Treasured Rags

 

“The process of assessing how you feel about the things you own, identifying those that have fulfilled their purpose, expressing your gratitude, and bidding them farewell, is really about examining your inner self, a rite of passage to a new life.” (Marie Kondo)

New clothes were brought home
as treasured items proudly worn.
Gifts of love once remembered.

And cloth diapers for three babies,
none of whom used wash and wear for theirs,
but they sure as hell wore them.

Old shirts, their purpose long fulfilled,
now used to clean, dry, or wipe.
They’re washed, then continue to serve.

Old rags have memories woven into fabric—
from experiences with life;
from when first worn, old rags aren’t discards.

They’ve simply changed uses. Like people.
And memories. Lots of memories.
“…a rite of passage to a new life.”

Look both ways,
from the marvel of the mint to the value of the venerable.
Mind the gaps, but for most, “it don’t mean a thing.”

Sammi’s Weekender #183 (Wrangle)

Click to go to Sammi’s page and words of other’s.

Left, Right, Left

Loudly, we would wrangle well into the wee hours.
Gene and I would worry all but us; uneasy friends, smok-an’ drinkin’ buds
with different ways we saw our world.
Not even—no more.

Look and listen both ways. Lean from friends.
Mind the gaps of age and wisdom, our unforgiving nature.

***

 

Sammi’s Weekender #182 (bequeath/bequest)

I Lied to Me

His first words,
“What will you get?”
With such words our brother
accounted for decades of silence.

“He can’t help it,”
I’d tell myself.
“It’s not his fault.
He was raised like that,”
I told myself.
“Forgive him.
He’s your big brother.
He should be your hero,”
I still tell myself—
Not some pitiful old man
Who’ll never understand why,
I told myself, again.

Our sister’s bequest
was that he suffer
as he caused her, but I couldn’t
let her love lapse, I told myself.

Look both ways with family and friends.
Mind the gaps, but learn to live without them.

Sammi’s Weekender (histrionics)

Demonstrative was what Mom said,
but no one ever called me histrionic.
A sober adult, some said automaton,
a stoic robot.

One who cared,
but cared not to show it.
I wonder now though
about this thing with Carlin.
I’m unsure if I’m that good,
or that bad.

Look both ways into emotions and dispassionate objectivity.
Mind the ever-present gaps for stumbling blocks.

 

Poetry: Sammi’s Weekender #178 (Asinine)

click to link to Sammi’s page

I’ve not written a letter to my teenage self.
If I did, it would be
crude,
rude,
and threatening.

I knew that boy
wouldn’t heed warnings.
He did little good.
The bad I remember,
the stupid,
the asinine and foolish acts
I cannot deny.

I was me.

I was there. I did it. I was
the thick-headed marauder
they claimed.

My survival is a mystery.
How it turned out like this; I’ll never know.

 

Look both ways in life to connect the dots.
What happened to all those years?
Mind the gaps in recall for memories denied.

 

Footnote: My wife edits these. She brought this to me saying, “it turned out well because you married me.” I agree. Ok, late addition of a video that kind of says cool stuff.

Poetry: Sammi’s Weekender #177 (Heather)

Click to link

I came up with an acrostic.

Hopeless romances never die from
Eroded unrequited loyalty, nor
Awkward, embarrassing, green jealousy.
Thankless deceptions give us
Hollow empty feelings of
Eviscerated, torn, pride; and
Ruined trust.

Look both ways, especially if 27 is your “lucky” number. Mind the gaps for unfounded fears and feelings of unrequited love.

The video is Conan Gray talking about his song, Heather, which sort of inspired the poem.

Friday Fictioneers 10-2-2020

Thanks again to cat-herder extraordinaire, Rochelle @ Rochelle Wisoff-Fields-Addicted to Purple for providing another Friday Fictioneers photo prompt. Her weekly challenge is for us to write a story (beginning, middle, and end) of 100 words or less based on a photo prompt. Thanks to Rowena Curtin for the photo.

PHOTO PROMPT © Rowena Curtin

 

Genre: Fiction
Title: Xin Loi Gonzo
Word Count: 100

***

The sun was behind him, half blinding me. Gonzo insisted on knowing why I asked to meet him so early.

He swore and moved aggressively toward me. I backed-up and said, “Some make the world a better place, some we would better off without, and some make no difference.

When he charged me, I drew the pistol, repeatedly squeezing the trigger before I could point it. He knocked me down but did not move after we were on the ground. I stood, shot him in the head, and said, “I just made the world a better place. Xin lỗi, Gonzo.”

***

Look both ways when making room and don’t bring a knife to gun fight.
Mind the gaps and keep the sun at your back.

Click for link.

Xin lỗi is Vietnamese for ‘sorry’ or in my case, ‘sorry about that.’

Poetry: Sammi’s Weekender #175 (megalith)

 

Megalithic monuments to our past.
Cold stone can’t heal broken hearts,
replace shattered dreams, give life
to memories of the dead.

When will truth
replace our human greed, when
will we ever learn? We see and hear
what we want
with blind eyes and deaf ears.

Why even ask?

Look both ways for life.
Mind gaps in memories, lest we lose what we have.

The Vietnam Veterans Memorial with the Washington Monument Washington, D.C.

Friday Fictioneers 9/18/2020 (Poetry: Joe’s plan)

Thanks to Rochelle @ Rochelle Wisoff-Fields-Addicted to Purple for providing another Friday Fictioneers photo prompt. Her weekly challenge is for us to write a story of 100 words or less based on a photo prompt (thanks to Roger Bultot).

PHOTO PROMPT © Roger Bultot

Genre: Narrative poetry
Title: Joe’s Plan
Word count: 96

***

Joe was okay for 96;
a walker, a bag, and caths.
not bad. no cancer.
she was long gone.
he felt guilty and missed her.

Joe had a plan.
one night, after the poker game,
the pain was too much.
at the hospital er, shingles, they said,
was not deadly.

Joe’s plan,
that night in his bathtub
he used his .38 Special
to join with her,
just past the veil.

Joe’s girlfriend found him, cops came,
hazmet cleaned up. some family members
dealt with his stuff. all they ever wanted
was joe’s money. now it’s finished.

***

Look both ways and wonder why, but death awaits all.
Mind the gaps and keep your powder dry.

Click for link.

Poetry: Another Morning

Awakened hours before sunrise,
he must guard, lest they come and kill;
this boy filled with fear and shock,
barely 19, taught to hate and kill,
now loyal to his clan, this new family,
his only friends, his only protection
as war has become his real world.

Miserable, hardened in every way,
unsympathetic, unimaginably deadly,
drawn to flashing light, learning
what he never wanted to know, addicted
to the battle, to the intoxicating fight.

He celebrates life with death, seeks random
revenge where none is possible,
has forgotten questions, never asks why,
lives in his personal accepted hated hell.

Sunrise lifts despair from his soul.
He smiles, alone, at the light of life,
happy to survive one more night.
He looks for answers, for that part of him,
now dead because he kills without a care.
Can he ever again be who he was born to be?

Look both ways to find another view.
Mind the gaps where questions decay away.