memories unbound
dusky hunger-sated nights
giving way at dawn
Image Credit: Lovers by Harry Hollard, 1982
Inspired by the image provided by Mind Love Misery Menagerie’s Photo Challenge and Word Craft Poetry poet’s choice.
Tag: photo inspiration
true life revealed (a haiku)
A figment alleged.
But that vision melts away
as true life bares all.
Image credit: Angele Kamp @ Unsplash
Sadje’s WDYS Challenge today was to think about birthdays …. This got me considering life in general. Is our life imagined anything like our real life? If not, is that good or bad? And more importantly, is it wise to consider these thoughts during a global pandemic and the ongoing threats to democracy in the US? Probably not!
Anyway, thanks to Sadje for the original inspiration and to the WOTD Challenge (figment) and to Ronovan Writes Haiku Challenge for this words (life and view, which I subbed in vision.)
but, still (or the magic door)
Susan felt like a fool. It was 1977 not 1957. My god, she was a liberated woman! How could she fall for his line?
Stupid!
But, still, she stayed. Remembering. Champagne. His voice in her ear. “I can’t tell you where I’m going but meet me here on Christmas Eve.”
Stupid!
Did she think she was Deborah Kerr in some kind of Hollywood movie? She should go.
Stupid!
But, still, she stayed. Remembering. Laughter. Sparkling blue eyes. “This’ll be our magical place.”
Stupid!
But, still, she stayed. Waiting. Till she heard those whispered words: “Hey beautiful. Is this seat taken?”
Photo prompt courtesy of Dale Rogerson
These 100 hopeful words were written for Rochelle’s Friday Fictioners Challenge.
Was it in her head or did he come through the magical doors?
memories bloom
Dust Bowl memories
strewn like weeds in her mind’s eye
bloom as fragrant buds
Image credit: Pisauikan@ Pixabay
Sometimes the muse strikes hard! Thanks to Sadje’s WDYS Challengefor the beautiful photo. That smile!!! She immediately struck a very specific chord in my mind and heart and to Ronovan Writes Haiku Challenge for (unwittingly?) providing the perfect words (dust / weed).
Time
Time has lost all meaning. Had it been one year? Twenty years? One hundred? More? She had stopped trying to count the days long ago. But she had believed–really believed–she’d be able to note the seasons. Hoping to mark the years. Imagining she’d be able to picture their faces as time passed.
She had wanted to be prepared. Be ready for the day when this ended. To not flinch when she saw her mother’s weary eyes and her father’s body wracked by time. To smile when her baby brother gazed down on her instead of reaching up for a hug. To love what is instead of mourning what was lost.
But the light was funny and she got confused. Never knowing whether she had slept for moment or a day or more. So she lost track of the seasons. Couldn’t count the years. She still felt as if she was waiting. Hoping. But she was no longer sure why. Or what she was hoping for.
For him to save her?
For an axe to end the lingering hope?
For a fire to burn them both to ash and scatter their doomed love into the wind?
For time to end?
The light was growing dim again. Perhaps she’d sleep for a moment. She could think about this another time. That was one thing she knew.
There was always more time.
The image is provided by Janek-Sedlar at DeviantArt and shared thanks to Fandango’s Flash Fiction Challenge.
Thanks!! I needed a kick in the butt to write some FF.
Tina Stewart Brakebill 