my mermaid friend.
Search Engine Stories Prompt: The Boy and the Mermaid
I was staying at my grandfather's cabinet not far from the river. As I was looking for a spot to spend the end of my summer, away from everyone, I saw a glint in the distance. It was the morning after a small hurricane that had left some of the trees scattering about and floating in the water. I thought perhaps that was what I saw. I walked toward it, hoping for a closer look.
Thea was laying near the edge of the river, unconscious. Her clothes were tore in small areas and her skin all bruised and covered in seaweeds. I cannot help but think she was the most beautiful girl that I have ever seen. At first I thought it was a mirage, my imagination gone wild but as I walked closer and even dared enough to touch her, I knew she was real.
I took off my shirt and wrapped it around her. I was barely strong enough to carry her, nearly dropping her. I placed her near a tree but didn't know what to do. Cold winds from the night before had stuck around but that didn't seem to bother her. She seem to be dreaming something sweet as the smile on her face never left her. I watched her as she slept.
I couldn't stay with her through the night since my grandfather would have come looking for me. But when I returned in the morning, her bruises seem to have healed themselves.
The next day when she finally woke up, I found her by the river, her orange hair blowing in the wind, lights glowing all around her. If I was dreaming, I didn't want to know. She smiled at me as if she knew me all her life. She gave me a hug, my awkward response didn't change her smile. I got her some clothes from the cabinet.
Modern life seem farther away every day that I spent with her. Strangely enough Thea has a British accent. It was a pleasure listening to her speak, each syllable a taste into the past. She always managed to capture the moment, linger it in my mind. I felt happy and surprisingly able to be myself around her. She told me unbelievable tales that even though they might not be true, I wished they were.
Thea taught me how to swim. We would race each other but she would always win. She has an extra advantage over me but I didn't mind. I show her my fishing skills but her eyebrows knitted together in a frown and I knew then what it really meant to her. She was once trapped in a web with hundreds of fish and knew how devastating it was being someone's prey. That was the day I decided to be an vegetarian.
She called me Jarod even though my name is Jerry. I smiled and let her renamed me. She was a loner, like me. She has the confidence and wisdom of a sage but often she would surprise me with her childish behavior and endless laughter that somehow would seep inside me and have me laughing along.
Toward the end of the summer, I knew she had to leave. I wanted to be selfish, beg her to stay, but I didn't. She didn't belong with me and yet I could never go with her. She was never intended to be here, just passing through on her way home when the hurricane came. I realized she had chosen to stay with me. She could have left at any moment, any time. I knew I would be miserable without her but I also knew she shouldn't stay even for me. We didn't mention how or when. On the day she chose to leave, we had a long talk, it was the only time I ever felt confident enough to confess what I was feeling. She sat quietly while I spoke, her eyes following my nervous hands.
We said our goodbyes in the same place where I had found her. She gave me three kisses, one on each cheek and one on the lips. I felt strangely happy but sad at the same time. The first girl I ever kissed and what did she do afterward? She jumped into the river and swam away.
It was so many summers ago but I can still remember her sad eyes, the way they change colors when she looks out to the water. I shared with her what I never thought I could with anyone. Our loneliness of living created a bond. It was unusual and yet seemingly normal at the same time.
Naturally I became a marine biologist. I spend my days studying sea life but the memory of Thea stayed with me. She had somehow placed inside me a happiness that I can never reproduce no matter how many times I try. Whenever I sail the sea, I wonder if I would see her. I wonder if all my travel might just end up where she is. I would often take out the seashell necklace that she had left me and think of her, my mermaid friend.
