Category: Author

Hosted by John Steiner 11/12/23

Hosted by: DALECOOPER57

In response to Sarah W’s
Photo Challenge #488

Said the Tree to Moped at its base,
Where have they all gone do you think?
Replied Moped to Tree standing tall,
You know they lasted nearly longest of them all.

Asked Tree of Hotel three stories high,
What will you do to get by all alone?
Answered Hotel to Tree in the breeze,
No worries as I am made completely of stone.

Mused Tree to Stone in Hotel’s walls,
Stay and talk with me before you crumble and fall.
Chuckled Stone to Tree at its feet,
Mother Earth will never accept defeat.

Angel wings flutter by
on the backs of butterflies
Translucent as the sky is blue
dappled sunlight shining through

A flash of light in the night
the snap of a batwing in flight
His wings are of blackest black
a furtive glance to watch them flap

Stray pieces of rainbow colored hues
caught in the flow of summer’s perfuse
Hummingbird’s bounce limb to limb
their own private troponym

Angels all are not caught in heaven
many are here in their earthen haven
No matter the color of wings or skin
angels all we have within

An old relic
that’s what she was
A throw back to a time
not remembered and definitely
forgotten

Not even a shadow of the once
lithesome dark haired girl remained
Her back curved and eyes glazed
she could barely remember her own
name

Running through life a race to be won
a seeker of knowledge and of love
Neither spirit or resolve ever broken
through it all she could fly and never
fall

Her calm did resonate through troubled air and across turbulent seas
Still her heart it did yearn to tell
one and all how very lonely she could
be

Saying goodbye again
will it be the last time
Or will the coming sun
return you to my arms one day

Another goodbye another day
wishing you could always stay
Heart bleeds grief stricken
each time we wave goodbye

Night falls painfully into place
it brings little solace
To a soul ripped in two
when I fell in love with you

Crickets sing mournfully
through my open windows
Like our love waits and waits
knowing we are just snake bait

The sun rises on an empty bed
outside with the crickets instead
Keeping the snakes and sharks at bay
hoping next time you’ll be able to stay

The sound of my own voice
dormant for so long
Jars me unexpectedly and painfully
from the unwelcome silence

Bones rattle inside my head
unused to the volume
The subjugated resonance
erupts from the confines of my soul

Embers smoldering century
after century ignite within me
Injustice, servitude, acquiescence
all now banished from this body

Sparks kindled in youth blown bigger by the condemnation of me,
Of my kind, of Womanhood
grow into an unstoppable bonfire

A roaring blaze to protect those
of my kind young and old
To wake them from their apathy
shake them from concerted paralysis

Remember and stand against coercion
fight against suppression of self
Our right to choose the path we want or need to take with and for our bodies

Not for what someone else believes
we should do

Silence an unbearable
noise in the heart
Alone crowded with
interminable memories

Regret shrouded in
indiscernible innocence
Anger smothered in
unrequited love

Injustice satisfied
with ruthless forgiveness
Justice held in the hands
of the unforgivable

Life permeated with
the edgy fear of death
Death sweetly scented
with cloying promises

Catch me I’m falling
the blackness draws near
I fear the ending
is really quite clear

Alone and abandoned
during life’s cruelest hours
The worst is upon me
in my final hours

Into the void I am going alone
no hand to guide me
no comforting smile
to help me along

Catch me I’m falling
the emptiness of time
is upon me now
must I traverse it alone?

One wall holds trinkets
garnered from vendors
little tents along alleyways
in valleys and on beaches
of lands far and near

One wall holds baskets and gadgets
and things mundane to others
yet most dearly loved by me,
colors overlapping into an organized chaos within my vivid imagination.

One wall holds items necessary
to living, a knife block, a shelf
and a tray. A spice rack resides there and a hook for fancy towels to dry wet hands and a pad for lifting hot things.

One wall holds dear, photo memories
of the life that was lived. Babies born, marriages complete, children now
parents themselves and flowers long gone, but all will live on within me.