“A hurricane of laughter like a song
Your voice like a blue storm in my head.
(Kissed my soul)
I am a pebble in your river.”
Instead of cleaning, this happened.
Now back to scrubbing with bleach…
I swear the year just started.
Had the chance to breathe.
To finish all the shopping?
Get out the door, let’s leave!
This short prose/poem written in response to Trifecta, asking us to reflect in 33 words or less on the holiday season.
Christmas always comes as a surprise to my family somehow, and there is always a lot of stress and yelling, and yet I consider my family to be one of the most festive and in the spirit. We have decor up right after Thanksgiving on good years. This is not one, but the drama is lovely somehow.
Happy holidays to one and all. I will post this weekend about my family’s Polish American Christmas traditions and I hope you will share yours as well!
But first, a post on the flu.
“Pass the salt,” you say
Head buried in a screen.
I obey, but feel somehow
Your work is but a door between.
Your dinner nearly done,
The dawning thought: I deemed
I’d seen this somewhere else before.
Of what our future might become.
The endless hours dragging on.
The night begun it seemed
Till fears had won.
And that is what’s in store.
Dour and sulking, I
Did ponder this soliloquy:
Do futures make themselves or are
they birthed on rocks of self-defeat?
“Enough,” I say, “I will not see
this history repeat.
So shut the screen and eat with me.
Let work be done now, dear and come!
Put away the Mac,
that horrid fiend,
that splits in two
all that we do
and turns my mood to darkest black.”
With that, my thoughts wipe clean.
You obey, but feel somehow
You’re not sure what you’ve seen
But wonder who’s at fault today.
I just went crazy with this. It’s sort of prose poetry in answer to Trifecta’s weekly challenge: the third definition of the word “anticipation.”
I am not sure what happened here, but I liked it. Done almost entirely as stream of consciousness with minor edits.
A soliloquy is a monologue in a show, spoken regardless of what else is going on around them. Or, a character speaking their thoughts. Which is pretty much what this is allllll about.
Three a.m. car talk:
wild leaf devils spiral up,
Old friends remember.
Fresh kitchen scent, mmm…
Cooking with you is so good.
Pass the cinnamon.
Music and laughter; a writer’s dream.
I tried to get all my favorite things into 33 words… For Trifecta’s weekend challenge.
I thought haikus would work well.
My friends and family, weather, talking late at night, autumn, baking, the love of my life, cooking, cleaning, music, laughter, my dreams, my writing, the dreams that inspire my writing, Yup, got everything but Skyrim in there…
Hope you liked it!
P.s. on Trifecta’s page they linked to the song “my favorite things”. Here is my favorite version, sung by Barbara Streisand. .
Warning: this first poem is really not appropriate for those under 18! You were warned!
Before You Left For Work Today
I was buttering the morning toast.
I could feel
your long nose running up my back.
As you kissed
your way to my neck, you let out one soft, desperate moan.
I shivered and my bangles clattered, (the
ones you like.)
Your careful hand ran up my thighs
I didn’t mind
when you took me against the counter
sending silverware flying,
for something other than toast.
I thought of what I should have said.
Instead of the drunken ranting,
The whispered hopes
Spoken too soon and too hard
And too true.
I thought I should have waited
To tell you how I dreamed us walking a sandy beach at 65, old and grey and worn out, like two old sandals.
I probably shouldn’t have said those things last night.
I recall how you smiled
And didn’t answer
And I think:
At least it wasn’t no.
Yeah, more poetry, but at least this stuff is new!
Ahem, is it getting warm in here or is it just me?
Okay, so this is totally away from my usual. Consider this my foray into poetry, and it’s not even new stuff, just stuff I haven’t had the guts to post before today. And warning, the last one is COMPLETELY inappropriate for anyone under 18. Read it at your own risk!
You are dangerous
You could hurt me with your words and actions
But I’m not scared
Because I’ve seen you
The other you
The bright and energetic star that lights up other people’s skies
That brings a smile to our faces
And laughter to our lips
I’ve seen that you
And that you makes me stay
Part of you may be dangerous
But I think
In the end
The star you
The bright you
“Tourist of the Heart”
We sit on a bench watching another couple
Not that we are a couple, of course
But we study them closely
She is neat and organized, sitting near a bag packed for a tourist.
She wears old jeans, frayed (Not like yours, neat and new.)
And we lean in close like a couple–
Not that we are a couple–
But we whisper about their motivations
Why she is in town
Why she is old fashioned
Why he touches her knee
(and I keep hoping your knee will press to mine again)
They leave and we think:
Why, if she is organized, does he have the pack?
Is he the tourist?
Over dinner, over your shoulder while you’re smiling at me
You don’t see the old woman give me a wink.
She watches us
It’s not her fault
She doesn’t know we’re not a couple.
We are all just tourists of the heart here
And if this is my moment with you, I’ll visit it gladly
Okay and finally, I can’t really hide this last one but this is the best I can do: