Welcome spooky, October…looks like me trying to come up with a brilliant blog post…
Well, September came and went in a flash. I didn’t write one post here and that is a first for me. I have never gone a whole month without writing something here. Should this concern me? I remember the early days of my blogging back in 2011-12 and I didn’t understand bloggers who would take long, unexpected breaks but now I do. They had been in the game for several years and eventually, we change.
You are an unfinished poem Stuck in my heart, Appearing on the horizon Like an unanswered question Simple as one-two-three, Further from reality But as real as flesh on bone The lively echo of your smile Keeps me thinking, What's left incomplete Is sometimes just as sweet As the holy "amen" At the end of a silent prayer -LTW-
We’re already half way through summer. It always goes far too quickly of all the seasons. Winter? Dragging…like an ellipses. Spring? The start of a new thought; like a semicolon. Autumn? Gathering, like a comma ordering things. But summer! The exclamation of the seasons. Bright, long days, swimming, parties and other exclamatory activities! But gone all too soon.
I had a dream.
You treated me to a tattoo
For my birthday surprise.
I could not decide on the design
So many choices!
It’s funny, because
I realized
How hard this must be.
For you loathe tattoos
But want me to be
Happy just the same.
It was so clean and
The needle pain-free.
The final poke brought
me into a club–The Tattoo Club.
My forearm was the extremity of choice
(but never would be in real life).
Ink so bold and yet I felt the same.
I awoke before it bled,
Then I laughed as I watched you sleep beside me.
You had no idea what you had just done.
LTW.
Are you in the tattoo club?
image source: Photo by Natalie Rhea on Unsplash
I’m thinking there are two types of people in this world: those who mend and those who discard. Actually let me add a third type; those who want to mend but cannot. They take their mending to have it done by a pro (smart folks).
I used to be in the second and third category but as I’ve gotten a bit older, I mend more often. Since I was a child, I have almost ‘enjoyed’ sewing by hand. Almost. My grandma taught me how to thread the needle and how to make a few stitches. I used to watch her ‘darning’ my father’s socks when she came to stay with us. She was pretty good with a sewing needle. She did not have a sewing machine.
Such a small word for so large a meaning. To be brave even when you fear it. Whatever ‘it’ might be. I wrote in my art journal with a white pen on black painted paper (setting the mood), exactly what I needed to hear. Funny how that works. Well, the purpose of journaling truly is to help us muddle through emotions, doubts and life stuff. As I re-read this passage, I felt it might be helpful to my readers.
Today, I am cautiously introducing to you, Nora M. Parker, my night time poet pseudonym or perhaps my muse, and alter ego.
Although I have only published one of her poems here—something she reminds me often—I plan to include more of her night poems here in the near future.
I will warn you that she has a bit of an attitude. Without further ado, welcome Nora M. Parker to the blog…
When the spirits are restless
You shall be, too.
Your bed is a machine
Whirring and tossing you.
Tangling sheets strangle your feet.
Your eyes on fire.
Apparitions from long ago
Make their presence known.
Jolted consciousness!
It’s Alice again
And you must drink the tea.
Hares and Queens tempt you
With their hijinks.
Beg the spirits to make haste
So you can befriend the moon again.
Tireless desire rest, rest, rest.
If you feel like me, you may be tired of the Christmas carols. Enough already. One more Jingle Bells and I’ll have to jingle away somewhere warm. So to make it fun I’ve interpreted the “hidden meaning” in a few of these time honored Christmas Carols we’ve all come to love.
Design by ThemeShift.