No Coincidence

We met in that careless synchronicity wizards know.  Car seat between us, his handsome young face alit.  Trading secrets that silver-haired grannies like me hold, but in 30,000 rides, he’d seen the way of Tao. 

I told him I lived on a lake. 

His dream was to leave the windy city of his birth and open his heart to the waves, the birds, the peace.  

He said, “I could live with someone older, do the chores, relax.”  

I thought what he was flirting with was the incantation, as wizards do.  

“I meditate,” he confided, so we both know there are moments caught between heartbeats where we meet.  Strangers no longer, we waved our wands to solve the planet’s woes, just so.  

By Departures, we tarried a spell until airport security prevailed.  Another wave, he drove away.  I glanced, curious, into the mirrored door.

Flash fiction in 144 words written for the dverse poets prompt:  prosery between heartbeats using the line “there are moments caught between heart-beats.”

Featured image using Lunapic‘s Van Gogh filter on a recent photo.

From Darkness To Light

Finally I climb out of my silence
to assuage my housemates.

When I’m well, I warble
and trill like a fucking early morning

songbird, complains the night owl.
Still my caring community joined in

a conspiracy of quiet pulled
like a blanket around my pain.

Alarmed by the sounds of
retching, my pale face

passing by etched in pangs.
These are the sounds of deep

healing, emerging from my dark
passages like a cello sonata

by Shostakovich, the meaning
which is clear from very far

away, but muddled in my
fuzzy mind when I must stay

with cells screaming
for water, doling out small doses

in the hopes that I can reach
out of my self-created parch

the flow that sings me
from the well of balance

dancing again
the high notes fall away

I murmur the lower resonance
of this new musical day.

Inspired by: CommunityAssuage, Conspiracy and Björn‘s prompt at dversepoets to use assonance and consonance in a subtle alliterative touch.  Although I don’t use the word “retire,” it definitely describes my journey into illness.

Soundcloud recording here.

Wake Up To What’s Happening

Honey, you’re the reason I can’t sleep at night.~John Fogerty

In the darkness I untangle
the threads of distress

a call from my three-year-old
son, he’s cold, barely dressed

locked out of the house again,
he crossed the busy street

to find shelter with the kind
lady with blankets and heat.

Cue my furious tirade to his father
who’s learned false penitence

repeating won’t ever happen
again–to hush my defense

of the child the state has
deemed safe with no rhyme

or reason besides a sperm
donation. Did I mention that I’m

dreaming? And I am the child,
the unmindful man, the mother

frustrated, the road, the phone,
the imperious state and the other

choices I made to create
this sticky web, the buzzing, frantic

fly more and more enmeshed
in myself, hovering near panic

as the spider I am
approaches til waking slow,

delicately spun, I dissolve
with all the pieces of myself

in tow, arrive into this quiet
astonishment, anticipating light.

Inspired by: Dream, Allegory, Rhyme, and Astonishment.

Soundcloud recording here.

Staying Hungry

Life like delicious food
and I ravenous, ravishing

innocent abroad traveled
with angels dancing past

dangers I never perceived,
reality imbued by lavishing

curious love, unraveled
advancing and received

the view constantly awed
I ate like a street child

starving, appreciative and
utterly wild.

 

A quadrille (44 words) written for dverse prompt wild, a word that always evokes memories of my travels in Sud América.  Featured image is a cocina at a finca deep in the jungle in the Sierra Nevada de Santa Marta, Colombia where I lived for a while.

Soundcloud recording here.

Sharin’ The Wealth

So I’m lookin’ through the dawn, tryna see who’s out there. Rubbin’ my eyes, realize, a cow is.  Screaming across the arroyo, I try’n wake Joe.  He’s flat out splankered from Old Gobble, the cheapskate goodfurnuttin, leastwise til sunset or so.  So it’s jus’ me anna cow and she’s a friendly sort.  Fuggetabout Joe, the sot, Imma make a new friend.  Ain’t got a lot of ’em.  Never had the chance til now, tellya true.  But luck just comes in waves.  First the gold, now a browneyed fourlegged critter.  Dunno if you’ve ever befriended a cow.  It’s a del’cate thing.  First, gotta stop screamin’. Cows don’t much like that.  They can read your heart, so you gotta find inner kindness, mirror theirs.  This’n mebbe knew there was water here once, in this dried-up bed. Knew I had some to share.  Came close.

(Written for a dverse poetry prompt to write flash fiction of 144 words or less including “A cow is screaming across the arroyo”–a line from Jim Harrison’s poem Cow.  Which I’ve not read.)

Here Is My Song

Hey blue, there is a song for you, ink on a pen, underneath the skin, an empty space to fill in.~Joni Mitchell

The simplicity of my matinal rites
by the lake and skyful of blue

available to anyone here–trembling
poplars, this downy woodpecker

rattling, a pair of cautious dusky
ducks. The praying mantis looks

over her shoulder with large bulbous
eyes. Three ruby throats of humming-

birds dive and chirrup. My pen glides
in the cursive flow of thoughts

informed by space. Three-year-old twins
on the opposite shore squeal

helmeted and wheeling. The wildlife
flees. Traffic thrums. The shadow

of wings fast across the grass.
By starts and fits I edge into

emotional depths of this shimmering
moment, cloudless blue embrace

bright water quivering in pure
essence goosebumps and chicken skin.

My brother is driving to see his new
granddaughter; my friend is home

from the hospital, these texts
like prayers infusing my heart

beyond the stories this intense
invitation open the multilayered

being green and blue planet
spinning incomprehensibly

welling up, pouring through
the way beneath my dancing feet.

Inspired by:  Simplicity, Matinal, EmotionalAnyone and blue, the Stream of Consciousness Saturday prompt today (sit and write about the first blue object you see today.) (As always, my really-wanna-edit brain gets a firm no!)  Also a dverse poet prompt to write in descriptive detail.  And Joni Mitchell’s song Blue.

 

If Anyone Is

As sensible as a jolt of cold water ~ Laurie King

If anyone is sensible, it is

the poet, releasing logic and reason

feeling into mysteries with no desire.

While others pace with whips and

cages, we gape with new eyes,

run our fingers over the bumps

and wrinkles.  My mother cries,

did you ever? at every anomaly.

Strange and bad synonyms

to delineate edges of the comfort

zone.  Slightly mad and just plain

weird, we scribble our visions,

chatter with children and lean into

animals, whistle back to birds

and gasp as fairies flit our

peripheries.  We zoom in

deep wonder.  We live in uncertainty.

Thrumming into living clouds and

quivering forests.  Seeing being.

The lake breathes and undulates.

Tiny ones dance and hop and run

and fly!  We look into

unknowable as the divine

celebrates what cannot be named.

Written for a dverse prompt to “write in the 1st or 3rd person of your own experiences (real or imagined) or your witnessing mental health issues. Or if you prefer, base it on a poem which depicts living with, or alongside, ‘madness’ – and don’t forget to reference it!