Language of Stones
In the tracery of lichen, in the cracks between the whole, the truth of you remembered, etched eternal in my soul. Long years have slowly weathered all the memories I knew, yet stone retains the language of love, of loss, of you.
Your Choice of Pie
There’s that point, when you realise you’ve got a problem that isn’t going to fix itself, when you know you have to take responsibility, and the blame. That’s when you think: Why can’t it be Pumpkin or Lemon Meringue instead of Humble?
All in the name
I was his universe, but now I’m old, and youth shines in you, will you love him more than I? I named him after Merlin, A Mothers choice, for wisdom, so I ask you, Are you trying to steal my Mer, maid?
Who is the Sign!
They’ll say I didn’t do enough, after the fact, those non-believers. Omens and portents passed them by, relying on their GPS to guide. Into the world I sent, the box of blue, fish fingers and custard, for those with wit to see.
It is Not
Feathers breaking, dreams unseen, a heart dissolved in rich, red wine. An empty home, a memory lost, the seasons circling endlessly. The maelstroms’ eye, each fallen leaf, a spider spinning her new web. All is louder still, than this endless, silent scream.
Speak of the Dead
Funny how a name can be validation or condemnation. I hadn’t even met her, but her presence overwhelmed my world. It got so bad I learnt to talk only about the absolute necessities. Compared to the dead, I spoke less than she.
The Tune Remembered
Eyes shut fingers fumble numbers forgotten I cannot dial the phone I search desperately longing to hear a voice gone silent waking after dreams the melody lingers I face reality a single life my cage I can only sing the tune remembered
A Leaky Tap
It is never what you expect – a leaky tap that needs repair, causing my insides to spill out, stabbing my heart, shaking my hands as frustration boils over. He is not here, he never will be again. The shower as pain catalyst. © ceenoa 26/5/2014
Do you know?
A classic story, lives spun around a world a whirl a boy and girl the day is long, but moments short an itch to soothe a rock to move decisions loom, like hydra heads a choice to make a road to take © 19/5/2014
Yipee – I won a Gargleblaster Award
I’m feeling pretty happy right now – because of this lovely post on the Gargleblaster blog: Hitchhiker’s prize! And because it’s my birthday, and because this one made me smile, I’m awarding a hitchhiker’s prize this week! It goes to Claudette, a newbie who missed the grid, but linked to her poem Gaia and Luna…
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