Saturday, October 23, 2021

Bad Hair Day Solution # 19

 


Linking with the Sunday Muse for Muse #183
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I am pleased that lying on the sofa being a slob is finally considered the responsible thing to do.

 ~Matt Haig

 

If I could I would

Let my mask be more like a shroud

Suit up like an astronaut

Every time I walked in a crowd

Who cares if I seem out of place

I could glare at annoying people

And no one could see my face

Bad hair days would no longer exist

Hell it could be dirty and no one would know shit

Cause if I could I would

 let my mask be more like a shroud

Suit up like an astronaut

Every time I walked in a crowd!

 

Note:  Well my silly side got the better of me this week.  The last few weeks have been stressful with a death in the family, car trouble, and business of the everyday. So, I guess I needed to head in a funny direction for a change.  Wishing you all a safe & wonderful weekend.

💙 Carrie

Saturday, October 9, 2021

What Hands & Hearts Hold

Linking today with the Sunday Muse for Muse #181  come join us!

 

Speech is a prank of Parliament,
Tears a trick of the nerve, –
But the heart with the heaviest freight on
Doesn't always swerve.
~Emily Dickinson

 

When my hands were small

I could not hold the heaviness of many truths

although my heart could carry every loss like a fire fighter

leaving a burning building with lives to save

 still I wanted to know what lied ahead

I wanted answers to every question

to know why God was everywhere

and my mother could not be found

uncertainty leaves a certain ache

not knowing the next move

nor what will happen next

has a way of moving us all

one way or another

 like pain can lead a man to drink

and yet love can do the same

I have come to know that there is movement in all things

in the gift of joy and the loss of grief

a bird swiftly flies to a higher branch

 yet his feathers slowly fall

each moving somewhere different than where they began

my hands have grown with time and callus

and I have held the heaviness of knowing many things

and still there are many questions

even though my heart has learned to hold too much

 like a bishop holds the sacrament

and a knight his mighty longsword

bravery only moves forward

and love is always brave.


Saturday, October 2, 2021

Don't Speak

 



Linking with the Sunday Muse for Muse #180
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“Kiss me, and you will see how important I am.”
― 
Sylvia Plath

 

I see your words like birds

Swift high and soon gone

Your lips a force of nature

Breaking hearts like an old love song

Beauty is like that

Strong yet it makes us weak

We long to kiss the lips

Unable to even speak

But your words are like missiles

Headed straight for the heart of France

I see the danger ahead

 yet still I choose the dance.



Saturday, September 25, 2021

Doors Open for Many Reasons,

 


Linking with the Sunday Muse for Muse #179
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But it was home. And though home is a name, a word, it is a strong one; stronger than magician ever spoke, or spirit answered to, in strongest conjuration. ~Charles Dickens

 

It is the welcome place and the goodbye place

the hand reaching out

with a grip as sure as an Oklahoma twister

I stepped upon that porch

unaware of the storms I would be sheltered from

and those that take place inside

years passed like migrating birds

I watched them from my window

where rooms became smaller

and girls’ hearts grow bigger

holding secrets louder than the creaking steps

 just down the hall

you see hope is a heavy suitcase

it stays packed right by the door

the one where welcome has long since lost its charm

and farewell is but an open door away.

Saturday, September 11, 2021

A Strong Yet Tender Pull,

 


Linking with the Sunday Muse for Muse #177

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There is no first or last in Forever. It is Centre there all the time. ~Emily Dickinson 


 

Life has a strong yet tender pull 

that can straighten and bend our path 

It leads us ever onward with wise and callused hands 

yet like children wpound the pavement  

Running hard to follow close 

With a crumpled map in hand full of Un legible notes 

So wlose our way and we pay the cost 

We weep from the hurt we speak of the loss 

Why is the journey so hard we ask 

As we scrape our knees on a gravel path 

It is like the gentlest of birds life says to our face 

That circles tangled branches to find its place 

To rest on a limb for a moment of shade or shine 

There is no rush life says, please take your time! 

Saturday, August 21, 2021

The 9 Lives of a Classic Enabler

 


Drinking linking with the Sunday Muse for Muse #174
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Relationships are like glass. Sometimes it's better to leave them broken than try to hurt yourself putting it back together. ~Author unknown

 

I spent years chasing red dots and climbing fences that were not mine to climb

Putting myself in a bad place trying to smooth the path for the one by my side

My heart was an alley cat always searching and thirsty for ache’s cure

Yet the more I tried to ease the pain the more we all endured

It can be a vicious cycle emerging from the rubble just to scrape the same old bruise

That is what happens when we try to gain what was never ours to lose.

