first line friday, minelovemisery's menagerie, Poetry, short story

reading the room

mind love misery’s menagerie. first line friday

untouched books crowded his shelves, shiny leather spines and faded first editions, meticulously dusted and never read. unnoticed the moments flex their power, passing into hours, casually creeping across the day. the sun spreads in silence, dressing the emptiness, delivering light and heat and driving back the empty shadows. quietly calmly bursts the break of day. awakened, the books stir and bend, stories start to stumble, congregating with crazy calamity.  panicky pages quietly quivering, for they all knew he would appear and so they watch and wait.

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sunday whirl, wordle

footprints

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sunday whirl: wordle 184

free falling from the blue sky her feet touch earth. barely audible only the birds appear to notice.

wearing her favorite dress with thirteen red poppies and a frivolous decision to wear summer sandals, the journey took a toll, there was a slight unforeseen tear.

her earthbound roots forever etched to her soul at times called out with little rest. strange how the root now ancient and gnarled still spoke with strength pulling her in a direction her literary heart was bound to.

carrying the heavy parcel her journey was soon to end once she delivered the grateful package.

with speedy recovery the words gathered in a whirlwind thanked her in apocalyptic sincerity knowing what was unknown to her.

in the midst of the wind whispering moments pass leaving faded few sprinkled inklings of her mortal epilogue.

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Big Tent Poetry, gong poetry

day 4. covered

big tent poetry gong poetry day 4 new to you. today i picked toni morrison, unlike any other. a beautiful author in all sorts of ways… for me it all started when i read her book beloved… new to me, her latest entitled jazz. a small excerpt and a line that sorta just stuck out…

“breathing and murmuring under covers both of them have washed and hung out on the line, in a bed they chose together and kept together never mind one leg was propped on a 1916 dictionary, and the mattress, curved like a preacher’s palm asking for witnesses in His name’s sake, enclosed them each and every night and muffled their whispering, old-time love” , dip poetry lounge

a lovely place survives
where two can go to be
a simple sharing sigh

they tell no one
never make plans
their desire uncovered

not a bother
smooth as soft
a sweet knowing familiar

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Big Tent Poetry, Poetry

sound sleep

Big Tent Poetry monday prompt: select an artist, one poem, one line and go… i’ve selected charles bukowski, bluebird, and the line i don’t weep, do you? the first time i heard this i was hooked.  for your utube visual pleasure below is his bluebird…

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i don’t weep, do you?*

there’s never a thought
that descends so low nor
lingers long after his cheek is dry

there’s never a story
that lasts too long
he sleeps so soundly
snoring slightly

there’s never a man
who willingly slips and
finds his way back
wily whiskey extortion

there’s never a sign
of that certainty
that smile that charms
that snarl that erases

only now
toward evening late
does he speak sincerely
in and along the shadows
who murmur not
telling the moon his story

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carry on tuesday

weaving mortals

carry on tuesday: The prompt this week is the opening sentence from The Story of a Marriage by Andrew Sean Greer “we think we know the ones we love”. Use all or part of it at the start or somewhere within your poem or prose

we weave back and forth
barely beyond the grave
ghost shadows our arms embraced
pausing the predestined

there’s no surprise
when you reappear gazing
from the face of another
clothed and conscious

who could this be
wearing your familiarity
your imprint waiting watching
such an easy fit

filling the blank spaces
inserted midway
we think we know
the ones we love

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