Blog

I sit here
invisible
In this little
bar
All alone
watching

Do they know I
watch
Would they
care
If they knew I
wrote

That it was them
here
On paper or
screen
That I record their
inattentiveness

To my invisibility?

You left me,
no remorse.
I waited,
no recourse.

Not enough
to keep you here.
Never enough
to keep you near.

All the rest
that came along.
Everyone danced
to the same old song.

Something better
lay down the road.
Nothing here
but an ugly old toad.

Yet like the prince
in tales once told.
With a lover’s kiss
a toad becomes gold.

Babbling speech echoes
from beneath the piped water
Hands rap on invisible walls
exiled beneath the weight of oppression

Tree bark peels like disemboweled promises
while the snake slithers out of his heralded slot
A flock of sparrows circle the over-coiffed head
forming a false halo – leaving excrement in their wake

A brush of a pen and a nod of his head
the lions circle his den before hunting his prey
The echoes and cries of the people converge
their outrage subdued – the dictator lives on.

Time passes, seasons change
churches built, buildings fall.
Acorns sprout, trees emerge,
living long, growing tall.

Day turns into endless darkness,
night encompasses one and all.
On the horizon, sunrise hovers,
moonbeams release their nightly enthrall.

Voices carry whispers in the wind,
ears attuned to each quiet vowel.
No more hiding, no more lying,
eyes are open, no need to pretend.

In response to Sadje’s post @ lifeafter50forwomen.com
What Do You See #306

Love is chaos,
unfettered blissful anguish
of emotions.

Lack of control,
no boundaries,
no safety net.

A tightrope of uncertainty,
dangerously bouncing,
upending the tightrope walker.

Breaking off pieces of a soul,
bit by bit or wrenching it out
completely, without warning.

Love knows no mercy,
waiting until the wound heals,
before stabbing the tender heart again

A Collaboration between Christine Bialczak (Stine Writing) and Gypsie-Ami Offenbacher-Ferris

A scent in the air from the past

captures my memories,

tomorrow will keep them near.

Inching closer,

tomorrow brings a chill.

Mind slips back,

flowers close and drop

searching for answers.

Tomorrow looms far away,

nostalgia taps the senses.

Time lapsed visions loop

through my fading memory.

The past becomes the present,

fields lush with daffodils.

The good combines

with the bad.

Blue lakes brim with frogs and fish,

Reality is recognized, recalled, recited.

In response to: Photos of Your Hobby — CFFC

Hosted by Dan Antion from Cee’s Fun Foto

This one took a moment, as I do have a few too many hobbies, but I’m certainly not going to complain! This is my newest hobby, which is an extension of my other two favorite hobbies; flower gardening and photography! I’m still learning, but having a good time doing so!

A pinch of sugar
a dash of salt
That’s all it takes
to make a recipe complete

Pop it in the oven
for an hour or more
Out comes something delicious
soon devoured by all

Just a pinch of sugar
with a dash of salt
On their own alone
does not a full recipe make

Do not bother to add the core ingredients
bypass incorporating the solid foundation
Forget the constant whisking and stirring
and neglect paying full attention

Then the little bits of sugar
with only the occasional dash of salt
Can not manifest a beautiful recipe
and eventually gets thrown out

Lies smell of demolished dreams
shaking chasms of arthritic hopes
Scam artists eager to turn
innocents into victims

Step into a legacy
of rich men’s promises
A chest full of empty emotion
sits molding with age

Faith beats within a shattered heart
blood slipping down the ragged edges
Shame peaks out beneath the fringe
of ruby red droplets staining a spirit pure

Roosted deep within a soul
a tiny orb of hope remains
Willing to rush back towards the pain
at the mere mention of a name

A spot along the rugged strip of life
diluted by longing and tears
Slowly dissipates into the unending
and timeless void of the universe