Die to Live
Time’s shadow condemns fools
to imprudent neglectful ignorance,
to deep suffering, lost love,
mindless hearts of stone
—pitiful loneliness.
On my knees I cried out.
I was my enemy.
Her hands rose; lightning shocked
me dead. I awoke, jostled to new life.
Look both ways.
Watch yourself and check six.
No fool minds the gap.
Be not the fool.
***
***
Love and hate, two words
once pithy
now made windy by insincerity,
like sorry or mea culpa (my bad)
to keep some false shallow peace.
Apologies mean little as expressing
regret where no fault or damage was done,
ad infinitum. I’m sorry,
but I’m so not sorry.
No, I don’t love that man nor hate that one,
love does not conquer all without wisdom,
or discernment of the scorpion’s sting.
Call me misanthrope if you like,
or cantankerous skeptic.
I like some people, hate others,
present company excepted.
Words with meaning and grace
make life tolerable. Nothing is perfect.
***
Look both ways, into self and judging others.
Mind the gaps of deception.
Thanks to Lillian for hosting the bar and suggesting OpenLinksNight for favorite sayings. Mine was by Eric Hoffer, “The search for happiness is one of the chief sources of unhappiness.” My poem gently follows that theme.
What do I want?
What do I want?
And you, the same?
Everlasting life?
Perfect existence?
Is it happiness?
What exactly is that?
Heath and wealth
Both common goals
But is there more?
What is enough?
Love, perhaps, or
in my perfect world?
Let’s compare notes.
You show me yours
And I’ll show you mine,
In the balance it hangs
Every important thing
about life and time.
What do you want?
And, for me, the same?
Look both ways for love and opportunity, but look within for love.
Mind the gaps for unhappy steps.
Many thanks to Rochelle @ Rochelle Wisoff-Fields-Addicted to Purple for orchestrating Friday Fictioneers. The challenge is to write a story based upon a photo prompt (today she gets extra credit for providing the photo, as well). With fewer than 101 words we are challenged to contrive a beginning, middle, and an end.
***
Title: Pleasure Palettes
Genre: Romance (autobiographical) Fiction
Word count: 99
I was at my easel trying for a loose, semiabstract, colorful urban cityscape.
Conjetti walked in.
“Did I hear you talking to someone?”
“It was your boyfriend. He’ll call back later.”
She cleared her throat.
“Okay. It was Julie. We discussed art. She said watercolor is a metaphor for letting go.”
“And you said?”
“I told her it was like herding wet, angry cats of different colors that don’t mix well.”
She reached around and grabbed me, biting my neck.
“Follow me,” she said with a sultry gaze.
I smiled, “At your service m’lady.”
“You’d better be.”
“Yes, Ma’am!”
***
Look both ways as
“Life imitates art far more than art imitates Life” (Oscar Wilde).
Mind the gaps of romantic truth.
Many thanks to Rochelle @ Rochelle Wisoff-Fields-Addicted to Purple for orchestrating Friday Fictioneers. The challenge is to write a story based upon a photo prompt (and thanks to Jean L. Hays for that), with a beginning, middle, and an end in fewer than 101 words. This is my third venture.
Genre: Ironic (flash) Fiction
Word count: 100
***
Lobo and Robin met and married at the University of New Mexico following his return from Vietnam in 1970. He was from the Atchafalaya Swamp region of Louisiana, she from Montana ranch country.
Doc Robin, as she was called, was an internationally known infectious disease specialist. Lobo, a highly sought after free-lance journalist.
Their 50th anniversary party was planned for Saturday night on their rancho near Albuquerque.
“What’s in the box, Robin?”
“Designer surgical masks for the party.”
“You’ve thought of everything.”
“Not really, Babe. But it would not do for our quests to go home with COVID-19.”
Lobo howled.
***
Look both ways to plan a party.
Mind the gaps of the ironic mind in a literal world.
Thorns are in gardens,
And colors from pretty flowers,
Rose pedal jellies are sweet.
This world of sounds,
Voices heard, long before birth—
Mother, father, sister, brother.
Sounds of nature,
So sweet and quiet,
Some warn of danger,
Others safe passage,
Voices of friends,
A love,
Some grumpy old men.
In time,
Life’s pleasures wane and wither,
Music comes not as before,
Beautiful sounds are
Nothing to waste.
Disallow atrophy
Of lust
For a wondrous life.
Be alert.
Sounds. Enjoy them.
Be aroused
By smiles and touches
Of troubadour drums.
Surround yourself with pleasures.
Hear every note
With silences between.
Waste nothing.
Mind our gifts.
Take care,
my love.
Some things shall not
Always be there.
Look both ways with eyes and ears.
Mind the gaps between notes and words.
Many thanks to Rochelle @ Rochelle Wisoff-Fields-Addicted to Purple for orchestrating Friday Fictioneers. The challenge is to write a story based upon a photo prompt, with a beginning, middle, and an end in fewer than 101 words. This is my second time at bat.
Genre: (Flash) Fiction: Romantic Drama
Word count: 100
Steven looked through the window at the next building as he washed dishes. His back was toward her.
Karen quietly picked up the butcher knife from the counter-top and walked toward him, the sharp tip pointed directly at his naked back.
When the point touched his skin, he turned around to face her, carefully took the knife, and slid it into the water.
Karen asked, “I didn’t frighten you?”
“I saw your reflection in the window.”
She slid into his arms. They kissed.
“Besides,” he whispered, “it’s a well-known fact, no man has ever been murdered while doing the dishes.”
Look both ways while doing dishes. Wouldn’t want to miss something.
Mind the gaps and sharp objects.
Here’s the link to inlinkz to join the party and read other stories.
Seeing her standing alone
Yes, I want to beware,
Zoned into love I was thrown
Yesterday’s memory to declare
Grabbing this life of my own
Yearning for someone to care.
Look both ways as the planets align.
Mind the gaps when two bodies are in gravitational pull.
His gallivanting days now over, the old hippie rides a recliner, pets the old lap cat, takes his medicine when she tells him, and he hopes she’ll rub his neuropathic feet. He votes absentee, remembers sex and pot, and wishes things when he looks at her.
Look both ways when crossing paths.
There is no past and no future.
Mind the gaps in the circle.
Dying to Self
The obdurate lad labeled shallow,
his brooding nature, vengeful plotting,
lacked love, friendship, deep perspective.
The cold-hearted brutish Devil Dog
sought glory in death, salvation through agony,
shadows to kill without meaning or purpose.
Death and destruction his insensate shield,
as he was, he couldn’t survive
in this world at peace with love.
Curses of sympathy and empathy
mysteriously hatched humanity into his soul.
The old poet sleeps feeling thoughts of emotion.
Look both ways for the glory of Beowulf.
Mind the gaps in hidden emotions,
lest the beast of Cain’s progeny kill the stoic.
