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…
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.
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.
He reminded me of an old tree full of whorls and gnarls and knots in wood.
he could hear love humming…
From that first impression on the tabula rasa springs the myth of god.
For my sisters FEATURED by THE SISTERHOOD FEATURED by C.O.R.E. / MCN:CAA82-2AF9E-D1BE8 Copyright Notice / © 2009 Helen M. Bascom / All rights reserved. None of the materials provided on this web page may be used, reproduced or transmitted, in whole or in part, in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or the use of any information storage and retrieval system, downloading, printing, or linking without permission in writing from Helen M. Bascom. Removal of electronic copyright information, digital fingerprints, or embedded watermarks on any image is strictly prohibited. To request permission to use any material on this page, to link to any image, and for further inquiries, contact Ms. Bascom by email. CLICK HERE to submit your request.
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….
winter in her heart and autumn in her eyes and spring in her hair
she wears spring in her hair .
Marlene Dietrich’s voice oozed seductively from the speakers. Gracie held the soft cloth of her dressing gown around her neck and closed…
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 forbid…
This was written a long time ago (on another site) in response to a challenge prompt.
Go on. Open it, sweet one. I dare you.
i’ve been reading virigina woolf and emily dickinson lately. Her breast is fit for pearls, / But I was not a `Diver’ - / Her brow is fit for thrones / But I have not a crest. / Her heart is fit for home - / I – a Sparrow – build there / Sweet twigs and twine / My perennial nest. - Emily Dickinson there were a few things that inspired these words on this blustery rainy day: Writing Workshop’s Exercise Four white witch, black heart / Mariposa, / I bet no-one’s called you that since we lived in our shack by the sea with olive trees and peeling green shutters; when you twirled fire, I painted the sun and all we needed was lemons, salt, and Jose Cuervo. / I wouldn’t miss your launch. / Where was he today? / I don’t care about him. / Here I am. / Does he know you howl at quarter moons? Does he know you drew constellations in black ink on my skin? Do you remember us… cocooned in our chrysalis of tangled salty dreams and coffee-creamed skin? / Your words betray you, my love. Why is your book full of love letters to a girl who wears my middle name and has a scar along her jawline, just like me? / I know that when you come out to your car, you’ll search for this scrap of paper under your windscreen wipers. You’ll hate yourself for it but that’s what you’ll do. / Here I am. copyright © 2008, Holly Ringland. a few days after writing this piece, i stumbled across leith o’malley and his space here on redbubble. when i came upon the mesmerising black butterfly. it was like finding my words and Grace’s heart freshly plucked and arranged in a vase of charcoal and magic.
daisy on turntable
o5.2o.2oo9 .
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…
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
The small feet of a child not quite two, / Shuffle along dirt roads as most children do.
Within the water’s reflection lays a magical metamorphosis, which even though painful at times, lays the beginning of new roads about to be traveled. Recall of personal childhood shows itself first in the dream state, and is reinforced not long after, while reflecting upon the waters. In early years of recovering memories; fear, anxiety, and shame flooded my consciousness, placing a barrier between the voice needing to be heard and messages from childhood still deeply ingrained. Putting the old messages to sleep, teaches the skill to share memories, removing uniqueness once felt. The following was written after awaking from a short nap today.
In Another Place and Time / Memories will prevail / I am now alone / In this world / I await the day / We will again meet / Walking past each o…
Thank you Helene!! Please check out Helene Ruiz’ other awesome artwork on / the RB heleneruiz
the memories turn a paler shade
celluloid / 1. highly flammable substance made from cellulose nitrate and camphor; / 2. a medium that disseminates moving pictures; / 3. a substance composed essentially of gun cotton and camphor, and when pure resembles ivory in texture and color.
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
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.
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….
Delicate as a rose / As a sweet serenade / Whispering yet silent / Yet no one would ever trade / The love between two souls / As tasty as swee…
NSFW
Love…. / the most giving of emotions / the most sought of elations
All goodness stems from love, / or so I think.
I did not know that I would call you Munchie… / Peanut Butter / Pumpkin Eater / Puff-a-lump / Or that I would dance with you, everyday / Sm…
Babies grow so very quickly. My son is no exception! It seems that he was just being handed to me like a little baby burrito, all red and squinty! Now I am planning his first birthday party…albeit 3 months in advance…but still!! This poem is for him of course. Though he grows fast, I have no regrets, because I truly savor our time together and that’s all you can do!
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