Search Engine Stories Prompt: The Boy and the Mermaid
Submerged
there were voices belonging to many
whispering with beaded eyes
unrealized thoughts striking the air
beating pauses without hearts
she could taste bits of quagmire
bitter against her tongue
twisting the scent of timber around
twirling a piece of hair between her amber fingers
a carefree gesture that hid her from him
her dreams began to grow wings
decanting from drowned emotions
she chase them even as she sleeps
if only she could shout her feelings
throw her voice up high
gather her emotions in one gulp and fly
but the words stuck inside her throat
forcefully flowing toward her feet
where they stayed submerged inside her shoes
Jigsaw Poem Challenge: twist, shout, wings, hair, amber, carefree, timber, decant, chase, taste
whispering with beaded eyes
unrealized thoughts striking the air
beating pauses without hearts
she could taste bits of quagmire
bitter against her tongue
twisting the scent of timber around
twirling a piece of hair between her amber fingers
a carefree gesture that hid her from him
her dreams began to grow wings
decanting from drowned emotions
she chase them even as she sleeps
if only she could shout her feelings
throw her voice up high
gather her emotions in one gulp and fly
but the words stuck inside her throat
forcefully flowing toward her feet
where they stayed submerged inside her shoes
Jigsaw Poem Challenge: twist, shout, wings, hair, amber, carefree, timber, decant, chase, taste
Reverist
my body stopped functioning in the norm
my absent mind a disagreeable girl
catnapping in the grove of lost dreams
she sours my day with non-essential whimsies
nevertheless I breathe in oppressed air
free falling into a small opening, perhaps an abyss
I wanted to cease this wreaking of my spirit
but the stain of living remained etched inside
where it can never be remove
Friday 5: essential, sour, absent, disagreeable, catnap
Memory
a dried rose petal
pressed between time
a mellow scent
gathered at the tip of memory
fell out of my head
as I slept
August Postcard Poetry Fest
pressed between time
a mellow scent
gathered at the tip of memory
fell out of my head
as I slept
August Postcard Poetry Fest
Nocturnal Embrace
the weak noise from her eyes easily files my impatience to an edge
the stars reveal their presence and then hid behind sycamore trees
the sound of a howling dog vibrate through the air sinking into my consciousness
inescapably she emerges from behind the moon seizing the sky
I watch her unfurl a fleeting kindness that was concealed in the midst of her furious storm
her armless embrace possesses me in their intoxicated darkness ever so slowly
I succumb to her dreams letting them seep inside blending with my own
she refuse to be caught again inside the embers of daylight
she is after all the night
Tuesday Title: from E. E. Cummings - the weak noise from her eyes easily files my impatience to an edge.
Lost
The mist clouded the dark streets, clinging to everything like clothes on a person's back. Night or day? Who can tell when we cannot even see what's above us. Shadows bounced against each other, moving at a even pace.
I stood in the middle, lost in the mist. Not a moment ago, you were beside me, holding my hand, naming all the places you will take me once you find the time. But your hand slipped away from mine when the crowd came rushing by.
I saw a light and knew I had to follow it. I thought it was you but found only the ray of a flashlight held by a traffic controller. He stared at me for a moment, his face all contoured in sadness nearly mirroring mine. But as I blinked back the tears, I saw tired lines and sleepy eyes instead.
I turn around and around but there was only the mist. Panic slowly creeping in on me. I watched as shadows emerged from the mist, pale faces with downcast eyes came into view. Their shoulders brushed against me, careening me along with them towards the other side of the street. Suddenly I was alone. The mist seem to have grew thicker.
A light blinking, blinding me, caught my eyes. I walk towards it with apprehension. But it wasn't you but a beggar with a tin cup, waving it around, change clicking inside. I pull out a dollar bill and drop it in. He nodded his head in thanks showing me his toothless smile.
I continued walking, hoping to find you. I wonder where you are and if you knew I am not by your side. The mist above started to clear, only then did I realized night has come. I stood wondering. Should I stay here in this spot and wait for you or should I go look for you?
My eyes strain to see what's in front of me but even as the mist clear, there's no sign of you. The tears burst out of my eyes, hot against my cool cheeks. Through the tears I saw a bright light coming towards me, enclosing me into their familiar arms. A gentle voice calls my name. As soft fingers dry my eyes, I see your brown eyes laughing at me, telling me how silly I was. It had only been ten minutes since I last held your hand. I bury my face into your shoulders, your hand gently stroking my hair. Did I not think you would find me?
Search Engine Stories Prompt: Looking to the light
I stood in the middle, lost in the mist. Not a moment ago, you were beside me, holding my hand, naming all the places you will take me once you find the time. But your hand slipped away from mine when the crowd came rushing by.
I saw a light and knew I had to follow it. I thought it was you but found only the ray of a flashlight held by a traffic controller. He stared at me for a moment, his face all contoured in sadness nearly mirroring mine. But as I blinked back the tears, I saw tired lines and sleepy eyes instead.
I turn around and around but there was only the mist. Panic slowly creeping in on me. I watched as shadows emerged from the mist, pale faces with downcast eyes came into view. Their shoulders brushed against me, careening me along with them towards the other side of the street. Suddenly I was alone. The mist seem to have grew thicker.
