Marlene Dietrich’s voice oozed seductively from the speakers. Gracie held the soft cloth of her dressing gown around her neck and closed…
I’m broken now / But I have not forgotten the way it feels / To swallow rain like candy drops / And then to Stop And fervidly kiss / ...
This is based on a true story that never happened…:) I imagined being left….it inspired this…
Her life was in many ways perhaps a letdown in her own eyes, despite the countless wings she gave others to rise with. This is a story of…
Memories, like toys abandoned, / Found later to be loved again, / So real, yet so elusive.
Sharon Hammond inspired me to rethink this piece of writing created years ago for my daughter…....where I pondered on what was “mine” and what still is…....(and what never was….) / Thank you Sharon…hope you and your daughter share an amazing time together on the occasion of her wedding…... / and beyond.
There nothing in the air in October to slow down the pain that leaks from one person and into another. It transmutes like lightning. Flas…
My Father had and still has a profound influence on me. His story begins here And it continues here…made ALL THE MORE poignant for me when gifted photographer Mel Brackstone commented that she may have been channeling me while working on this photo, titled Melt Down and after looking at it I’ve gotta agree. If you read the entire story, of me and Dad, to the end…you may well agree too.
But the bird of my heart will not sleep. / Still he sings… hush, bird.
Those feelings and memories that just won’t be quiet and rest in peace….
This is where I come from. This little place that is almost gone. This is where my roots are, and where I once belonged.
A visit to the small town I spent the first few years of my life in. The place where life made sense. A happier time in my childhood before my world turned upside down and spun out of my control. A place where I belonged.
though you have gone / memories remain / a life so carefree / never any pain / delightful were you / with open arms / filled with smiles / and …
Collaborative work of kevinmawson and Sally Omar / / “You’re Mine” / Please check out Kevin’s other awesome artwork on the RB / kevinmawson
It had been missing for some time / a piece of me / so slight I had overlooked it for quite a while
sometimes people leave parts of themselves and we don’t know it until another lifetime
winter in her heart and autumn in her eyes and spring in her hair
she wears spring in her hair .
daisy on turntable
o5.2o.2oo9 .
Thoughts of you are tiny imps / whispering in my ear, / endlessly / ceaselessly / tirelessly.
Flicker, Flicker On By / Candlelight… A Memory / Embedded in Mind
A Memory Of Lost Love….
Locked inside a dusty old trunk / Kept for a lifetime in the basement / There lays a secret, never told / A tragic tale of life and forbidde…
This was written a long time ago (on another site) in response to a challenge prompt.
your memory / painting desire / like an indelible ink / onto my lips, / across the bones of my hips…
Poem for Eric – an exorcism of sorts. RIP, with love…
Blowing through a vast crevasse – / from whirling tempest; / to calming balm on wounded skin; / to constant howl; / to sunlit kiss, onto war…
Ah. How to describe this? This is, quite simply, my past – or, the majority of it’s heaviness. So much. So many details. In short: my beautiful mother died at the age of 26, at the hands of a monster (AKA: the black-maker); tortured us beforehand for 2+ years on a daily basis (he was a dirty, dirty cop) which included molesting me for many years, years of which I have but 2 memories left after my brain erased my hard-drive to keep me from killing myself, most likely…the body knows what’s best. although, it would be nice, to have even one memory of my mother. she died when I was 7. She took her own life to escape him. / I have always pictured that little girl (me at 7, post her death) as sitting atop this pillar in a cave, bound and gagged, waiting for the adult me to come and rescue her…maybe someday I’ll be able to remember, and realease that girl of mine) / but for now, I take all of this as : A GIFT. and I mean that. ,my past is my gift, my present the reward. I harbor no ill-will against anyone. I forgave the man about 5 years back, in a dream actually, and my mother as well. / As I say, “I am the light-maker now”. So be it. I accept. With love and forgiveness in my heart, how could I do anything but shine for them?
I breathe in and I breathe out / I put one foot in front of the other / Life is colorless and mundane / I get up / I go through the motions ...
Another dear soul has chosen the light of eternity’s love / As she walks beyond pain, to the peaceful flight of a dove May her soul fir…
A day after our granddaughter departed, we received word that a dear and close friend had collapsed, hospice was called in and she will soon be departing this earth plane, transitioning from life to life. / This writing will be part of her sacred transition, as the pipes of the Tribe of All Nations sing her soul/spirit to Great Mystery and the Great Star Nation she will return… / May her spirit fly to the heights of peace! ENIGMA – Beyond the Invisible
Traveling backwards, / to that day; / those days – / those forgotten in mind, / remembered in heart days makes me sick. My body physica…
This is a follow-up poem to The Screaming Box. I wrote this a few months back. It is a very diluted retelling of how my mother came to die; and how it effected me in the process. / She killed herself…but would not have died had the man I call The Black-maker (as he killed my mom, took my innocence, and stole my memories…and so very much more) effected me. / it is a very personal poem. But felt like sharing…I may end up deleting it…you know how it goes. but right now, I feel like purging. thank you for indulging and reading. :)
Come and watch the scythe / Slashing through a paper night / Book and butterfly / Ace clubs a diamond heart / Would Vincent paint this dark n…
Inspired by the beautiful artwork of Lorenzo Castello. Thank you for the inspiration Lorenzo! / Art / music
Poetry? I can only dream of waving a magical pen, like you did. / Of words dancing, bursting into allegorical stars
I stand on this platform / As the 7:30 train approaches / My thoughts suddenly drifting / To another day, another moment
Memories, they can be triggered at any time, taking us back to the best times
A kiss of a fresh rose
When a child arrives into our lives the reason why we do things changes and our focus is shifted dramatically.
My love for you / touches the memory / of Time.
What is humanity? Is it a particular code of ethics and morals we must abide by? Is it a particular religious belief that is the saviour of us? Is it simply a biological machine with a self survival mechanism? Are we not just a swirl of emotions trying to find a common ground to play on?.....and in the end do we not all belong to the same tribe asking the same questions? I love my tribe….one tribe, one humanity.
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