For The Sunday Muse Prompt #234. Image source: Rosie Ann Prosser.:
**
Still, in the silent solitude of repose,
I survey the face that peers back at me.
Three candles flickering in the dark,
a space suffused by a mellow, yellow light
pushing back against the dark.
The ghosts of grief, railing against delight
fight the light, their dissonant sounds
a constant clang. But in light, there is delight
to know this is to rest, here.
Not all who wander are lost
For the second day of the challenge for which Mrs T nominated me, this J. R. R. Tolkien quote comes to mind. A line in a poem in the first volume of Tolkien’s Lord of The Rings, it refers to the Rangers who although often considered vagabonds are actually protectors and bulwarks against evil in Middle Earth.
For me it speaks of hope, a reminder that despite times and seasons in which life conspires to rock my faith and unresolved questions bubble to the surface, I am not lost. Just wondering, pondering and finding my way home in the end.
For S. Six months.
—
Beneath the light
of the autumn sun,
perched on the edge
of that seventh hill
we quivered in the
chill of the breeze,
basking in the delight
of a promise shared.
I walked away
with your name etched
on my skin, a weight
borne in my heart
like an anchor in
an uncertain storm.
Moons ago
there was trepidation
there,but now
like a once floundering
ship finally headed home,
there is a whole,
where a hole once was.
Image by M.E. Grenander Department of Special Collections and Archives, University at Albany, SUNY (via NPR’s Hidden Brain Podcast), for the Day 24 prompt. Inspired by Emma, Carrie and Vivian’s stories.
—
They branded them
the feeble minded,
when all they were
were the wronged ones.
Once a face begins
to fade into the fog
of otherness, doubt
begins to assail the
humanity of the other.
We wished we spoke
for you when they came –
before your lives
were stashed behind
that cordon of red brick
Emma, Carrie, Vivian
Emma, Carrie, Vivian
May your voices be eternal
After the sun, for the Day 19 prompt.
—
A lone man stands in front of the bus shelter, his bag slung across his shoulder, hands stuck deep in his pockets, staring out towards the square, at the space where the bus should be.
Behind him, four bicycles lie in various states of harness. Before him, the square lies suffused with light. The calm, strange for this time of the day, is broken when as though dumped from an arriving train, a flood of people begins to traverse the square. After that comes the rain, after which it becomes clear that the quiet that came before was only the calm before the storm.
Alone, his
bag slung across his shoulder
he stares.
The square lies
suffused with light. Calm, strange day.
Then the rain.
After Eduardo C. Corral’s Ceremonial, for the Day 18 prompt.
—
Here I am lord,
crouched behind the door
of this sanctuary,
wedding dress
crammed into a closet,
clenched fist
clutching a rosary
hoping the bite
of its ragged edges
will bring absolution
for this fleeing.
Like a dream hovering
just beyond the reach
of remembering
the taste of sugared
rancid sweat lingers.
This war within, between
the ghosts of things
once thought and things
now heard rages.
These thick thighs and belly fat
belie the assignation of beauty.
Prayer cannot assuage
this tumult, this self flagellation.
I pinch and pull, cry myself hoarse
In deliruim.
Photo by Ruxandra Mateiu on Unsplash, for the Day 16 prompt.
—
Where once we
Wrapped ourselves in heavy
Furs and coats
We now skip
Free, drawn by the warmth of the
Reborn sun.
The scent of
Daffodils, chirp of spring birds
Unfurls joy
Spring has sprung
And like children, giddy with
Joy, we play.
A Haibun, for the Day Twelve prompt.
—
The greyness subsumes everything, water filled skies allied to grey granite blocks defining the sky line. Sometimes, a mist will drift in from the sea, shrouding the city in a gloomy pall. The winds howl incessantly, its fingers reaching through every gap and every crack spreading chill and forcing a quickening of the footstep of all who brave the elements. The defining characteristic though is one of just getting on with it. Sometimes – for two days of summer as we say – the sun comes out.
After the
rain, sometimes the sun does shine
Cherished.
Image source: Huffington Post. For the Day 11 prompt.
—
Time tinges the
Future with death and demise
Certain end.
Each day is
A war won by birthing the
Self anew.
The claws of
Time etch themselves in our skin
Separating
Desire from
Response,bending will to
reality.
The world ends
Not with a bang but with a
Whimper*.
A Geek's Life 