A light blinking, blinding me, caught my eyes. I walk towards it with apprehension. But it wasn't you but a beggar with a tin cup, waving it around, change clicking inside. I pull out a dollar bill and drop it in. He nodded his head in thanks showing me his toothless smile.
I continued walking, hoping to find you. I wonder where you are and if you knew I am not by your side. The mist above started to clear, only then did I realized night has come. I stood wondering. Should I stay here in this spot and wait for you or should I go look for you?
My eyes strain to see what's in front of me but even as the mist clear, there's no sign of you. The tears burst out of my eyes, hot against my cool cheeks. Through the tears I saw a bright light coming towards me, enclosing me into their familiar arms. A gentle voice calls my name. As soft fingers dry my eyes, I see your brown eyes laughing at me, telling me how silly I was. It had only been ten minutes since I last held your hand. I bury my face into your shoulders, your hand gently stroking my hair. Did I not think you would find me?
Search Engine Stories Prompt: Looking to the light
Goodbye
a small wail opens up in my heart
my smile frozen in place
as the words sliced through me
my heart skipping double beeps
unable to control the stream of rain
falling unhappily down my blushing cheeks
watching him as he turns to walk away
a subtle blur of fading blue
the storm clouds above begins to drip
as if singing my song
goodbye
goodbye
goodbye
it
keeps
repeating
Chasing Clouds
these ordinary days chasing after clouds
dizzy hypnotic burst of laughter
falling from our ears, our eyes, our hearts
invading every pore of our skin
wrapping us in nostalgic summer dreams
One Single Impression: Homecoming
Falling
Western Motal, 1957 by Edward Hopper
she slowly falls apart
onto the grounds of reality
a zephyr chasing her along
all her memories disappearing
today as her bags got packed
the car in front awaits
she pause to let her mind
empty itself
August Postcard Poetry Fest
Buttons
they want to make buttons out of my bones
pieces of me pressed flat inside tiny globes
they want to sell them and display them
in tiny store windows where they glow
under the pale glare of a spotlight
eventually to be insert into someone's coat
hang on someone's shirt sleeves
sometimes even dangle off a long piece of thread
they want to make buttons out of my bones
all I can think is, does it come in blue?
Tuesday Title: They want to make buttons out of my bones
Rusted
The clothes that draped my body, with their colors of rusted pipes and bang-up garbage cans, shed into bits and pieces falling onto the ocean's floor. I watched their colors dipped into the water and disappeared.
No one was in sight, just a pair of black birds above me flying in circles in the dull sky. A sound came unfurling its rage - a sound so frightful - it made the birds fluttered and flew away. Even people thousands of miles away could have heard it and if it happens to settle upon them, they might just shudder with a chill that they could not describe, at least not with the human tongue.
A thunderous roar that seem to come from the beyond but I soon recognized it as my own. Madness, without my doing, escaped my lips and flew into the sky. I heard its echoes bouncing off and soaked into my skin.
Suddenly my mind disappeared, making me forget why I was out here shivering in the cold ocean. My rage subsided into a whisper. Darkness came and took over the day. I wanted to remember but there was nothing there. Only clouded thoughts inside a muddled box surrounded by blurred shadows.
As I walked towards the bridge, to my home, a sudden sadness took over my body. I continue to walk not knowing where that sorrow came from or why it chose to settle on me on this day. My mind slowly drifted off into the night sky. A glimmer of colorful lights and shapes flashed before my eyes, then evaporated as if it never existed. Nothingness took over, completely washing my mind of all things real.
See the image that inspired these words - Monday Mural at Poefusion
No one was in sight, just a pair of black birds above me flying in circles in the dull sky. A sound came unfurling its rage - a sound so frightful - it made the birds fluttered and flew away. Even people thousands of miles away could have heard it and if it happens to settle upon them, they might just shudder with a chill that they could not describe, at least not with the human tongue.
A thunderous roar that seem to come from the beyond but I soon recognized it as my own. Madness, without my doing, escaped my lips and flew into the sky. I heard its echoes bouncing off and soaked into my skin.
Suddenly my mind disappeared, making me forget why I was out here shivering in the cold ocean. My rage subsided into a whisper. Darkness came and took over the day. I wanted to remember but there was nothing there. Only clouded thoughts inside a muddled box surrounded by blurred shadows.
