Saturday, April 27, 2019

I Still See

Photo by Josiel Miranda from Pexels

Linking with the Sunday Muse for Muse # 53
come join us!



I am tired, Beloved,
of chafing my heart against
the want of you;
of squeezing it into little inkdrops,
And posting it.
~Amy Lowell,

I still see that little girl
standing before the world
she still exists
if you look a little deeper
though her skinned up knees
have turned into
deeper bruises
the kind that bandages 
cannot fix
funny how the years have a way
of changing the view ahead
turning hope into doubt
and skipping into a slow walk
we start out with a nap sack
and end up with a house full
of junk we could easily
live without
weighed down
with too many fears
wrapped in the grief of loss
we cannot forget
still I see that little girl
standing before the world
holding hope like a blanket
that same girl
still exists.


©Carrie Van Horn 2019













Saturday, April 13, 2019

Two Poems

Photo by Pixabay at Pexels

Linking with the Sunday Muse for Muse # 51

I decided to be different and write two different poems for the photo.  I would love to hear from you which one is your favorite and why?
 Have a great weekend everyone!

Let your religion be less of a theory and more of a love affair.
 ~G.K. Chesterton




Looking Deeper Within,


Sometimes great cathedral windows seem like eyes
That when you look into them, it is like peering into the soul of humanity
So much history
So many prayers within those walls
The architecture of our great grandfathers
Standing the test of time
Magnificent and still full of humility
Yet, in its solidarity, there is still so much division
It makes me sad looking in
However, when I step into its foyer
It makes me look deeper within
The halls of myself
and my hope is again renewed.


*************************************************

The Blue of Longing,

My heart has been here before in dreams
Outside the stained glass window looking in
The wind is high with longing
and my hair is lose like a harlot
Flying all over the place
I long to enter the cathedral
To be a part of the congregation
To sing as sweet as birds do
but I wake up with a tickle in my throat
Like swallowing a fallen feather
With amazing grace upon my lips
and a thicket of questions upon my breath
I am certain If longing were a color,
 it would be a deeper blue
A stained glass menagerie
My heart seems to know too well
but it is hope that keeps me searching
For answers within that blue abyss
It is hope that shall walk me down the inner aisle.

©Carrie Van Horn 2019

Friday, April 12, 2019

Keep Moving On

Google Images

Linking with the Wednesday Muse # 3 "50 Shades of Rain" brought to us by Toni.
The Japanese actually have 50 different words for rain.  Today we are writing about rain, and or using one of the many wonderful and specific words they have for rain.
  Here is an example of some of these words:
kosame - light rain
enu - misty rain
shun rin - spring rain
uhyou - freezing rain
and the one I have chosen to use: nagame - long rain
Thank you for this wonderful prompt Toni! I learn something cool and new every week!

Also linking with Poets United for Poetry Pantry #446

The soul would have no rainbow had the eyes no tears.
 ~John Vance Cheney


I suppose even God needs a change sometimes
to move the rocks on shifting sands
to turn the heat of summer
to cooling rains
long ago when storms would arise
and thunder struck
my grandfather would say
"all is okay
God is moving furniture"
years later
in the heat of July
and the storms of life
I moved my own
the piano and couch to storage
my clothes to a friends
I suppose even the heart needs a change sometime
a woman's tears can be like a nagame in the July of Japan
seeming to never end
then like lightening
a change happens
and we move onward
for the heart has seasons
that change like summer
into autumn's cooler breeze
we have to move through
each one slowly
stepping through like a child
learning to walk
always moving
for life changes
and so must we
in storms and dry spells
if we are breathing
we shall rise again
and keep moving on.

©Carrie Van Horn 2019

Monday, April 8, 2019

The Visitation

~This photo was taken in the house my grandparents lived in, and I am the awkward little girl sitting by my grandmother.~

Linking with Poets United for "Telling Tales" with the lovely and amazing Magaly Guerrero
for A Pantry of Prose # 2 ~ Magical Realism
Come join us!

Some people have had lost loved ones visit them in their dreams, and believe me when I say, this has happened to me many times.  It always leaves you feeling both comforted and saddened at the same time.  Like re-bruising an old injury brings the pain back to the surface.  This story takes it a step further.

When I was growing up, my maternal grandparent’s home was my summer vacation home, and where I stayed for most holidays, and many weekends.  It was more than a visit when I went to Grandmaw and Grandpaw’s house.   That house was my favorite place in the whole world! There was so much sadness, and hard silences at home, so their house was a lovely home to me and a place of refuge for my heart.

We had a peaceful routine, and they both spent true time with me; telling stories, singing songs, indulging me with my silly performances with a cassette recorder and my talk shows that I made up including them in the skit.  It was no lie that I was much closer to my grandparents than I was my own parents.

 Then sadly, from the time I was 13 to 16 years old I lost both my Grandparents; my Grandmaw to pneumonia, and later my Grandpaw passed in his sleep.  The phone call I got for him was devastating.  I had lost them both, and I went through a depression for many months.

Time does have a way of easing the pain, but for 30 years after that time I dreamed of that house every single night! It was as if it was a beautiful ghost comforting me with a visitation in my dreams.  You see that house represented all that was close to my heart; my Grandparents, the joy we shared, and the peace of a happy and secure place.

 It still visits me to this day. 


Note:
I need an editor with me at all times, so if there are major rule and punctuation errors in this, that is why. I do love these prose prompts, because they make me stretch out of my comfort zone some.  Thank you Magaly for helping us spread our wings!

Saturday, April 6, 2019

This is Just the Beginning

Photo by Lukasz Dziegel from Pexels

Linking with the Sunday Muse for Muse # 50 Yes this is our 50th prompt Yay!
Come join us!


The rustling sounds at the back drew her to the fence like a lure.  Sara had finally arrived at the MacGregor Ranch, hoping to find Mrs. Covington, the owner of the property.  She had been longing to make this trip for such a long time and get answers about her real father, Leon.  He had been a horse trainer and lived on the property for years as a ranch hand.  This was the only thing she knew about him.  He was a stranger otherwise.  A person she had never known, a face that she had never seen except in pictures.

  Peering through the open slat in the fence she tried to get a glimpse of him before she walked around to the front and knocked on the ranch house door. So many questions filled her mind, as her stomach stirred like a cauldron of butterflies.  What if he did not want to see her?  What if she had to leave with no answers at all?  Before she could think up another ending of doom, a hand patted her on the shoulder, sending her reeling backward with a scream as loud as a siren.

  Once she had regained her breath and heartbeat, she looked around to see Mrs. Covington, a tall lanky woman with a voice rough like old rusty nails.  “How can I help you, young lady?”  Sara took a long swallow like it was whiskey going down hard, “Well yes, I called you a few weeks ago, uh about your horse trainer?”  she said in a question as if she was no longer sure what she had done.  “Sara Mosley?  Oh yes, I remember you.” Mrs. Covington wrapped her arm around her and led her to the house. “We have much to talk about Miss Sara, more than a phone call could rightly suite.” “My name is Leona by the way, call me Leona.” 

After hours out on the veranda drinking lemonade and laughing until they were crying and back again, the two ventured out to the pasture so that Sara could see where her father had spent all these years. Leona held out her hand and waved it forward like a game show host model, presenting the prizes in store.   “This is it.”  She said to Sara, like it was an inheritance finally at hand.  Sara stood there quiet for a moment taking it all in, when suddenly she looked back at Leona, and it hit her.  Her eyes got wide as moon pies, and then she stepped back from Leona.  Leona reached out toward her.  “It is me honey, it’s okay, it is me.”

This is just the beginning……

©Carrie Van Horn 2019