A shaded balcony
Chlorine wafting from the pool like a Siren's song
Scrape of colorful chalk, tattooing concrete
Flowers in bloom
Red petals dancing in summer's light
Cyclist meandering by
Wheels cracking and spokes creaking
Wind in grass
Dried morning trimmings blanketing the walkway
Written for d’Verse ~ Poet’s Pub poetry challenge: MTB/Poetry Form: The Eleventh Power & More.
Funny story: I accidentally locked myself on my balcony while I was drafting this.
I thought of the future, and spoke of the past.
~Truman Capote, Breakfast at Tiffany’s and Three Stories
My son, forgive me
I tried to show my angels
But taught my demons
Written for dVerse ~ Poet’s Pub‘s 11th year celebration prompt: Poetics ~ Breakfast at Tiffany’s.
There is nothing more torturous than an agitated mind.
It’s like a treasure chest of unspoken riches
Selfishly guarded, every jewel meticulously analyzed
Accumulating over a short time–
Epiphanies, suspicions, fears, schemes–
Until it overflows
And the tortured realizes too late
That it was easier to open than shut.
Written in response to Patrick Jenning’s Pic and a Word Challenge: Experience ~ Pic and a World Challenge #313
I want to be alone… with someone who wants to be alone.Dimitri Zaik
We rented a motel room in a city far away from our respective lives. The moment we entered, we killed our phones then sequestered them in the old drawer – charging be damned – officially going off grid.
Two chocolates and a courtesy “Hope You Enjoy Your Stay” note sat in the center of the bed. We pushed them onto the floor and stowed away under the cold covers, embracing each other for warmth and, at some primal level, a need to belong.
But when our embrace didn’t scare away the loneliness that festered within us, we resorted to kissing it away.
Our respective decomposing worlds faded into a fog, leaving us alone.
Under satin sheets
Your soft snoring in my ears
Sheltered in your warmth
Photo: Morning Blankets by Cottonbro via Pexels.
Prompt: Solitude ~ Pic and a Word Challenge #257 by Patrick Jennings via Pix to Words.
Quote: Dimitri Zaik
Every bit of me
Wants to believe we
Are real, that in
Our silences, a chord,
Silvery, binds us together.
Unseen but felt, reminding
Us that we are
Kindred souls in love
Fated to be by
God or whatever force
That put us here.
Every bit of me
Wants to believe this.
But the wounds from
Past chords prevent me.
Chords I believed were
Like ours—precious loves—
Until brutishly snatched away
Like ripping an embedded
Hangnail from a finger.
In my eyes
My wounds prove
“Love” is foolish.
Every bit of me
Wants you to
Prove me wrong.
Photo: Three Heart Balloons by Kristina Paukshtite via Pexels.
She was here.
But not really.
She’s in limbo.
Like between sleeping and awake.
Like between breathing and not.
An elaborate veneer of external liveliness.
Photo: Woman Sitting via Pixabay.
Question, why does joy
As if an intermission
A ragged, painful breath
As if being broken
Continue reading “The Joy Ticker”
Photo: Vintage Clocks by Heather Zabriskie via Unsplash.
This world we live in
Is full of hate, pain, and loss
But here, in your arms,
Surrounded by your warmth, I
Feel only your love. Only you.
Picture: Adult Couple via Pixabay
A little thunder
Shaking the concrete jungle
Is Mother Nature
Jabbing her elbow in my
Ribs, reminding me what’s real
When I untied my heartstrings,
Better Judgement snarled. “Why?”
I answered: “Because it needed to soar.”
Photo by Erik Witsoe via Unsplash
Written for Sonya’s Three Line Tales, Week 125, Only 100 Words