A meager end of one’s desires
Helpless, falls within the fires
Softly heard the silent pleas
For targets reached with greater ease.
Bemoan the loss of relinquished goals
That lay defeated upon the coals
As sparks take flight and seconds clash
They cruelly wither and turn to ash.
Rising yet above the flame
Release of who or what to blame
To plant again a seed accrued
From hopes of life and dreams renewed.
(My poetry made into a painting)
Daily Prompt: Release
Small town Mississippi
visitin’ a friend
stayin’ in a shotgun house
tilted on one end
Main Street short
railroad long
light’nin’ bugs flicker
with their own torch song
Blues man playin’
me ‘an cook staff laughin’
holding’ our bellies
at this white girl dancin’
White girl dancin’
White folk glarin’
Happy don’t care
jus’ keep on starin’
“Mississippi’n Me”
I remember this, my last conversation with Papa.
He, trying to alleviate our pain.
But I heard, through his bravado
the saddened beat of my heart
submerged in deep water
no knowledge of how to stay afloat
grief no words could express
He said,
“Remember the sandhill crane?”
How could I forget?
Long necks
the sound of their rattle calls
broad wings flying over
ancestral farmland
He said,
“She’s like the hourglass that drips the sand of time
replenishes herself by picking leftovers from the field
She keeps moving forward.
She never stops.
She is you
and she is me.
Our fields, too deep to forget
Too vast to go away.
I will never truly leave you”
“Is this the way of things, Papa?”
“Ja, mein liebes.”
“It is,” he smiled.
Prose adapted from my novel, “Naked, She Lies”
Photo credit
I woke to morn, mouth open wide
yet not in feathered bed
but in a nest atop a tree
and reaching toward the sky
Perched high from ground to take the fruit
wearing but my skin of birth
abrupt and swiftly wisdom flowed
awareness taking root
I wake to morn and wonder meaning
of a message kindly sent
by some wise spirit who had appeared
while I lay deftly dreaming.
(I sketched this the morning after so I would not forget)
We know what happened yesterday
we know our present stint
but what shall come tomorrow, we
have not an ounce of glint
Perhaps that’s for the better, thus
we live life as bestowed
no worry of what if’s and how’s
just watch as it unfolds.
For isn’t it a grander scheme
eyes upward toward the glow
to cast anxieties aside
and let the worries go?
Weekly Photo Challenge: Glow
Do you wrap your shoulders in guilt?
Does it make you feel better?
Of course not.
You did what you did, but the moment has passed.
Perhaps it is regret that you are feeling.
Regret is better. It means you have taken that nugget,
examined it with neutral hands
and learned from it.
So, you wash your hands with compassionate soap
and remind yourself that you are not a fraud
but a human flawed
like everyone else.
Be brave and accept
being flawed only adds to your perfection.
I grow my flowers lovingly
I touch, their pedals sigh
from knowing of their task in life
–delight and mystify.
The rose, it’s thorns protective, pierce
a skin, naive of threat
but once a droplet, red, descends
the memory’s inset
As the milkweed draws the monarchs
quite stupefied am I
to learn a universe as this
creates to gratify.
Early artwork by CD-W (I guess because of its simplicity, it’s still one of my favorites)
No longer can I fill these shoes.
Yet I remember a time
when the patent leather formed neatly around my feet
soft, worn, comfortable
Soles carefree and made of ease
durable for playing chase and hide and seek
or freeze tag in the dark
the lining soft enough for catching fireflies
and my parents goodnight kisses
The tips firm, protecting toes that so easily stumbled.
The heels perfectly made for scuffling
for dragging my feet when it suited
Shoes, easy to pull off for bedtime stories
and tuck-me-in time.
No longer do they fit, those shoes
Yet, it matters not.
I have merely grown into a larger size
the soul intact.
art by C. Dennis-Willingham
So much did she love her wee Sammy Crockett
she kept him tucked safely inside her shirt pocket.
He didn’t much mind the prospect at first
he never was hungry, nor parched from a thirst.
The lining was soft, the fabrics in style
He seemed satisfied, at least for a while.
But the day she took him on a long morning stroll
he started to feel like a con on parole.
He yelled from her pocket, “Enough is enough!
“Yes, I HEAR plenty, but I want to SEE stuff!”
Like bands playing songs, leaves blowing off trees,
a man at a circus atop a trapeze,
the people at market buying their wares,
the making of popcorn at our county fairs!”
Well, she loved him so much she planned to devise
something he’d like that would fit his wee size.
She built him a house from a splendid, smooth boulder
and attached the small building to the top of her shoulder.
She filled it with pillows, a couch and plush chairs
and cut out some windows to give him fresh air.
“Look dear,” she said as they ventured to town,
“The queen has arrived with her shiny jeweled crown!
She continued to talk as she traipsed over ground
But her husband said nothing, no peep nor a sound.
She turned to the silence, looked in the wee house
and there, snoring deeply, lay Crockett, her spouse.
The townsfolk could hear as she said without doubt,
“He seemed to forget that he yearned to look out!”
She carted him home, placed the house on a shelf
and decided to do something fun for herself.
first image- 123rf.com
second image: youtube.com “Walk cycle-the proud naked old lady”
If you can’t get back on the horse
– -well, you can, of course
If you can’t find your way home
you’re not alone
If you can’t lead the horse to water
then, dear granddaughter,
forget about the nag.
‘Cause if you can’t get to the cookie,
eat through the bag!“
and if you bite off more than you can chew
don’t worry, you’ll pull through
Let sleeping dogs lie
and you’ll be fine
‘Cause your guess is as good as mine.
Carolyn Dennis-Willingham 