As I walked towards the bridge, to my home, a sudden sadness took over my body. I continue to walk not knowing where that sorrow came from or why it chose to settle on me on this day. My mind slowly drifted off into the night sky. A glimmer of colorful lights and shapes flashed before my eyes, then evaporated as if it never existed. Nothingness took over, completely washing my mind of all things real.
See the image that inspired these words - Monday Mural at Poefusion
Waiting
Sunlight and Shadows, Paula by Alfred Stieglitz
I sent these words to you not knowing if you will read them. Out loud my heart beats to the sounds of lonely syllables and isolated vowels.
The days rushed past me as if they no longer exist bringing in silent nights, hiding me in their shadows. Words whispered in passing, often scattered by my window. They spoke of faded roses and thoughtless lovers.
Gloomy dreams stormed into my heart gently cracking the anguished waterfalls, ready to push out of my skin. I let them go but they remained inside, waiting.
I kept on writing, surrendering to an exiguous existence. My hands gripping the edge of the pages, releasing imperfect rhymes gifted in darkness. The many shadows that accompany me filled in the missing lines.
I wait for you, in this stillness of time. The modern world no longer in my sight. I believe as I did many years ago, you are still here. No, there is no going forward until I see you again.
Search Engine Stories Prompt: Wait for me
Friday 5: exiguous, thoughtless, gifted, imperfect, waterfall
Alone
what if love has no hue
perhaps I am meant to be blue
I walk with heavy shoes
my feet striking the ground
silently, plainly
down the path of destiny
behind me only the glow of the moon
I seek no one and no one seeks me
in this desolated place
I continued alone
with no rules and no directions
no one to keep me from falling
perhaps I belong to no one
Cafe Writing: Option Two: Pick Three: talk, belong, victory, destiny, plain, strong, rules, dear
Five Miracles
Matthew saw it happen about a million times and each time he had wished he could have save them. But it was not up to him. The choice always belongs to the patient, never his to make.
At age 32, Matthew is grateful for his blessed life. He has a beautiful wife, René, who he adores and whom was always supportive of his decision to become a nurse after five years of being a reluctant doctor. And there was his golden retriever, Miyagi, named after the character from one of his favorite movie, due to his patience for always waiting for him and René to come home.
His job as a full-time nurse at Saint Mercy, was always either very pleasant or very sorrowful. Each day he would watch patients go through so many painful moments and yet Matthew always knew what would happen. Every time would always feel like the first time. Matthew would hold their hands and if a patient's infliction wasn't life threatening, he would help speed up the healing process. Even after so many years, he could not believe his gift was real or how it really works. He just knew holding their hands even for just a moment can bring some comfort even if it doesn't do anything other than that.
But he always knew instantly whether they would live to see tomorrow. He would watch their tired eyes looking straight at him, but Matthew never felt any pity for them. To him, they were courageous being whose sadness was almost always hidden but hope was always in full sight. He could see so much in their eyes, even with one second glances, all the things that went unnoticed by the doctors, nurses and relatives. Even facing death, their eyes never waver.
It wasn't a fluke that René was on the one bus that crashed and turned over three times before landing upside down near an abandon church. She was on her way home on a normal Wednesday but she was late having to stopped and talked to a friend before leaving her job at the grocery store.
Matthew had just finished his shift but he got stuck in the elevator His beeper went off three times. But it was half an hour later before he could find out who was calling. It wasn't René as he expected. Whenever he was running late, she would beep him with their secret numbers, 41196, for April 11, 1996, the exact date of their first kiss. But the number that appeared was unfamiliar to him. He called the service feeling a strangeness that he never knew before.
Matthew couldn't control his panic. He was usually so calm in situations like this but this time was different. This time it was René, the girl that he fell madly in love with just one glance. The girl who made him run circles just to get her phone number. He felt as if his heart was about to burst out his skin, sitting there waiting outside the double doors. He paced the floors but the waiting was agonizing and he could only focus on a single thought - René's sweet face, so vivid in his mind.
Finally, the doctor pushed open the double doors. Matthew knew the look. The one that he sees almost every day. Matthew started to cry, something he had never done, not even when his parents died. René had suffered a massive head injury. Part of her brain was removed and she is unable to breathe on her own.
Matthew couldn't stop the tears as they fall warmly down his cheeks. He watched as they fell to the smooth tiles of the hospital floor. He step on them with his sneakers. He felt the doctor's hand on his shoulder but could not hear the words clearly as the doctor continued to speak.
