She

Crimson’s Creative Challenge #22

She liked to pretend she had taken the road less traveled. She told herself she was in every way, unique. She envisioned herself as having risen above the masses. But in truth, her heart was hard, her ardors weak.

She found herself alone in her mid thirties. By her mid forties she’d become romantically involved, with death. In her fifties, she found herself rightfully imprisoned. A time out, in which she used, to catch her breath.

Oh, she still walks to the beat, of her own drummer. She still sees things, just a little bit askew. But today she’s a little older, and a whole lot wiser. And truth be told, she’s not a whole lot different- than you…

Written for Crispina’s Crimson’s Creative Challenge Photo Prompt, and Eugenia’s Brew n Spew Cafe’s Word Prompt; Pretend.

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Mother


Anything but a warm embrace- her words, her tone, I allow to gurgle through me like so many garbled voices crossing distant waters. Amidst the din, even her mask of blatant disapproval is rendered ineffective.

Weddings and funerals. It is what we had been reduced to. Even they grate on my already chaffed soul, as I anticipate the moments we will be forced to breathe the same air, smiling insufferably for the sake of appearances.

Blurred voices surround the wall of stone on which our ceaseless duel plays out. The silent precipice of no return. But no one seems to notice our stilted stances, or the fact we have worn our war faces to the party.

Then it hits me. This distaste we have for each other, may very well be the only thing we will ever share.. I savor the epiphany. Clutch it to my breast.

Much like I know there must have been a time, when she clutched me, her firstborn, to hers…

All but lost without
you. As are you without me.
But we know. Don’t we?

A Haibun/Haiku written under the influence of Colleen’s Tanka Tuesday, Misky’s twiglet, ‘voices crossing water’ and Go Dog Go Cafe’s Tuesday Writing Prompt: ‘blurred thoughts‘. All interwoven to surround Helene’s What Do You See Photo Prompt

Bukowski

bukowski said,,
he had a bluebird
in his heart….
he said,
he tried
to drown it
in cheap whiskey-
to smother it
in the smoke,
of a myriad
of hand rolled
cigarettes.. yet,
in the end,
he told us,
he knew,
that it was there.
and he knew-
it was a bluebird…

still i wonder,
just how deep
he had to sink
into the quagmire
of his own
scarred psyche-
how many nights
he had to lay awake
staring into
the cold, black,
eyes of self-
before he heard
that single blessed note…
before it broke thru.
before it rose above
the mire of
life’s melancholy
melody…and when it did-

when at last,
it broke thru,
his delusion distilled,
and for the first time
he held it close
late at night
in the dark
when no one else
was around-

was it then
that he realized
it was never
really a bluebird
that he was trying
to drown
in cheap whiskey
or to smother
in the fog
of yet another
hand rolled cigarette?
was it then
that he realized
it was never
really a bluebird
that he desired
to hold ever so tightly
to himself
as he drifted
off to sleep
listening to
the bittersweet song
that only he
could hear
alone, in the dark
when no one else
could see?

and if it was then,
did he weep?
i for one
believe he did….

Posted in response to Chelsea Ann Owens Terrible Poetry Contest call for bastardized poetry. (Well, that’s not exactly what she called it….) Mine is not a parody, but rather a response.

If you have never heard the poem, I highly suggest you allow Bukowski himself to speak it to you. It will be worth it. Even if you think you don’t like poetry.

Much farther than that


in my minds darkest hour,
i saw him standing alone,
rumpled clothes, unkempt hair
a smile that said “believe in me”
radiating from his worry lined face…

i strayed from my plan
and hit the curb,
nearly screeching to a stop-
he asked if i was going far,
i told him much farther than that..

we talked and laughed
and sang some songs
he mentioned i no longer looked sad-
i couldn’t contest that- so instead,
i told him i had set off to end it all
but he’d made me rethink my plan.

he told me he had been there too,
very recently in fact
as he slipped the noose about his neck
he decided, just this once
to give himself a chance..

now we travel together
for however long it will last.
both of us on the run-
he from the clutches of the law-
and me from the jaws of death..


Posted for Friday Foto Fun, and Girlie on the Edge’s Six Sentence Story. Prompt word: Contest.

Silence

If they spoke a her birth, she never heard ‘em. If they blamed her for mamas dyin’, she was unaware. If they thought she was less than, ‘cause she couldn’t hear ‘em, they was wrong. ’cause she never knowed, and could’na cared.

As a babe she never cried, so they called her Silence. As a child she never spoke, nothin’ ta say. When she was eight, she tended house, for her papa. There in silence, cookin’ an mendin’, filled her days.

When she was twelve, they brought a man ’round, name a Henry. When she was fifteen, papa sent her off, to be his wife. She cried inside, that night, when he done it to her, but in silence, she accepted her new life.

Season passed, and she could see, her belly growin’. When Henry patted, her belly bump, it made him smile. But when the pains come, she had, no way a knowin’, that Li’l Henry, had been in there, all the while.

With Henry workin’, sun up to down, in the fields. With no papa, no kit or kin, all this was new. She learned herself, how to care, for Li’l Henry. He spent his days, and learned the ways, of silence too…

Posted for Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt word: Silence. “How you use the prompt is up to you.”