Days of Wine and Roses… #Poetry

 

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Image by Pixabay.com

 

Wine and Roses

The days of wine and roses are behind us now

hidden by mist as we disappear from memory

The young ones no longer remember us

We are old Gods that danced on the head of a pin

The river no longer flows in our favour

Our lives turn to myth and legend, to be put aside

 like childhood toys. How easy they forget.

We do not disappear. We reform, returning

to take our rightful place in men’s psyche

we dance on the head of a pin once more

taste the sweet wine,

walk through the rose gardens we made.

Your earth belongs to us, we return…

AAAAA

#Flash Fiction 99 Word Challenge forThe Carrot Ranch Literary Community #Poetry

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My Bucket

Sacred water, the giver of life

we do everything with it

bathe, clean windows, wash cars

Leave a bowl out for the birds

Christen our new borns

As children, we splash in it

laughing and screaming getting soaking wet

We go boating on a summer afternoon

hand held over the side

Gentle water slipping through our fingers

Hidden trails of water beneath our feet

The Hindu God of Oceans, Varuna

Salty water, secret life below

Water is calm and violent

we cannot do without it

It sustains all life, take time

to bless the magic that falls on us…

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#Writephoto ~ Rift #Poetry

Thursday photo prompt: Rift #writephoto

 

Image by scvincent.com

 

Torn

Torn apart, my best piece of writing,

or so I thought by a cruel comment.

Like the backwash of a wave broken on our beach

The many rocks worn, cracked across their middle

still able to give a warm seat when I tire.

I have my favourites, where I can

run my hand across the small scars.

Straight lines, cruel whip marks

we all age and crack given enough time

The road marks on our faces as we age

The map of time passing,

the rift that marks all things.

The land falls away leaving a hollow

for the unknown traveller to fall int

A large cloud falls apart as if someone

had pulled a cotton ball in two.

It drifts on by, to be swallowed

by the other waiting clouds.

Whole again, as we too will be

when one puts a hand out to the other.

The rift is repaired. Would that everything

could be so easily mended

as a cloud drifting by.

With time and water, the force of the oceans,

the cracks in the rocks will be smooth again,

 their story untold. As if age had not touched them.

How do we mend a rift in time itself?

What falls between the space where

time has moved away from itself?

Like the wish written on paper as a child,

folded so many times

hidden in the crack of a rock on the beach.

My own wailing wall.

I have no recollection of the wish coming true

It may have done. Time has taken the memory

As I am sure the sea has taken my piece of paper

Smooth or cracked, a boulder

will tell its own story if you sit awhile…

AAAAA

 

Nine Gates… #Poetry

 

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Image by Pixabay.com

 

 

The door is open, do not enter

should you be foolish enough to step within

remember these three things

don’t lose the keys as you cannot turn back.

Love all things

Most of all, remember your name

It will carry you through the nine gates of hell.

The first is a three-mile swim

to the island, find the key to gate two

where time slows.

You must keep the same pace as before

think not of what is within, nor touch his skin.

Gate 3 is not so tough

pay no heed to what you hear.

Gate 4 is a bit sticky

Push hard, you will fall right in.

Pick not the flowers nor smell their sweetness.

Gate 5 will tell you lies about the ones you love

Gate six, time will tick louder in here

Do not let it make you rush.

Gate 7 will turn your mind around

do not lose direction.

Gate eight, no matter how you thirst

do not drink from the well of forgetfulness.

Gate nine stands the gatekeeper

He will ask you for the eight keys.

Do not worry that he is blind, he sees you

He will hand you the ninth key

here you must speak your name.

Let not all else be lost in flame

Remember the path behind you

for you will walk its length again…

AAAAA

The Wager…

 

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Image by Pixabay.com

 

The wager

I cannot wake from this nightmare

voices screaming below my floating body.

I dwell in darkness.

The devil takes what belongs

he gives no tomorrows.

I bet my life for one more day

place my coin on red for life.

Black would see me taken back

my seat still warm from the time before.

White lights, masked faces,

my spirit slammed back into place.

I hear one voice above the other

“We have a pulse, we’ve got him back!”

The devil lost.

I have one more tomorrow…

AAAAA

Returning Time… #Poetry

 

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Image by jenanita01.com

 

Returning Time

The dead do not lie still.

Their long shadows

search those secret places, pulling your mind apart.

They hide behind damp patches on the wall

waiting for you to scrape through the layers of time.

Old newspapers beneath carpets

Lost photographs at the back of the drawer

A box full of records you can no longer play

Love letters you find.

That distant whisper lets you know

they have come back…

AAAAA

Love…

 

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Image by Pixabay.com

 

 

Love

I felt the winter winds

blow chills through my bones

chasing memories, unable to capture

haunting melodies hung in the air.

Warm winter furs, brandy cupped hands

love songs whispered through the strings of a harp

All lost now to the winter winds.

I cannot walk where your ashes lie

deep beneath the sea, you rest

my mind holds you forever young

my one true love…

AAAAA

Moon Dust… #Poetry

 

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Image by Pixabay.com

 

 

Moon Dust

Angry voices fill the air

Lonely souls

a broken chair.

House standing in despair

One voice calling

what if you could

walk on the moon?

Would you bury

the two souls lying there?

Left behind on mission lost

time and space shall not erase

the memory of lessons learned.

Send a ship, bring them home

The moon is no place to be left alone…

AAAAA

#Flash Fiction 99 Word Challenge for Carrot Ranch Literary Community

 

Carrot Ranch Challenge

 

The Attic

Clearing out the attic

I found Grandads chisels

carefully wrapped in cloth.

He is no longer with us

But I remember him telling me

Always look after your tools.

He was the same with all his tools

Paintbrushes must be thoroughly cleaned.

Unwrapping the cloth, five chisels

as good as the day he bought them

Rosewood handles, each blade sharp

as the last time he held them.

I could feel him beside me

nudging me to find the wooden train set

he made for my twelfth birthday.

I found so much more, I rediscovered

My grandfather, his lost wisdom…

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