Stolen Moments

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Sunset in Mist – photo by Wild Thing

Beautiful door
Only opened
As they arrived
For those
Stolen moments

No day
Would pass
They would meet
To talk … touch
Whisper of
Love and promise

Then . . .
Darkness came
He disappeared

Every day
She faithfully came
The door
Remained locked
She sat by the door . . . waited

She dreamed
Of the door
Always open
They were always
There . . . together

Each doing
Their own thing
Side by side
In happiness

Brushing past
Each other
With smiles
Sharing the day
Quiet nights
Passion filled

A dream
That will never
Come to be
And so, she waits
By the door

Wild Thing ©2017

Written for Prompt 2.15
Writing Rebels

Moonlight Skate

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Frozen Moon – photo by Wild Thing

Warm old truck
5 years old
“Where are we
going Daddy?”
“You’ll see.”

Rough road
Lots of bumps
She giggles
When she flies
Off her seat

Deep in the swamp
Large bag
On his shoulder
Short walk
Narrow path

Under moonlit sky
Snow glistens
On a pond
Blue square
Empty of snow

Deadfall
nature’s bench
Carefully stacked
Just offshore
Bonfire wood

In the bag
Skates!
His old ones
New white
Double blade
Ones for her

Hand in hand
He guides her
Teaches her
Until sure
She can skate
On her own

Wild Thing ©2017

Written for Prompt 2.21
Writing Rebels

 

Promises*

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Autumn Burdock – photo by Wild Thing

A promise given
Received
With joy
Gently placed
In a basket
To be savored
Until its arrival
With expectation
Hopeful days
Pass
It never comes

Another promise
Arrives
In the basket
It goes
Believing again
Only to see
It curls up
Like the other

Soon the basket
Fills with
Withered promises
It’s put away
With the pain
Of being forgotten

More promises
Arrive
Like butterflies
Beautiful
Then flutter away

Leaving behind
Wistful
Knowledge
That it will
Never happen
Which is
Better than
Expectation
Unfulfilled

Wild Thing ©February 18, 2017

*This poem was written for the Prompt 2.17 for the Writing Rebels.
It must suck to have promises made that are never kept. I mean we all know what it’s like, but to be an entire race of people? I think of Standing rock … being Black … Hispanic … all the broken promises made to them & then I am ashamed to bemoan any that have been broken to me. Anyway, I tried to capture that feeling & don’t think I came very close to it … but for what it’s worth. This was my attempt.

Earth Healing

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A Moment in Time – photo by Wild Thing

Dense fog
Crows overhead
Break the silence
One leaf falls
Earth’s poetry
Awaits
To heal a soul

Wild Thing ©2017

Written for Prompt 2.13 Writing Outside the Lines

On the Written Page With Kerouac

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To The Moon – photo by Wild Thing

I have always found Jack Kerouac’s List on Belief and Technique for Modern Prose rather curiously a positive one for someone who seemed rather morose and given to bouts of chronic depression. That being said, I have found that much of what he says on this list has been a guiding light to how I approach my writing.

I think the one thing that is most important is to love life in general and be a student of it. To study and observe it; I find that it has enriched my life and therefore my writing. I agree whole-heartedly to never get drunk outside of your own home as well. Bad things happen when you do that! I could go on more in that direction, but think it’s best left at that.

But the most of his list that resonates in me are the ones that involve vision. Being an artist who uses paints, sketches, and now photography, I use my inner eye, my inner vision, to begin my writing. I “see” it before I write it. Sometimes, one of my photos brings up the writing, sometimes a chance phrase creates a vision in my mind, or sometimes just sitting and staring off into space creates a scene. When I read a prompt it is always a visual that is formed first. Even music is a visual thing for me. I see it when I listen to it whether it has lyrics or not.

The visionary part ties into the loving life and being a student of it. Because this allows you to see what was, is and could be. It becomes the “filler” for my vision. Standing at a motel window watching a man say goodnight to a woman in a car. I kept thinking about who they were, what were they to each other? I made up a whole story from this visual snapshot in my head of these 2 strangers that became a poem.

It’s probably why I will never write “the line writer’s dream of writing” because for me it’s not so much about the words as getting the visual down on paper for you to “see” what I am seeing in my mind … feeling as I’m seeing it. If I can do that, then I have achieved my goal.

Writing this, I have now had a visual and will try to share it.

In my corner
Attempting
To share
My style
À la Kerouac

Stray thought
Wanders by
Pushed aside
I struggle
To explain

Boldly returning
It is insistent
Streaming
Consciousness
Floods my mind

Nothing to do
I give in
Laughing
Knowing
You are too

Especially Annie

Wild Thing ©2016

Written for Prompt #2.3
Writing Rebelsm

Summer Free

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Feather Quill – photo by Wild Thing

Summer free
Sunkissed
Running wild
Braids flying

Roaming fields
Barbed wire cuts
Frog Croak Creek
Toes cooled

Trees climbed
High above
Squirrels scold
Giggles answer

Berries eaten
Yikes . . .  itch weed
Butterflies
Sweet milkweed

On top a hill
Under a rock
Bugs and worms
Scurry to hide

Pretend games
From books read
With friends
No one can see

Mother’s whistle
Running for home
Suppertime
Don’t be late

Pockets emptied
Treasures found
Three rocks
One white feather

In bed sleeping
Sun gold skin
White pillowcase
Child at peace

Wild Thing ©2016

Written for Prompt #2.2

Writing Rebelsm

Save

At the Precipice

Fear gripping me
Afraid to breathe
Afraid not to
What if I fail

What if you don’t
A voice whispers

I’m afraid I whisper
Faintly it replies
I know you are

I might fall
You might soar
Higher than all

Others will laugh
Then laugh with them

They won’t notice
Then be invisible

That’s nonsense
So is fear

Who are you
I ask out loud

Courage
Says the voice

Challenging it I say
How do you know me

It replies confidently
I am you

Wild Thing ©2016

Written for Prompt #2.1
Writing Rebelsm

We’re Okay

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Widow’s Walk – photo by Wild Thing

Storm has past
Leaving a strange
Green light
Branches . . . twigs
Fallen to the ground

Distant rumble
Echoes back
As a taunt
Perhaps a threat
It could come back

Unknown paper
Straggles by
Unable to walk
A straight line
Dizzy from its ride

Homes dark
No light
Shines from within
Each looking
Like a death mask

People stand
Outside dazed
Taking stock
Clean up, repairs
Counting their blessings

Here, there
Cell phone
To the ear
“Yes, we’re ok,
It only stormed here.”

Wild Thing ©2016

Written for Prompt #51

Writing Rebelsm

Boat Echoes

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Boat – by Suz Wheeler/photo inserts by – photos by Wild Thing

Caressed by weeds
Hiding place so clever
Memories echo
Forgotten forever

Steamboats passing
On the river wide
Passengers waving
From each side

Young and untamed
Happy to just be
Finding treasures untold
On the Mississippi

Two boys playing
Imaginations free
Wild adventures
Tom and Huckleberry

All too soon
Fully grown
Gone the boyhood
They once had known

Wild Thing ©2016

Written for Prompt #52

Writing Rebelsm

No Regrets

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No Regrets – photo by Wild Thing

They say
The saddest words
Are “It might
Have been.”

What does
That bring but
Heartache and regret

It only makes
Returning
Harder to face

Why question Fate
And tempt
Her fickle temper

She could make
You regret asking
What might have been

Wild Thing ©2016

Written for Prompt #50
Writing Rebelsm