3WW, 6S

tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow,

clearly seen from the backseat of the old blue chevy the movie was going to be something i was not going to remember. thankful for salty buttered popcorn and coveted condoms we decided to enjoy the evening stars and serenading moon in the fully clothed fury of our youth. the passing poster had advertised something about an old southern family written by faulkner who somehow knew the intimate details of life gone wrong in the illusion of walking shadows grasping for breath. briefly distracted from the hands and eyes that began to wander to the intimate softness of my delicate ingenue, i was suddenly aware; quickly realizing he had shifted into overdrive and soon the show would be over before i ate my portion. too soon for him and too late for me, innocent guilt reflected on our inexperienced faces as we tried to smile the disappointment away. recovering quickly we separated to own thoughts and watched benjy’s silence in the dimness of a faraway first night’s experience.
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three word wednesday, this week’s offer: fury, guilt, thankful; six sentences
photo: Maureen Bond, flickr



never was it real
floating free in the twilight
anchored by balloons

then was when began
clashing dreams awake or sleep
reality ran

peppered with happy
anger crept quietly still
shadows always talk

lint-free my world sang
running to places unknown
they followed me not
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one single impression, this week’s topic: childhood memories
photo: photojennic, flickr



tender hearted bliss
underneath the simmering

suspicious wonder
invisible guardian
wandering earthings

bridgeless existence
distorted doubtful distrust
empathetic light

kindling kindness
beacon to benevolence
weightless watchful shrouds

forsaken orphans
seeking a sanctuary
all too young to know

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one single impression this week: #28 defenses down
photo: Boy, urchin, rogue…, carf, flickr
“…Look at me here. I am thirteen years old. I don’t have a father. I don’t have a homelike house, I am hungry, I don’t know a mother’s love, I sleep on the streets, under the bridge, in cellars and gardens, I get cold, I tried to sell newspapers and nobody bought them; I tried cleaning car windscreens and they told me to piss off; I tried selling knickknacks and almost nobody bought them. So that you take notice of my existence, …” From the text “Menino, Moleque, Malandro” in José Fernandes de Oliveira’s book “A Geração Insatisfeita”, published by Edições Paulinas in 1991. another of his links abandoned in brazil stop by his site…

PoefusionFriday5, Poetry


impaled to the notice of freedom she began counting consequences on the trellis of forgotten fertile dreams. the appearance of her smiling face showed no reflection of the interior defect stained clean on the white laundry of her freshly washed life as a resurrected youngster.
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poefusion Friday 5: trellis, appearance, defect, youngster, laundry
Photo: Rebirth, Copyright TamaraSchuit , flickr


youthful play


with much care
does she show him
her precious shell

distracted by the latest
batman comic book
he misses the moment

wearing pink sandals
with bright rubber soles
her happiness spills over
in delicate quiet twinklings

his youthful lack
of attentive love
sits untouched as a
waiting postcard

still and static
the sightless air
is released and
nothing is noticed

eyeing the
discarded soapbox
she waits another day
for him to catch up.

Poefusion Friday Five: shell, comic book, discarded soapbox, rubber soles and postcard; photo: Eleanor_W, photobucket