Marlene Dietrich’s voice oozed seductively from the speakers. Gracie held the soft cloth of her dressing gown around her neck and closed…
NSFW
I remember it like it was yesterday.
You get what you want, / and then you don’t want it.
Who dares to walk this path? / Yet who dares to not?
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…
Sometimes I stop to get a better view / All my senses fill up with the memory of you / A sad smile touches my lips / As I can almost feel you
This is my favorite writing. It took me a couple of weeks to do it but it was worth every step. Thanks for reading. Vonne
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….
How will he remember me / If I’m stoned by the crowd / deep down in his heart
Precious is the Memory I wrote this poem in response to Helen Bascom’s image Precious is the Memory and her question beside it “How will he remember me?” which I used as the opening line. I would like to thank Helen for allowing me to display this image here and for including this poem in her Active Art blog.
I don’t remember you.
Some ghosts just won’t be exorcised.
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.
Thunder / cancels out the sound of heavy / breathing. / I am tired. / But the sounds filling my weary ears / Are of ocean waves crashing / and …
It’s a long one [at least for me]
They always said that god was there / You didn’t walk alone / But visions of the lonely morgue / Still chill me to the bone
There are some things that are hard to talk about, even with those closest to you. I’m inspired by others on Redbubble who share some of their deepest darkest and most personal thoughts and emotions and true stories . I guess those snippets serve to help us get to know each other better and may also be cathartic for the teller. I’ve been here for seven months now and thanks to the people I’ve connected with here, I feel like part of the family.
without the field’s fragrance / of white lilies in a clenchèd fist / or the mournful notes of song and prayer
This is my translation of a poem by an Afrikaans poet, Marlise Joubert. Afrikaans is my second language. The Lucebert referred to is a Dutch poet, who said “All things of value are defenceless”. Translated in March 2009. Below is the original: sonder die veld se geur / van wit lelies in ‘n vuis / of die trae note van gesang en gebed / sonder ‘n graaf of ‘n word van eerbetoon / sterf hy op die vaal handdoek / op ‘n skoongeskropte tafel / eerloos / en ek onthou Lucebert: / alles van waarde is weerloos sonder ‘n sug en sonder protes / sterf hy stil en donker / terwyl die bloed oor die lip / bly stoot / terwyl die pyn die gapende wond verlaat / en elke pupil al groter rek / om verlossing in te laat / terwyl my kind se hand / die troetelkop bly troos bly troos / en ek onthou Lucebert: / alles van waarde is weerloos sonder dat hy weet dat ons hom groet / word sy lyfie riemslap onder die naald / lê die swart pels in ‘n boog gestol / half verleë die wit sokkies / van sy pote oor mekaar gevou / die bors se wit ster / gevlek en rou / en ek onthou van Lucebert so moes ek hom verlaat / sonder ‘n lied of die veld se geur / en ek onthou terwyl ek huil / teësinnig teen die misreën op die ruit / my vingers om die stuur geklem en koud / dat ook hy, ja tog, / soos ‘n mens van waarde was / ‘n keelronde warmte kon gee / met kromgeskuur teen jou kuit / weerloos in sy dierlikheid / en onvoorwaardelik elke dag / veertien jaar lank / getrou op ons tuiskoms kon wag
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
I am alone in thought of you / do not disturb the mind / to find a memory of you
for those who see but are not seen for those who wait are never found for those who just are / For you…..whoever you are … / Featured in Midnight Ramblers…Oct 2009
The dead I loved have turned to mold and flimsy recollections of hope. / They spin around me, grazing the ground, twisting my steps.
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.
Paul Kelly’s “Love never runs on time” played slower in her mind than it should, each line serenading a beggar man’s truth; there are no…
I spy with my little eye something starting with L …
I wake / an earthquake / in the rain; / a sacrificial lamb of light / followed by a dream… *The power and the glory, / forever and ever, ...
This is a true story. / This was a very vivid nightmare (or rather, one of my “dreamalities” as I have dubbed them, where the dream is real; a lucid dream in which both my subconscious and conscious came to the late-night party.) / anyway… / before the black-robed devil’s; the minions of The Black-maker (my also dubbed eveil step-father…who i could feel in the background, behind it all) dragged me into the portal of hell…those words came out of nowhere (and everyhwere) in my head… / and when I began reciting that prayer, the black robes writhed and screamed their way below the ground, dissipating in agony and defeat. / The Black-maker? he left pissed, I’m sure. / I woke up then; shaking like an earthquake, still speaking the end of the prayer. Outloud. / It was my own voice that woke me. / I will never forget that experience. I wrote 2 poems about this dream…this is one of them.
Kissing the simple gestures of life / Thankfulness is a splendid dish /
Just thankful….and it feels good…x What are you thankful for in this chapter of your life?
Dreams / ride waves / across oceans, / emotions, / greet new beginnings / with aged thoughts
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