joy and giggles
laughter and fun
sunbeams feathery soft fingers
tickle morning awake
festive party hat flowers
tilt their many colors heavenward
nature’s brightly packaged parcels
adding delight to the occasion
bear hugs and twirls
feet off the ground
it’s a celebratory day!
(image credit: wallpaper.com)
World seen through wounded eyes
bruised shades of purple and black taint sight
timid feet afraid of open space
fear fits like a leather moccasin
malleable, familiar
want to remain on dysfunctional path
Heart cries tearless sadness for lost potential
pumps staccato beat of marching band refrain
encourages determination, change
Quiet reflection soothes and calms
eyes adjust focus
wounds heal
vision is renewed
Today is day one hundred of posting. Even as I write this I find it hard to believe!
Thank you readers who stop by my site. Thank you everyone who is following this journey with me. I sincerely appreciate your support!
(image credit: gratitude harte)
Keep Digging
Mission continues
peel back layer by layer
hidden treasure waits
Pen sifts muddy thoughts
paper pulls graphic icons
subliminal dirt
Intricate beauty
covered beneath deception
self preservation
Raising to daylight
exposes vulnerable
state of reflection
(image credit: Jim Harris)
Darkness Light
Black White
Battle rages on
Fumble through day to day
Feeling like fate’s pawn
In Out
Quiet Shout
World out of control
Little white pill Glass of wine
Losing a piece of one’s soul
Today Tomorrow
Happiness Sorrow
Path fades away
Foliage dense Trees close in
Slip further from light of day
Authentic Act
Fiction Fact
Thoughts swirl through head
A text A Call A message sent
What is being said; What is being said…
(image credit: selflovewarrior.com)
Family and friends encircle
bestow comfort, warmth
add protective layer of strength
My heart swells with gratitude
reservoir filling
to nourish and quench in times of need
times when heartache withers
times of miscommunication or drought of silence
Yesterday’s troubles remain
not willing to leave without a fight
but they cower
in the presence of hope
Mirror breaks inexplicably
invisible stone
hurled
by a petulant force
seeking attention
Shattered
Shards litter floor
prismatic glass mosaic
hundreds of pieces
return disjointed image
echo chaos
flash alarm
Art deco
Nouveau art
Art less
Strewn about
fragments catch light
direct variegated colors around room
or blind with angry
blast of sun’s rays
blink tears to protect eyes
Some bits are flipped
reflective side down
unable to face their new reality
Photo frame characters
watch from across room
frightened by crash
they seem to leap
to escape their restricted confinement
Clean up is like walking through a minefield
where great care must be taken
not to detonate
a slumbering weapon of destruction
Remnants of mirror
not forgotten mines
lay visible
but every now and then
unseen splinters
pierce and draw blood
an exacting toll
to assuage guilt
for breakage of
the valuable mirror
(photo credit: running.competitor.com)
A mountain looms before me
I take a deep breath
exhale slowly
warily eyeing the climb
the challenge
the dare
To conquer
a gift of sweeping views
awaits
“Tell me what you know about running”
The query from another runner startles me
makes me laugh
“Put one foot in front of the other.
That’s all there is to it”
we chat
Arriving in the granite giant’s shadow
without a backward glance
my unexpected inquisitor
clearly an experienced runner
leaves me in his dust
As I embark on the imposing ascent
I contemplate my own
words of wisdom
Just keep putting
one foot in front of the other
(photo credit: lifeingroup5.com)
Time
Elusive
Slippery as an eel
Think you have it
then it’s gone
Time
Master illusionist
Hourglass Houdini
Fills day
with ideas, promises, activity, hope
Only to find
time you thought you had
is no longer there
A great escape artist
Vanishing
with the flick of texting thumbs
or click of computer fingers
Nothing is as it seems
Be wary of conjecture
Skeptical of magic
Question where time is going
Become master of your own reliability
deluding no one
including your self
Walls lean and tilt
neighbourhood gossips
moving closer to hear
conversations of passersby
footsteps
voices
many have been heard
Ancient building blocks
sentinels of the city
harbour untold stories
a voluminous library
compendiums full of personal narratives
about tourists and residents alike
Moon, stars, sun, rain
these hovering facades endure centuries
of eyes looking upon their eroding exteriors
some balancing precariously
some appearing to wink like a devious child
bursting to tell a secret
Patiently they take all in
fashions and styles vary
disseminated through a profusion of languages
people come and go
Walls remain
leaning tilting
moving in to hear
more of the conversations below
Comforting aroma of fresh bread
beaten, kneaded, punched down
frustration of monotonous existence
Sticky dough serves as punching bag for emotions
allayer of mood
Metallic tang of well water
dipped from pail on counter
smacks of earthiness and strength
necessary to draw it forth
to sustain others
How many pails have you hauled in your lifetime?
Buckets balanced in each hand
scales of impartiality measuring judgment in your mind?
Sloshing, spilling despite effort to save each precious drop
Water for washing, drinking, cooking
lever pulled and pushed
pumped up and down
brought back and forth
dogs nip at heels
white geese with orange beaks
honk indignantly as you cross their path
oblivious to your resentment with this plodding, repetitious task
Sweat on brow
hard working hands
calloused, hardened from toil in
garden and field
yet soft and welcoming
ready to lift and embrace
a teary tot or boisterous child
Mother Goose apron
fashioned from flour and potato sacks
full of seeds
or hand picked eggs
fresh from chicken coop nest
warm to touch
fodder for family meals
base of nutrition
Surrounded by relatives
Baba quietly goes about her business
stirring pots and pans
on wood burning stove
As she listens to conversations
raucous children
scurry about like
field mice underfoot
dart here and there
rustle her skirts
swishing movement
as little hands grab food
off the table
before dashing back outside
wooden door swinging in their wake
She patches clothes
sews patterns
in a mud chinked room
lit by kerosene lamp
electricity a luxury that she did not enjoy
until late in her life;
labours long after dark
heavy breathing, soft snores of family
nocturnal accompaniments
for this tiresome composition she is
performing
Ukrainian accent held in check
broken English strange on the tip
of her Slavic tongue
hair held in check
by her dark babushka
sombre color
an echo of her
dispirited mood
stray locks of hair
attempting freedom
are pushed back
with weary hands
Her family grows
one by one leaving her behind
to pump water
and knead bread
Returning with their own families on weekends
a growing brood gathers
continue to drink metallic water
continue to eat fresh baked bread
flour dust clouds
hide
Storm gathering behind Baba’s eyes
While the world progresses around her
her environment remains bleak and unevolved
pump and hold
pump and hold
pump
and
hold
Dimly lit
slowly fading
until one day
She leaves
She walks away
Her shift is done
She enters a home
for seniors
for those unable to care for themselves
for those unwilling to care for others
Some say she snapped
call her crazy
cuckoo-nana
She grew tired
this beautiful “Aunt Jemima” Baba of mine
Tired of serving others
Tired of the well
Tired of the back and forth, up and down,
punching and kneading
It was time for her to be served
and that’s how it was
until she passed away
No more time on her primitive farm
Her sentence had been served
ScribbleDartsfromtheHeart 