Tubes were stuck to René and her head was almost all wrapped in white bandages. Her eyes were shut, her pale face seem frozen in time. The only sound in the room was the bouncing heart monitor, steady but slow. Matthew held René's hand tightly in his rough ones, trying to do what he had done for so many patients but this time it was not working. He couldn't heal her. She stayed so still, so lifeless. He tried several times but he knew even when he saw her at the doorway, even before he was holding her hand, he knew she would not live to see another week. What good is it that he has this gift but could not save his beloved? What would it matter now even as she lay there so helpless. She was no longer René. She was but a body now, a body with no mind.
As the days drifted on, René remained in a comatose state. She was laying so still, her eyes barely flicker. Since René had no other family, Matthew had to make the hard decision. He knew what he had to do but the thought of never seeing her face, never feeling her kisses upon his lips, never having her to console him whenever a patient had passed, was unbearable to him. But he had to make the choice. Matthew knew René had signed her donors card. She had always believed that if she could save a life even risking her own, she would willingly. She even convinced Matthew to do the same.
After he signed the papers, after dropping Miyagi at a friend's house, and after saying goodbye to René, Matthew took a trip to a remote place where the trees cast long shadows. Where he and René often take long walks. He spent his days walking through the trees with his mind completely empty. He would stand among them looking up at the sky, at the leaves that scatter about, waving in the air until night took over.
He rarely slept and sometimes when he did sleep he would wake up at 4 am and forget René was gone. He would ran around the cabin searching for her. He would call her name out loud several times before realizing she will no longer be able to answer him.
After three weeks of wandering, Matthew decided it was best to quit his job and move away to where time was never rushed. Somewhere peaceful like he had always imagine he and René would go after they retiree.
He went to the hospital to pick up his things. René always said he practically live at the hospital since almost everything he needed was in his small locker. Matthew was greeted happily by his coworkers but he could not muster a smile for any of them. He nodded his head as he passed them by.
As he was emptying his locker into a big plastic bag, Jack, a nosy reporter who used to be a doctor, who now writes sensational stories about medical miracles, came by. He introduced himself to Matthew and took out a piece of newspaper clipping from his coat pocket, handed it to Matthew and walked out of the locker room.
The headline read: Five Miracles at St. Mercy. Matthew read the article and felt his heavy heart growing a little lighter. All of the patients that received René's organ's - three men and two women, all nurses, completely recovered in less than a week. All of them had went back to work without any complications. When interviewed, they all repeated the same phrase: It was a miracle. They were all given one month to live but now they walk around as healthy as anyone can be.
Matthew couldn't help but smile as tears fell down his face. He placed his things back in the locker and stuck the article on his locker door that still holds a photo of René with Miyagi. He knew he cannot quit now, not while there's still hope. Not for him but for all the patients that still needed his help.
3WW: Million, Time, Unnoticed
At age 32, Matthew is grateful for his blessed life. He has a beautiful wife, René, who he adores and whom was always supportive of his decision to become a nurse after five years of being a reluctant doctor. And there was his golden retriever, Miyagi, named after the character from one of his favorite movie, due to his patience for always waiting for him and René to come home.
His job as a full-time nurse at Saint Mercy, was always either very pleasant or very sorrowful. Each day he would watch patients go through so many painful moments and yet Matthew always knew what would happen. Every time would always feel like the first time. Matthew would hold their hands and if a patient's infliction wasn't life threatening, he would help speed up the healing process. Even after so many years, he could not believe his gift was real or how it really works. He just knew holding their hands even for just a moment can bring some comfort even if it doesn't do anything other than that.
But he always knew instantly whether they would live to see tomorrow. He would watch their tired eyes looking straight at him, but Matthew never felt any pity for them. To him, they were courageous being whose sadness was almost always hidden but hope was always in full sight. He could see so much in their eyes, even with one second glances, all the things that went unnoticed by the doctors, nurses and relatives. Even facing death, their eyes never waver.
It wasn't a fluke that René was on the one bus that crashed and turned over three times before landing upside down near an abandon church. She was on her way home on a normal Wednesday but she was late having to stopped and talked to a friend before leaving her job at the grocery store.
Matthew had just finished his shift but he got stuck in the elevator His beeper went off three times. But it was half an hour later before he could find out who was calling. It wasn't René as he expected. Whenever he was running late, she would beep him with their secret numbers, 41196, for April 11, 1996, the exact date of their first kiss. But the number that appeared was unfamiliar to him. He called the service feeling a strangeness that he never knew before.
