#Wordle 409 #Poetry

 

 

Many of us live in self-made cages

Somewhere across the border of my mind

I find no sleep. My cells are dying.

Try as I might, I cannot deny

The ravings of my mind.

I trip, hit the floor

The stench of evil assaults my senses

Why do I find myself lying

in blood soaked mud beneath the cross?

I watch as his side is pierced

I hear thunder, the voice of an angry God

Lightning, breaking the dark patch of ground

I am quivering on

My clothes soaked, stuck to my body

I wonder, how many bars of soap will I go through

Before I am washed clean?

AAAAA

Strange Encounter…

 

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Image by Pixabay.com

 

 

I was in my favourite charity shop yesterday where the manager was having a book sale. I try never to miss these. I was busy browsing when a customer asked what I liked reading. Offering two books from the shelf she said that she read the first one in a day. I thanked her and placed them on the pile I had beside me, thinking that was the end of the conversation.

‘If you don’t mind my saying, your aura is very bright, the colour strong.’

I could have said that I was not surprised, as browsing for books always has that effect. She went on to say, ‘I’m sorry, my name is Deborah and I read auras. Yours is particularly fascinating as you have words dancing around your aura. They need to be written, a book maybe?’

This I had never heard of and must have looked surprised.

Touching my elbow, she said, ‘Oh, you already write, don’t you?’

She could have been my grandmother, so I didn’t want to offend her. I could tell that other customers were now listening. I didn’t tell her that I had written a few books and lost a few changing from floppies to discs, I should say. The remaining ones safe on their USB’s.

I thanked her for her time, saying I needed to get home. Before I managed to get away, she reminded me not to let the words go to waste. ‘They won’t float there forever, write them. It could be your best one yet.’

I didn’t have the heart to tell her that I hadn’t written a complete book in years. The odd ditty for the internet is all I can manage these days.

Once safe inside my house, I looked through the books. Looking at the two she recommended. Everything I don’t remember by Jonas Hassen and Seeing Angels by Emma Heathcote -James.

I have yet to read them and I wonder if there is a message inside waiting to be found.

Maybe a strange Eureka moment?

AAAAA

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Updates: 23rd June

pensitivity101

Hm. Seems it works for me too, having cut the grass yesterday now it’s raining.
Still, I got Hubby’s washing done, and although not quite dry outside, there’s not that much so I’ve got it hanging up indoors.

I had a good night’s sleep, but sadly Hubby didn’t as he couldn’t get comfortable and lying in/on a bed all day hasn’t helped much. Still, he has come to an arrangement with the nurses that he can disconnect himself to go walkabout during the day as long as he doesn’t leave the ward. We have no idea how long he’ll be kept in, so I’ve got some juggling to do as I have a dentist appointment on Wednesday for a filling and have to give 24 hours notice of cancellation. It’s not bothering me, so I can postpone that until next month.
SW weigh in tomorrow at 5.30 and hopefully I…

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Wordle #409

pensitivity101

Here we go with BWarren’s Sunday Whirl Wordle

cages, cross, stench, cells, deny, soap, evil, why, sleep, trip, floor, border.

The couriers had to deny their ‘guests’ the use of soap on this trip as they were travelling in what could be described as cells to cross the border.
The stench from the cages on the floor was evil to his nostrils. How anyone could sleep in these conditions or why they would want to, was beyond him, but then he wasn’t as desperate as they were.

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Poem Revisited: Therapist Garden by Mark Tulin

Crow On The Wire

I have a garden
full of baldheaded, bifocaled
therapists with sofas, chairs
and shelves of esoteric books
with all the answers inside their pages.

I water them once a day
with my problems and concerns,
fertilize them
with plenty of pain and angst
and guilt that won’t go away.

I make sure
the therapists have sufficient sunlight
to jot down important notes,
and plenty of reasons to say:
What would you like to talk about?
And, that’s all the time we have today.

I prune the issues
that I tirelessly worked through,
weed the therapists who lose their
objectivity, and compost
all my childhood memories.

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