Desire
All those nights of passion, those years spent in desire,
we were tightrope walkers, balanced on a wire.
We never knew from day-to-day which of us might fall.
Never knew for certain if we’d both be there at all.
Desire in the meadows under shelter of tall grass—
in our youth we never knew that it could pass.
We had it firmly tethered. It could not slip away.
It curled in loosened coils around us as we lay.
Desire in the morning or in the afternoon,
each time we fell into it, was over all too soon.
Then life leaked in to wash the passion from our day.
We balanced, raw and vulnerable, wishing it could stay.
Desire in the darkness was easier to hold.
Something in the shadows made us wild and bold.
But when the morning beckoned, we left each other for
all the business of the day that lurked outside our door.
Heartbeats built the passion that footsteps cruelly bore
away so pulses of the night became the stuff of lore
as our desires migrated into memories
just beyond our fingertips, too distant now to seize.
Note: If sung to the tune of Suzanne Vega’s “Gypsy,,” as per okcforgottenman’s suggestion, sing the following two-line chorus after every verse: (Anyone want to think up an original tune for this?)
Oh, tomorrow, wrapped up in today.
we never know the dreams that we will throw away.
The prompt today was desire.
I Imagine
I imagine one more holiday.
My mother sits at a large picture window
looking out over a broad beach,
watching dogs fetching sticks.
Then, because she cannot help it,
she takes her shoes off to walk through packed sand.
I imagine her sighting the offshore rock
where puffins nest.
I imagine footprints—hers and mine
and the paw prints of the dog—
someone else’s—
who joins us for the price of a stick thrown
over and over into the waves.
My mother could count her trips to the beach
on one hand,
and most of those times have been with me.
Once, in Wales, we sat on the long sea wall
under Dylan Thomas’s boathouse.
A cat walked the wall out to us,
precise and careful
to get as few grains of sand as possible
between its paw pads.
As it preened and arched under my mother’s smooth hand,
its black hairs caught in her diamond rings.
The other time we went to the beach
was in Australia.
We stayed out all afternoon,
throwing and throwing a stick,
a big black dog running first after,
then in front of it,
my dad sleeping in the car parked at the roadside,
my mother and I playing together
as we had never played before.
My mother and the ocean
have always been so far divided,
with me as the guide rope in between.
I imagine reeling them both in toward each other
and one more trip.
My mother, me, a dog or cat.
Wind to bundle up for and to walk against.
Wind to turn our ears away from.
Sand to pour out of our pockets
to form a small volcano
with a crab’s claw at the top.
So that years from now,
when I empty one pocket,
I will find sails from by-the-wind sailors
and shark egg casings,
fragile black kelp berries
and polished stones.
The bones of my mother. The dreams of me.
From the other pocket, empty,
I will pull all the reunions I never fought hard enough for—
regrets over trips to the sea we never made.
And I’ll imagine taking me to oceans.
Walks. Treasures hidden in and hiding sand.
Someone walking with me—
someone else’s child, perhaps,
and a dog chasing sticks.
Note: I never took that last trip to the ocean with my mother, but I think of her every year when I come to stay at the beach on my own, and this year in particular, every time I throw the stick for Morrie and every time children come to play with us. Here is a link to my favorite photo of my mother, plus other stories and poems about her.
Written for the dVerse Poets prompt, Prose Poetry.To play along, go HERE.
The vines surrounding the concrete pillars in front of this beachside hotel grow up the sides of trees, thus the rounded shape. Usually they are used as pillars with the tree trunk inside, but for some reason, they substituted concrete. Neat effect, though.
For Norm’s Thursday Doors Challenge.
“B” is For:
(Click on first photo to enlarge all and see captions.)
For Cee’s A or B Challenge
Mapped-out Life
If you’re unhappy with your route—
dissatisfied and full of doubt—
then you might be second-guessing,
looking for your parents’ blessing,
wanting to please everyone,
putting duty before fun,
overlooking the main one
and therefore satisfying none.
You are the one to satisfy,
to be led by and to gratify.
The principles by which you’ll bide
must be the ones you find inside.
So if you make a faulty choice,
at least it’s due to your own voice
and easier to rectify
than if you’ve chosen to rely
on rules laid down by another:
boss or lover, dad or mother.
So when you step out on that road
that takes you to your life’s abode,
be sure that that first step you take
is one you’ve chosen you should make,
led perhaps by older, wiser
family member or advisor,
but nonetheless, just right for you—
what you cannot help but do.
For when you’re older, you’ll figure out
that’s what life is all about.
The prompt today was “doubt.”
The world’s purest ice! Efim Viktorov, 21, filmed during group’s ice gig. Picture: Etnobit group
Here’s my flower for Cee’s Daily Flower Prompt.
The Couch Potato’s Creed
Though he who hesitates is lost,
impetuosity has its cost.
You should look before you leap,
because still waters might run deep.
Though early birds might get the worm,
rash actions trip up the infirm.
So all-in-all I think it’s better
if you aren’t a go-getter.
I guess the moral to this tale
is lest you lose or lest you flail,
you’re up against the proverbial wall.
It’s best you do nothing at all!
I’ve discovered an interesting fact about Morrie. He frequently sleeps with his eyes wide open! In the above photo, he’s on the sofa, but I snapped the below photos one morning when he had usurped my bed as well:
The boy knows how to make himself comfortable.
The prompt today was “hesitate.”
To see the enlarged photos and read the captions, click on the first photo.
https://ceenphotography.com/2017/02/28/cees-fun-foto-challenge-looking-up-at-things/