Matthew couldn't control his panic. He was usually so calm in situations like this but this time was different. This time it was René, the girl that he fell madly in love with just one glance. The girl who made him run circles just to get her phone number. He felt as if his heart was about to burst out his skin, sitting there waiting outside the double doors. He paced the floors but the waiting was agonizing and he could only focus on a single thought - René's sweet face, so vivid in his mind.
Finally, the doctor pushed open the double doors. Matthew knew the look. The one that he sees almost every day. Matthew started to cry, something he had never done, not even when his parents died. René had suffered a massive head injury. Part of her brain was removed and she is unable to breathe on her own.
Matthew couldn't stop the tears as they fall warmly down his cheeks. He watched as they fell to the smooth tiles of the hospital floor. He step on them with his sneakers. He felt the doctor's hand on his shoulder but could not hear the words clearly as the doctor continued to speak.
Tubes were stuck to René and her head was almost all wrapped in white bandages. Her eyes were shut, her pale face seem frozen in time. The only sound in the room was the bouncing heart monitor, steady but slow. Matthew held René's hand tightly in his rough ones, trying to do what he had done for so many patients but this time it was not working. He couldn't heal her. She stayed so still, so lifeless. He tried several times but he knew even when he saw her at the doorway, even before he was holding her hand, he knew she would not live to see another week. What good is it that he has this gift but could not save his beloved? What would it matter now even as she lay there so helpless. She was no longer René. She was but a body now, a body with no mind.
As the days drifted on, René remained in a comatose state. She was laying so still, her eyes barely flicker. Since René had no other family, Matthew had to make the hard decision. He knew what he had to do but the thought of never seeing her face, never feeling her kisses upon his lips, never having her to console him whenever a patient had passed, was unbearable to him. But he had to make the choice. Matthew knew René had signed her donors card. She had always believed that if she could save a life even risking her own, she would willingly. She even convinced Matthew to do the same.
After he signed the papers, after dropping Miyagi at a friend's house, and after saying goodbye to René, Matthew took a trip to a remote place where the trees cast long shadows. Where he and René often take long walks. He spent his days walking through the trees with his mind completely empty. He would stand among them looking up at the sky, at the leaves that scatter about, waving in the air until night took over.
He rarely slept and sometimes when he did sleep he would wake up at 4 am and forget René was gone. He would ran around the cabin searching for her. He would call her name out loud several times before realizing she will no longer be able to answer him.
After three weeks of wandering, Matthew decided it was best to quit his job and move away to where time was never rushed. Somewhere peaceful like he had always imagine he and René would go after they retiree.
He went to the hospital to pick up his things. René always said he practically live at the hospital since almost everything he needed was in his small locker. Matthew was greeted happily by his coworkers but he could not muster a smile for any of them. He nodded his head as he passed them by.
As he was emptying his locker into a big plastic bag, Jack, a nosy reporter who used to be a doctor, who now writes sensational stories about medical miracles, came by. He introduced himself to Matthew and took out a piece of newspaper clipping from his coat pocket, handed it to Matthew and walked out of the locker room.
The headline read: Five Miracles at St. Mercy. Matthew read the article and felt his heavy heart growing a little lighter. All of the patients that received René's organ's - three men and two women, all nurses, completely recovered in less than a week. All of them had went back to work without any complications. When interviewed, they all repeated the same phrase: It was a miracle. They were all given one month to live but now they walk around as healthy as anyone can be.
Matthew couldn't help but smile as tears fell down his face. He placed his things back in the locker and stuck the article on his locker door that still holds a photo of René with Miyagi. He knew he cannot quit now, not while there's still hope. Not for him but for all the patients that still needed his help.
3WW: Million, Time, Unnoticed
Potatoes and Sage
The potato peels swirl around in the pot, tan brushstrokes surrounding green sage. As I spin the wooden spoon round and round, I can hear the old church clock just around the corner, ticking away silently. I took a spoonful of the soup, then add more salt. Then I pour the whole bottle in and stir like mad watching the white powder dissolves into the creamy liquid. The heat rising into my pores makes me sweat with anxiety. When the cuckoo clock in the living room announced it was time, my hand shook and drop the spoon into the soup. I was a bundle of nervous energy, threatening to break any minute. I quickly pull the spoon out and rush towards the bedroom.
