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.



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.”

Quoting Dickens

Photo by Isabella Mariana from Pexels

Dickens wrote,
“he’d make a lovely corpse.”
and I misconstrued it..
I imbued it
with all the pent up passions
of a woman lost, alone
far from a home
she never had.
Unfulfilled, unloved. Unable
to make a life for herself,
to ever be
anything more
than she was
when she defined herself
by her love for you..

Dickens wrote,
“he’d make a lovely corpse.”
and what I twisted it round to,
was that I
should remember you
as someone you never were…
That I should chop you up
in little pieces,
savoring the pretty ones
carrying them around
in my pocket
fingering them
when I was feeling old,
or lonely,
or used up.
That I should ingest them
in small portions
until dream sodden memories,
became my Eucharist.
The body and the blood
of the life, I sucked
out of you…

Dickens wrote, “he’d make a lovely corpse.”
But it was I that chose to make true…..

“he’d make a lovely corpse,” is a line from Dickens novel,
The Life and Adventures of Martin Chuzzlewit
-here taken quite out of context.

Posted for The Sunday Muse Photo Prompt #49

A Wee Tale

If ye’ll just take a seat,
in the sun there, ya see,
I’ll tell ye a wee tale,
of how I came ta be.
You may think it a fib
But I’ve no reason ta lie
It’s the god’s honest truth
Cross me heart, hope ta die.

’twas me mother who told it
and she wouldn’t lie
she would rather cut out
her heart – or an eye
than spread a non truth
and so i decree
i meself am the spawn,
of the screamin’ banshee!

as me sweet mother told it
twas a quiet, dark night
the candles was lit
and the fire was bright
they was havin’ a sip
of the irish whiskey,
when outta the mist
come the screamin’ banshee!

they heard her a comin’
but no one did run
as they was tippin’ a bit
and havin’ great fun,
not one was about to
abandon the bottle
yet there she was-
comin’ at ’em full throttle!

the menfolk they cowered
behind the women’s full skirts
not a brass ball among ’em
the no good irish flirts!
and as she approached,
it became clear to see
she had a wee babe in her arms-
and that babby was me!

“quit yer whinin’ ye wankers
you’ve nothin’ to fear
i am here to give, not to take
you got lucky this year!
i can’t find a sitter
me old mans on a drunk
and there’s no one to mind
this, my wee little punk!”

then she handed me off
and fled into the wood
not screamin’ at all
rather laughin’- but good!
they stood there all quite
each not quite believin’
the rare piece of luck
they’d been blessed with this ev’nin.

that luck quick gave out
it went straight to ye midden
as they lifted the blanket
to see what they’d been given.
twas the face of an angel
all pink skinned and red haired
“a little piece of irish heaven!”
me auntie rosie declared.

and just at that moment
for no reason at all
me face wrinkled up
and i started to bawl.
i let out a scream
heard from here to the sea
and erased any doubt- that
i meself am the spawn
                    -of the screamin’ banshee!

Posted for Sue Vincent’s #writephoto Thursday Writing prompt

“let me in.”

she lurks just
outside my window.
from the shadows
she implores,
“let me in.”
-eyes so wide,
so innocent.
she taps lightly
on the pane
and whispers,
“i’m scared.”
“let me in.”

she lurks just
outside my window.
it should be so easy
to just open it,
and let her in..
but instead,
i draw the blind
so i can’t see her
i write poems,
i paint with words,
and i pretend.

that the scared,
little child
just outside
my window
is not me-
i don’t long,
to let her in.

Posted for Chelsea Ann Owens Terrible Poetry Contest. The call this week is for poems about Unrequited Love.