BTP.wordle.burningstories

big tent poetry, this week’s prompt wordle

not much to hold
nor weight to carry

tiptoe insides slip slide a squeal
kindle smoldering sight

crackling fiction flames, weaving
a wake of smoke and significance

tidy tomorrows clause and curl
fire floating pages one passing parade

tangle and tease superficial touch
scorching smile symmetric singe

disappearing boyish memento, celluloid
story he started by brushing her thigh

quiet a question hushed hue
tattered testament soot

left over litter, daylight ablaze
sparkle diamond defy

stir the still shadows blooming
one gasp, a hundred grins

say more the unspeakable
not much weight to memory

only when i dance am i invisible

big tent poetry monday prompt: alliteration, pick a letter any letter and fly
sunday scribbling no 250: invisible [congrats “ss” 250 prompt!!]
photo: Robyn Hooz, flickr

at least once
a day
i step back
only slightly
to make sure
i’m still here
footstep free
a hundred miles
less than yesterday

the path i ponder
wonders aloud
so plainly attired in
colorful commotion
calamity and calm

with flowery flair
and secret signals
a haven of smoky puffs
soon surround
in powerful pursuit

and with a slightly distracted air
one speaks …and who are you?

seeing a slight
silhouette
of shimmering
he snickers and spits
while whispering
mysterious addresses
designed to depart in
sightless swaying
cobweb sublet strings

knowing the way
he’s friendly and fierce
opening doors
beyond his sacred
simplicity

hardly ever
do i hesitate
only when i
suddenly forget

and near the edge
of this day’s light
i hear a holler so
delicate

come home soon
we all miss you
so

flashback forward

monday’s big tent poetry prompt: feet
photo: baby feet…,  mgrphotos, flickr

inquisitive eyes
hindsight hands
finger tracing translucence

an unexpected find
folded and found
torn and tattered
yellowed piece of paper
my hospital birth certificate

the paper says
i was born on this day
at this time and
stuck my feet in black ink
to prove i was

oh little feet
tell me the places
we shall go

size so small
soft as butter attributes
activated lines and shadows
eye witness to a future
the ol’ gypsy woman foretells

fresh little feet
did tell then
what now is when
how far i would travel
and the miles i’d run
to espy the rainbow’s
ancestral home

sometimes my feet sing
shifting from a long note
to a thousand quick beats of patter
skipping over burdens
as a child at play

oh he sez but they are pretty
otherwise he wouldn’t have stayed
it’s all in the feet he sez

consumed in a flashback
i’m walking forward
along weedy old tracks
some long forgotten
abandoned railroad line
remember the rattling train

texas tremble

big tent poetry: enough
photo: justuswendell, flickr

sun baked body brown
thirsty for a healing drink
cool clear rivers bubbling
sprouting virgin springs serenade
hidden by a flock of shaded wonder
ancient anchored cypress trees
swaying silent mysterious moss
overheated heart submerge

immersed in a thousand baptisms
washed away by ivory soap
plunge a downhill depth
shallow the sting
freed by the frio

another visit to the memory banks of the mind… traveled to the hill country of texas… so many beautiful rivers soaked for a week… never wanted to leave… could not believe the blessings of flowing springs and clear cool rivers shaded by cypress trees found a little bit of heaven on earth.. the perfect escape of immeasurable proportions… not sure if this is the frio, though this scene is similar in every respect to the others met during the quest..

voodoo child

big tent poetry monday prompt this week offers a wordle of wonder
cafe writing – the bistro, do you believe in magic, option 2 poetry

hung around his neck  a tinkling sound of seashells and the roar of tsunami splashed wet at his feet. his cupped hands dripping with honey, the bees stayed too. come he motions, his words prancing in a chorus line of thundering hoofs, i’ll not wait forever. shoeless she wanders awake in a world of alice. his cheshire smile remains sincere while her thirst resurfaced in the ash pit of frozen fire longing for heat. who could tell the connection he held with gentleness as he roped her in.

listening to some great music, jimi hendrix always always brings it on….