Wiping the sweat off my skin with a towel, I hasty pull on my red dress, slipping into the tallest stiletto that I own and took a brush through my curls, fluffing them about and spray some perfume on my neck and under arms. I make my lips as red as possible, adding double coats of lip gross for shine. I threw a gold bangle on my wrist and taking a deep breath took one last look in the mirror. Pulling my dress farther down to reveal my blushing breasts, I heard the doorbell ringing. I knew I wasn't ready but had no choice. How else am I going to able to get away from this life, this person that I had become. Thank goodness my mother isn't alive to see me like this.
He was holding red roses in his fat hand, the cheapest kind that I knew he always get for a buck a dozen. A quiet smile was on his lips even as his eyes dart from my head to my toe, pausing a little longer on my chest. I smile my biggest smile, hoping he wouldn't notice I was sweating almost profusely. He told me I look fantastic and place a slight kiss on my left cheek, the scent of cigars linger in my nose. I took the roses and he grab my breasts and proceeded to kiss my neck but I told him dinner is ready and wouldn't he like to eat first?
He released me nodding his head and told me it was a good idea and pats his growing belly. His thick eyebrows opening wide, saddle with a big smile. He gave me a kiss so vile that it makes me want to vomit but I kept my smile plaster on my lips, laughing it off as if I enjoyed it.
He handed me his jacket and I threw it on the couch along with the roses when his back was turn, eyeing him as he sit in front of his dinner, spaghetti and meatballs. Hungrily he consume every string of spaghetti, jamming one meatball after another into his mouth, red liquid dripping down the corner of his mouth, clearing his plate with a piece of bread as if it was his last meal, barely noticing I hadn't even touch my plate.
Then it was time for the soup, his favorite, potato and cheese with a touch of sage. I place a big bowl in front of him and he thanked me with a kiss on the lips while his mouth was still covered in tomato sauce. He starts slurping loudly barely taking any breaks in between. I pretend to take small sips of my soup. When he ask for seconds, I hand over my bowl telling him I have a stomach ache. He asked if it was PMS. I nodded my head, frowning just enough to get his sympathy. But that didn't stop him from eating his soup. His slurping seem to be the only sound in the room. It was almost deafening. And when the cuckoo clock announce of another passing hour, he ask for a third. My heart was racing as I place the bowl in front of him but hopefully the poison will hit him before I start to really panic.
Tuesday Title: Brushstrokes and Sage
Wiping the sweat off my skin with a towel, I hasty pull on my red dress, slipping into the tallest stiletto that I own and took a brush through my curls, fluffing them about and spray some perfume on my neck and under arms. I make my lips as red as possible, adding double coats of lip gross for shine. I threw a gold bangle on my wrist and taking a deep breath took one last look in the mirror. Pulling my dress farther down to reveal my blushing breasts, I heard the doorbell ringing. I knew I wasn't ready but had no choice. How else am I going to able to get away from this life, this person that I had become. Thank goodness my mother isn't alive to see me like this.
He was holding red roses in his fat hand, the cheapest kind that I knew he always get for a buck a dozen. A quiet smile was on his lips even as his eyes dart from my head to my toe, pausing a little longer on my chest. I smile my biggest smile, hoping he wouldn't notice I was sweating almost profusely. He told me I look fantastic and place a slight kiss on my left cheek, the scent of cigars linger in my nose. I took the roses and he grab my breasts and proceeded to kiss my neck but I told him dinner is ready and wouldn't he like to eat first?
He released me nodding his head and told me it was a good idea and pats his growing belly. His thick eyebrows opening wide, saddle with a big smile. He gave me a kiss so vile that it makes me want to vomit but I kept my smile plaster on my lips, laughing it off as if I enjoyed it.
He handed me his jacket and I threw it on the couch along with the roses when his back was turn, eyeing him as he sit in front of his dinner, spaghetti and meatballs. Hungrily he consume every string of spaghetti, jamming one meatball after another into his mouth, red liquid dripping down the corner of his mouth, clearing his plate with a piece of bread as if it was his last meal, barely noticing I hadn't even touch my plate.