 

Note:

I do not have the answer for what makes someone a classic enabler.   I only know that I was classified as one at the age of 21, and I have spent a lifetime proving it to be true. 



Saturday, August 7, 2021

Let That Birdy Fly!

 


Linking with the Sunday Muse for Muse #172
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This image is also inspired by Shay's new book Gypsy Bird Cage.
Click on the title to see it on Amazon! 💝

“Strange how we decorate pain.”

― Margaret Atwood

 

A child carries a broken heart a certain way

much differently than an old man can

he does not hide it behind a curtain or door

where no one else is allowed to stand

he bravely holds it out in the open

bare like feet out in the rain

stepping out in the puddled path

vulnerable yet willing to show the pain

for a broken heart can hold so many things

It can take in all that is hurt and lost

keeping it safe and nestled close

like a sheltered bird at freedom’s cost

the homeless sleep there with nowhere else to rest

how do you send away such a hurting soul?

the walls are lined with a menagerie of relics

 heavy with the silence of tales untold

and a child will tell and sing the songs

with every fall that scrapes his knees and heart

but with time he learns to hush the cry

like an old man who cannot hear the breaking news at dark

for the fool will hold on like a warden and his keys

never letting go of hurt till the day he dies

but the wiser one will unlock the cage

and he will simply let that birdy fly!




Wednesday, July 28, 2021

Belonging is More Than a Place,


 


When a man does not know what harbor he is making for, no wind is the right wind. ~Seneca

 

You don’t have to be a ship to be wrecked

Nor do you have to be in peril to be lost at sea

Yet we lose our way on the gravel road

Where we forgot our atlas and the key

The seagull knows where he is headed

The black bird always knows his place

But mankind loses his footing and purpose

Always running in a hollow race

You don’t have to be a ship to be wrecked

Nor be in peril to be lost at sea

But you need to know your purpose

If you want to know where it is you should be.


 


 

Saturday, July 10, 2021

Lost is a Lonely Place on a Busy Street


 Photography by Artist, Jasper James

Linking with the Sunday Muse for Muse #168

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For a while I climbed the ladder,
not realizing I’d placed it
against the wrong house. The window
I tried to look into was a mirror.
I fell backward into the world.

-Stephen Dunn

 

I lost you before you were truly gone

Like money at the races or bullets from a fool’s gun

Some hurts are hard to recover from

 and some places just cannot be left behind

a lost little girl

that had never left home

still stands at the curb of a busy street

and hesitates to go

speaking up and walking away are harder than they look

no one ever explained that to me

I just learned it as I went

You see,  silence preaches louder than you think

Skinned up knees leave a more enduring mark

Than road signs warning, slippery when wet

Those scars join us in the journey

We carry them along

Like children too tired to walk any further

That is how we learn strength is many things

More than lifting steal and running far

Yes, I lost you before you were truly gone

Like whiskey from a cracked bottle

That always leaves a mess behind

It took me years to see how lost that truly left me

Yet to find our true direction

We must first realize we are lost.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


Saturday, June 26, 2021

First Time In the Pool, 1975

 


Linking with the Sunday Muse for Muse#166
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Fear makes the wolf bigger than he is. ~German proverb

 

When I was a child I did not go into the deep end  

swimming is hard to learn when you never leave dry land

I lingered at the shallow side

 needing to have my feet touch the bottom of the pool

the only thing I truly learned that day

was to hold on to the side tight

you see my fear of the loss of control gripped me even tighter

fear is a harsh teacher

it can bruise and it can maim  

providing a true regret

that sticks with you like a heavy meal on a hot day

the kind that leaves you thirsty and parched

yet it is there that courage can immerge

in the longing to quench the deepest of thirsts

when hands reach out

you learn to let go of the sides

and venture deeper in

for that is the only way to learn

and get where you surely need to be.





Saturday, May 29, 2021

A Grieving Heart is a Door Ajar,


 Linking with the Sunday Muse for Muse #162

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Each substance of a grief hath twenty shadows... ~William Shakespeare

 

Flight is but a haunted memory

so I don’t need wings to travel far

regret can be a boarded window

yet a broken door that stands ajar

heartache is a house that creeks and moves

like an old woman’s legs in winter tend to do

we hold our memories

and peer at grief

believing in ghosts

 others may never see

yet still they leave and appear

 like finger prints on glass

drinking from cups and saucers

we will never have

they follow and lead

they hold our hand

they make us stumble

yet help us stand

for yesterday was a lost child with tangled hair

today is a black bird with a lonesome stare

tonight is the moon’s reflection everywhere I go

and tomorrow a baby I shall nestle close

the reminders enter from near and far

broken and bent like a door ajar.