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…

AAAAA.png

#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

 

Another memory of the Falls…

 

St. Nectan’s Falls

 

On one of our trips to Cornwall, we decided to seek out St Nectan’s Glen.

Not realising there was a short cut, we took the long walk through the fields along a small path to get to the Falls.  Single file small!

There were cliffs to one side, the other a sheer drop that was full of trees, nothing soft to break a fall. I moaned all the way there, to find the waterfall at the end, the most wonderful sight.

Jaye had stepped into her own paradise, her love of water. It was plain to see, her face lit up as if the sun shone where there was none.

We noticed people high on a ridge, at the top of the waterfall.

Jaye has a fear of heights, but that day she conquered it, to get as close as she could to the top of the Falls. I am not kidding when I say that there was barely room for a pigeon on this ridge. There we were, my entire family, along with any future grandchildren I might have, vanished in fear.

Squeezing past people coming down was the moment I realised just how dangerous this was. Even now, when I think about it, I remember the nightmares I suffered. I still believe we were fools to have climbed up there.

We found our way to the small hut where St Nectan lived out his days. We signed the visitor book. Back on the flat ground, I gave a sigh of relief. Never again, I said, more times than I can count.

The thing I remember most was the deafening sound of the water and how cold it felt. Would I go again?

Maybe, but taking the shortcut, and no climbing high…

 

 

(This was Anita’s memory of the day I posted about HERE  )

Living Light ~ Kirlian Photography

Nostalgia for the past is lingering this week, a hangover from all those lovely memories we posted last week.

The following image are negatives, I had to tape them to a window in order to photograph them…

 

 

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Anita’s Fingerprints

 

Living Light

 

The aura, the living light that surrounds each living thing on the planet.

Jaye and I had these photographs taken many moons ago,

too many to count, meaning to have them printed.

The other night they came to mind.

Of course, I asked Jaye to do something with them, and she did .

I cannot remember the name of the man we met at a Spiritualist Fair.

He invited us to his home where he took these images of our hands.

I think they should see the light of day after all this time…

AAAAA

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“Kirlian photography refers to a form of contact print photography, theoretically associated with high-voltage. It is named after Semyon Kirlian, who in 1939 accidentally discovered that if an object on a photographic plate is subjected to a strong electric field, an image is created on the plate.

In controversial metaphysical contexts, Kirlian photography, Kirlian energy, and so on, are sometimes referred to as just ‘Kirlian’. Kirlian made controversial claims that his method showed proof of supernatural auras, said to resemble a rough outline of the object like a colorful halo.

Kirlian proposed and promoted the idea that the resulting images of living objects were a physical proof of the life force or aura which allegedly surrounds all living beings. This claim was said to be supported by experiments by the Kirlians that involved cutting part of a leaf off – the Kirlian images of such leaves, it was said, still showed the leaves as whole, as though the cutting had never happened.”

 

 

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

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