Then it was time for the soup, his favorite, potato and cheese with a touch of sage. I place a big bowl in front of him and he thanked me with a kiss on the lips while his mouth was still covered in tomato sauce. He starts slurping loudly barely taking any breaks in between. I pretend to take small sips of my soup. When he ask for seconds, I hand over my bowl telling him I have a stomach ache. He asked if it was PMS. I nodded my head, frowning just enough to get his sympathy. But that didn't stop him from eating his soup. His slurping seem to be the only sound in the room. It was almost deafening. And when the cuckoo clock announce of another passing hour, he ask for a third. My heart was racing as I place the bowl in front of him but hopefully the poison will hit him before I start to really panic.
Tuesday Title: Brushstrokes and Sage
Funny Rich Man
Ray hope one day to become a funny, rich man, one that does quirky things while walking awkwardly with a cane made out of a cherry tree branch. And not because he needs the cane to walk but as a way to provoke people and poke them with it if they say something he doesn't like. He would dress himself in gray suits from the 1950's, the kind with a vest where he would keep his pocket watch and on his neck he would wear polka dot bow ties. He would abandon his hometown and go somewhere where English is the second language and where people would appreciate funny, rich man who doesn't drive or smoke cigars.
Ray hope for all that when he saw an old man sleeping on the park bench, homeless and covered in faded, yellow newspapers. He was sitting across from the old man, a styrofoam box holding his lunch next to him. The sun was hiding in the clouds threatening to rain. Ray had stared up at the sky and then at the old man, thinking he did not want to be him. He left his lunch on the ground in front of the old man whose face was still covered underneath the newspapers.
At last Ray was on his way. Today he acquired a wooden crane made from a tree although not of the cherry variety but it was a start.
Search Engine Prompt: funny rich man
Ray hope for all that when he saw an old man sleeping on the park bench, homeless and covered in faded, yellow newspapers. He was sitting across from the old man, a styrofoam box holding his lunch next to him. The sun was hiding in the clouds threatening to rain. Ray had stared up at the sky and then at the old man, thinking he did not want to be him. He left his lunch on the ground in front of the old man whose face was still covered underneath the newspapers.
At last Ray was on his way. Today he acquired a wooden crane made from a tree although not of the cherry variety but it was a start.
Search Engine Prompt: funny rich man
Train of Thoughts
an idea came just as the train rushed by
inside the cool box, against the door
I write on a piece of folded paper
my black pen flipping, scribbling thoughts
while the train bounce the words here and there
the scenery of trees and people change places
the sun begins to shower the train
shadows quickly forming and disappearing
as we enter the dark tunnel
flashes of words seep inside my head
another quick scribbling smeared
as the train makes a unexpected pause then continues
an announcement came but in a blur
my attention elsewhere
finally my stop came
stepping outside into the open air
my thoughts mingle with the sun
my piece of paper safely tuck inside my bag
ready to be rewritten into form
Pen Me A Poem Poetry Prompt: Writing Desk
Monday Poetry Train
Chasing the sun
Photo by Michelle Johnson
her arms flutter to grasp the warmth
chasing the sun that dance upon her head
while a breeze sweeps her thoughts to the cool sea
the icy winter now a distance dream
the scent of summer weeping joy into her hands
Monday Mural
Postcard Poems
I sent this to Michelle
Sailing by Edward Hopper
a poem came from the sea
I watched as the words
slipped inside the night
turning into tiny twinkling dreams
.........................................
Michelle sent me this - picture of Jenny Wiley Lake
Jenny Wiley Lake
by Michelle Johnson
your tongue fell over my bare feet
as I lapped your banks.
it was there I stopped
and plucked Queen Anne's Lace
from its perch.
I know nothing of this tingling
about my pale skin
as I place the scent of carrots
behind my ear,
the fog is rising.
somewhere between grey and emotion
I hear the wild flower's question
but, I push forward into your current
allowing you to touch my warm body
with your cold fingers.
.........................................
Both poems are for the August Poetry Postcard Fest
Sailing by Edward Hopper
a poem came from the sea
I watched as the words
slipped inside the night
turning into tiny twinkling dreams
.........................................
Michelle sent me this - picture of Jenny Wiley Lake
Jenny Wiley Lake
by Michelle Johnson
your tongue fell over my bare feet
as I lapped your banks.
it was there I stopped
and plucked Queen Anne's Lace
from its perch.
I know nothing of this tingling
about my pale skin
as I place the scent of carrots
behind my ear,
the fog is rising.
somewhere between grey and emotion
I hear the wild flower's question
but, I push forward into your current
allowing you to touch my warm body
with your cold fingers.
.........................................
Both poems are for the August Poetry Postcard Fest
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just writing words...
