Tangled Web

Writing Prompt: “What a tangled web we weave
when first we practice to deceive”

What a tangled web we weave
when first we practice to deceive

Strands are sticky, catch us too
as we lie and fib, try to keep our cool

Words join, twist, form a pattern
circle round and round like rings of Saturn

Spectacular stories, pieces of comet
shattered moons revolve in atomic vomit

The plan was meant to smooth our way
but astral debris hinders plot to betray

Fabrications develop, along with suspicion
hurdles rise from others to thwart our mission

The coiling labyrinth takes on a life of its own
we can’t speak with others, can’t even use our phones

Because untruths told have grown and grown
our original purpose has become unknown

We are drawn into a deep black hole
a point of no return from our deceptive role

The Journey by Mary Oliver

One day you finally knew
what you had to do, and began,
though the voices around you
kept shouting
their bad advice – –
though the whole house
began to tremble
and you felt the old tug
at your ankles.
“Mend my life!”
each voice cried,
But you didn’t stop.
You knew what you had to do,
though the wind pried
with its stiff fingers
at the very foundations,
though their melancholy
was terrible.
It was already late
enough, and a wild night,
and the road full of fallen
branches and stones.
But little by little,
as you left their voices behind,
the stars began to burn
through the sheets of clouds,
and there was a new voice
which you slowly
recognized as your own,
that kept you company
as you strode deeper and deeper
into the world,
determined to do
the only thing you could do – –
determined to save
the only life you could save.

Falling in love with birds: Do’s and don’ts

This gallery contains 12 photos.

Originally posted on verseherder:
People can be strangers. Even the ones we know and love. They can be empty in places that we aren’t, which can lead to miscommunication. False expectations and heartbreaks. Birds make for much more reliable companions. It doesn’t matter that their calls are lost in translation to our ears. We can still understand and…

The Guest House by Rumi

This being human is a guest house.
Every morning a new arrival.

A joy, a depression, a meanness,
some momentary awareness comes
as an unexpected visitor.

Welcome and entertain them all!
Even if they are a crowd of sorrows,
who violently sweep your house
empty of its furniture,
still, treat each guest honorably.
He may be clearing you out
for some new delight.

The dark thought, the shame, the malice,
meet them at the door laughing,
and invite them in.

Be grateful for whatever comes,
because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond.

Blue Mountains

When family gathers we disappear.
Your little hand guides me away.

Favorite stories, mixed with
salad bites and crunchy sandwiches,
are shared at the table we
leave behind.

Bug eyed fish gulp surface treats
bubbling past us on our way to
climb blue mountains.

Today the story of you and I
is written on the highest peak,
and carved amongst jewels in
a golden crown drawn in the sand.

Rumbling tummy and thirsty lips
dive us back to our tribe.
Chewing and chatting relatives
toss us a drink and a few

Hand in hand,
we walk away again, to explore
enchanted lands on the other
side of the blue mountains.


devonian play park
(internet photo)

Little monkey limbs
grasp and hold and climb.
Blue plastic mountains
rise over colorful, recycled
rubber land.

Yellow, green and orange footsteps
sink and rise, spongy elastic
imprints rebound.

Mommas wear flowered tops.
Some have brought books
to the indoor babysitter.
Hands hold Styrofoam cups,
sip drinks from sidelines.

Droopy eyed adults dart in and out
of the romp fest.
Tsks and clucks can be heard
as playtime manners
are taught.