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Showing posts from November, 2011

Metaphors Have Stained Glass Windows

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A child on a farm sees a plane fly overhead and dreams of a faraway place.  A traveler on the plane sees the farmhouse below and dreams of home.  ~Robert Brault


Museum Artifacts: Some dreams are like a glassed in museum artifacts, we can see it and ponder it's beauty, but we can never hold it in our hands.
A Nearby Explosion: Memories are like a nearby explosion, the moment it happens is brief, but the ringing in our ears can last a lifetime.
An Old Shirt: Bitterness is like an old shirt, the more you wear it the more comfortable it gets, and the stains become permanent.
A Passing Train: Harsh words are like a passing train, they pass us by harmlessly many times but when they hit us they are devastating.
A Burning Forest; The gangs of the ghetto are like a burning forest, they stand together in danger unable to run and that is where they shall fall.
A Repaired Leaky Roof: Courage is like a repaired leaky roof, you never know if it will hold strong until it rains.
That Fine Crystal Vase: Sometimes lo…

Tornadoes And Trailer Parks

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Photo: Christine Donnier-Valentin

Magpie # 93
Your love has always been a tornado and my heart a trailer park in it's path.
Its an arduous journey going down, like straight whiskey with no glass.
Somehow I keep holding on like a careless scarf caught on barbed wire.
I am waiting to be rescued from the smoke but you are running from the fire.
Yet, somehow through the wreckage, I still have something left to hold you close to me.
My heart has a sofa in the middle of nowhere waiting for your love to take a seat.
Yes, my heart has always been a trailer park, and your love a tornado on it's way.
It is an arduous journey going down, like a plate of eaten jalapenos the following day.

All That We Behold

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"All that we behold is full of blessings. " ~William Wordsworth

What we see when we look at the world has a way of changing from the time we are youngsters, to adulthood.  The view through that familiar living room window changes light.  We no longer see with a sense of fascination.  The magical goggles somehow get removed from those brilliant eyes.   Then bifocals replace them with a mundane outlook.  The only way to see that glorious vision again is to remove the layers of practical callus upon the soul, and see like a child once more.
I have always believed that you can learn more from a child than you can a text book, when it comes to the matters of the heart.  They wear their heart out on their sleeve, and do not mind sharing how they feel or what they see.  We learn to be patient in their haste, and we learn to be honest from the example and tendernous of a child's presence.  They see the world as an adventure and a wonder.  There is a certain grace in innocense, and…

Latched

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A lady had a lover that stroked her care free hair. He held her mighty love with a gentle kind of care.  Kindred spirits they became through day and through the night. Like a lock and key they latched together close and tight. Yet through the test of time, what they had faced many storms. What held them together became weak and mighty worn.
Then one day her lover became a stranger setting her love free
But this lady holds no freedom, for her heart is locked now with no key.












Where Hope Abides

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Photograph by Dorthea Lang
Linking with Poetry Jam

"Hope never abandons you, you abandon it."  ~George Weinberg


There is no place that it does not breathe it can survive in a cardboard box a lion's cage  a train wreck a coal mine yet there is a hunger in it's belly that yearns to be held whole it will travel far or it will hold still like a photo it's greatest strength is where our weakness abides in the time of need it lingers yet like a ghost you may not see it unless you are looking with your heart's eye.






My Sister Is A River

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Painting by Jacqui Binford-Bell
Linking with In Tandem #19 a wonderful prompt for writers!

My sister is a river
she heads to the eastern sea
in her pockets she carries pieces
of all the things we used to be...

My sister is a river
her colors reflect of beauty from the past
yet she keeps moving forward
with ebb's distance and future's splash...

My sister is a river
she brings with her eternity in a rush
with force she moves, yet soft is her touch.


Sight

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I chose to be blind.  It was easier that way. With eyes closed like a window shade I refused to see the truth.  No light could come in and warm my broken heart.  Some burdens are too heavy to bear all at once, or alone so I did not look.  I threw away my map and I gave no glances to the east nor to the west.  Not knowing was the only comfort I could grasp.  Fumbling in that kind of darkness....is a long walk to any light. So denial became both my friend and my enemy...engraved in one shroud of regret, that hurt to wear, and was even more painful to take off.  I can see that now, but in the midst of the storm, I was blind.


This was written for Kerry's Wednesday challenge at Imaginary Gardens With Real Toads. It is my attempt at a prose poetry piece....a big weakness for me.  This is something I really went through and never want to have to face again.  The only thing worse than our heartaches in life...is our children's.

Algebra For The Soul

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Magpie # 91
(Regret + y does not = fulfillment)



All of yesterday's regrets are 100 chairs we can no longer fill yet we will create even more for tomorrow foolishly trying to fill them today.

A Moment For Reflection

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"Adopt the pace of nature: her secret is patience." ~Ralph Waldo Emerson
Poets United Think Tank #74 Winter

Nature has a way of knowing when it is time to rest and renew. 
Growth will come when the time is right.
When I think of winter it reminds me of a pause in life.
A time of rest and reflection.
A way of being that mankind just does not know how to do.



Like Etchings In Stone

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Magpie #90

"May you live all the days of your life."  ~Jonathan Swift

I learned early the power of what we give and take in this life, and the weight of what we leave behind. It can be a heavy burden whether it be plenty or it be brief.  Having lost both my parents by the time I was 29, and my only sibling before I was 40, I know all too well how important it is to make every second count.   Regret is a heavy burden to pass down as a keep sake, and sadly I have held it within my hands more than once. It was in that loss that I found both comfort and liberty in writing.  Through poetry and the written word, I discovered a way to capture those feelings and lessons learned in a way that could be passed down from generation to generation.  Like etchings in stone, the written word surpasses the power of time's decay, giving forth more than just a glimpse of days gone by.  It is like taking a piece of someone's life and preserving it in word.  Everything that we do in this li…