Category Archives: relationships

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Pinball Thinking

pinball

(internet photo)

Random thoughts
roll through my brain.
A pinball pattern
navigates a maze of ideas.
Emotional bumpers
flip
free ball thinking
to light up fear or anger,
ring bells of relief or laughter.
Cognitive displays
flash and wobble
to warn of danger,
alert
what must be done next.
Points are awarded,
a second chance given
when I can rebound
not held captive to speculation
in a zone of no return.
I see a kickout hole opportunity
to adjust attitude and attention,
regain direction.
Noise buzzing around me
cue connections
to keep on going.
Tilt must be avoided
at all costs.
Loss of free will
or forfeiting self
to the judgement machine
of others opinions
is not an option.
I am a pinball wizard.

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Guide

old hands

Weathered hands
mapped by lines of experience
gently pick up a shrivelled, dry seed.
Tan, calloused skin dwarfs the grain.

Slow, deliberate movement
rolls the seed between perceptive
thumb and fingers.
Rich, black dirt
tenderly accepts the buried offering.

Wise blue eyes observe patiently
from a distance.

Delicate green sprigs
burst through soft loam.
Pale and fragile new growth erupts
disoriented
by new surroundings.

Sunlight sends warm caresses.
Strength flows through its golden glow.
With inspired confidence the plant
deliberately stretches for the light.

When contact is made with a solid wall on the left,
new shoots and blossoms are sent to the right.

A vision of rich shades grows.
Thick, green leafy vines.
White and pink petals.
A triumphant shock of compressed energy
strives toward a radiant sky.

Petals soon fall.
Vines thicken, become brittle.
Naked seeds stand exposed on stems.

Knowledgeable hands pluck them
as they dry and shrivel.
New growth contained within their tiny husks
will not be forgotten.
They, too, will push through the soil
refreshed
recharged
jubilant.

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Shadows

Slip sliding
on wintry thin ice
trying to gain traction.

Bright pink running shoes
distract
demons
chasing from shadows.

Strategically placed lamp posts
shine
circles of light
down.
Islands of safety
dispersing shadows.

Bursts of fuchsia speed
pump technically clothed knees and arms.
Breath catches and releases.
Heart races faster
than rose clad feet.

Shadows
stretch to touch,
encompass me.
Feet land and ricochet,
bound into next step
straining on slippery surface.

As door closes behind,
warmth of home
wraps me in a hug of familiarity.
Exhausted shoes
collapse on shelf.
Shadows fade
and are forgotten,
for the moment.

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Odd Creature

stegosaurus

An eccentric young woman

descends polished wooden stairs

in stockings, with light, bouncy steps

full of energy.

 

A vision of distinct individuality,

her presence dares adults to defy mediocre lives.

Disconnect from adolescent bravado

emerges among those present

with each exotic footfall into the room.

Dreams and confidence of childhood

are shown to have settled into a run-of-the-mill existence

as this odd creature breezes in.

 

Porcelain skin is smooth and glowing.

Dark eyes lead to deep pools of creative knowledge

and foreign thought.

Turquoise blue and vibrant purple hair

shines.

Side ponytails curl and twist

with her movements.

A gentle teal ocean kiss to her shoulder on one side,

a violet jolt on the other.

 

A feminine lacy black dress juxtaposes a puffy white rabbit’s tail

peeking out from under

the hem of a black military coat.

With a quick shrug, a stegosaur backpack is over her shoulders.

Pink, orange, brown and yellow spikes

protrude from her back.

 

A surprisingly deep and husky voice reveals an ancient soul

inside a youth’s body.

In one throaty breath she says a quick hello and good-bye,

making no apology for her brevity.

 

An air of mystery is left in her wake.

Thoughts of her unusual tail and unique character

bring a smile

and a moment of wistful longing

for lost youth.

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Falling Tears

Tears are falling all around me,
diamond sorrow beads
silently spilling over flushed red cheeks.

A room full of emotion
becomes a sauna as numb people gather.
Perspiration dots foreheads,
dark circles stain arm pits.

Words of comfort are spoken
while words of sorrow are swallowed
along with stagnant, suffocating air.

A youth walking
in the shadow of addiction
stepped across onto the wrong side
of the line.
In an instant his soul sped away.
Life evaporated.

Anger rises above grief.
Anger at the monster
that has come into our homes.
Anger at the beast
that has enslaved our loved ones.
Anger at the powerlessness
we have in the face of this horror.

Hot tears stream.
Heaving tears overflow.
Shocked tears splatter.

Tears are falling all around me
diamond sorrow beads
silently spilling over flushed red cheeks.

by

Jack

Sweet stories
written through passage of time
float in the room.
An accordion rendition shared just so
squeezes in and out amongst memorabilia around the dwelling.

A birth tidbit distracts from pain in the moment.
Cherubic cheeks and bright eyes initiate brief anecdotes.
Photos lay in neat rows on the table,
frames polished and bright.
“They’ve taken them from his walls.
This one – she was a fighter. Ugly little thing,
fat head, big nose.”

Jack is gone.

A catch in her voice.
“We thought we’d have so much time together
now that our lives have quieted.”

Bare branches of the lilac hedge are stark,
unadorned with flowers or leaves.
They look brittle and frail
like the wisp of woman before me.
“I planted that from little slips taken from the farm.”
The shrubbery encloses the yard.
A thicket of tangled growth
hiding this slip of a woman from her neighbors.

“Jack and I met before the war.
I was working the switchboards.
He saw me standing by the mess hall kitchen sink
after dinner one evening, hands in soapy water.
‘What’s a guy gotta do to get a smile?’
That’s how we met.”

Jack is gone.

The hands with onion paper skin shake.
Sudsy water flashback hides the lines and blue-green veins
but not the grief.

“He built this house.
Realized quickly he may have taken on more than he could handle
but he saw it through. That’s what you do. You finish what you
start. We had a lot of good times
here in this old house.”

Jack is gone.

Black and white photo of a handsome young man
smiles from his perch on the countertop.
Thick black hair is swept roguishly to one side,
army attire impeccably neat.
His easy chair in the veteran’s home sits empty.
The walls of his room are bare.
A whispered tribute from his family home
sorts through memories.