She is not one to say it often. I’m not sure why that is. Maybe she doesn’t know how, never learned how. Maybe she’s just not good at it.
My mom has been on her own, for the most part since she was thirteen. Her mom died one morning as she was readying her daughters for school.
I’m thinking since then, she has had issues with god / creator for letting such a catastrope befall her and her younger sister.
Some things trickle down, whether it was meant to or not.
I am no good at love. Most times leave me feeling like a lunatic, if not acting like one.
But, I keep an open heart. Even so, “I don’t know why I was surprised every time love started or ended.” I guess in a cock-eyed sorta of way, I believe in love.
Over at dVerse Poets Pub the prompt is to write prose (keeping it tight at no more than 144 words) and to include the line below:-
“I don’t know why I was surprised every time love started or ended.”
It was mid morning on a weekday.
I was working in my garden.
Doing battle, was more like it.
This unruly patch is the only green in this row of yards.
The grape is tangled with the honeysuckle.
Lina’s broom is on a surge for the sun while stiffling the lavendar.
When far away an interrupted cry.
It was the voice of a woman. I could hear the blows landing, and the rebuke with each blow. This, even after she had stopped crying out. A man’s voice, full of rage, blaming her for it all. She refused to give him the satisfaction of crying anymore.
He kept hitting her.
I couldn’t figure out which house this was coming from.
I felt helpless, pissed off and horrified all at once
Then there was a gurgly scream from him
Followed by silence.
For dVerse poets prosery #1, word limit 144 words max and include this line
“…when far away an interrupted cry..”
This prosey contains 140 words..I think.
Stop over and do some reading, or even participate here.
On the rural route up to the mountains there’s much to see. Horses grazing in fields, and farm houses with red barns and silohs. It’s really like driving through a postcard setting. I’ve seen crows on the side of the road picking at a carcass, and a majestic eagle soar from it high perch keeping an eye on them. But, I’ve yet to see a snow owl. Their domain is the dark of night, while the earth sleeps under a blanket of snow. Though I’ve not seen them, they might have seen me. When the snow on the ground makes light the night. And I slip out onto the porch into the arms of the night. So, I wait for that someday when I get to experience seeing or hearing a snow owl. Till then they live in my imagination.
a hoot here, then there
in the shadows of the moon –
snow owl’s made a match
Waves of fallen leaves
Being chased by autumn gust
A moving quilt
Twin maples now stand naked
Undressed for fall
No doubt undergoing their
Syrup making phase
It is the oddest thing still,
to get a whiff of maple syrup
Untouched by humans come spring
After these many years,
This amazes me still
* Photo of a wall of a building Downtown Brooklyn painted mat black and the artist add these doodles. The whole facade, top to bottom, looks like scribbling on chalk board. But this is far from temporary. Fascinating! !
Photo Credit: ESA/Hubble; Raghvendra Sahai and John Trauger (JPL), the WFPC2 science team, and NASA/ESA
Over at dVerse poets are 4 photos taken by Hubble and we’re asked to choose 1 for your inspiration and write a poem.
What leap out of the photo you choose; or leap into it. How does it make you feel, think, believe?
An open eye
Amidst the big picture
If only we could
see what you see