Hour 6 – FORBID
Strangers, sandwiches. Shapes.
Friends, fridays. Fabrications.
Seduce her, sensualize her. Satisfaction?
Love? Labels! Lies!
Betrayed. Babblings.. Background..
Murder. Murmur. Melody?
Death. Debates. Dampens.
H.6 – Meander
My body shivers ice growing in my veins, my cheeks, my fingers, trying to slip into my winter coat, rocks crunch beneath my boots, each step a morning song, l think in tha rays of first light rounding the earth, my soul speakng bird wings sprouting sweeping me into the heavens.
2020 – 6
No buzzing.
No vibration, no noise, no melody.
A pleasant stillness.
A little ball of fur,
Curled up by my side,
Soft and peaceful.
The smell of rain, perhaps.
Mingling with the smell
Of deep dark coffee.
A chill in the air.
The smoothness of a pen
In my hand.
Transference of thoughts
Through the ink
Onto paper.
Hour 6: And Sow, the Garden has Grown
Hour 6: And Sow, The Garden has Grown
(an adapted villanelle)
The taste of the word love was ashes in my mouth.
The chewed up, spit out fuel feeding someone else’s flaming desire.
I sowed my garden with it, and things grew.
In the early spring, when it was new,
we shoveled compost and turned the earth,
but the taste of the word love burned like ashes in my mouth.
Seeds were planted in abundance and with the expectation of bounty.
Even as the rains came drowning our passion,
I sowed my garden with it, and things grew.
The heat rose, and as it baked, the earth burned.
Tomatoes stripped of promise by horned caterpillars,
and the taste of the word love lingered like ashes in my mouth
By fall I had lost most of the squash.
Their rich potential wormed away by resentment and neglect.
Still, I sowed my garden with it, and things grew.
There were late season pumpkins, ripe and buttery orange, more zucchini
than I could bake into bread, and a surprising peck of green peppers.
The taste of love left ashes in my mouth,
yet I sowed my garden with it, and things grew.
Gentle
Warmth pressing red glow encouraging first glance,
Back embodied passing defragmented mind,
Inner core soft level ground for a fluttering purpose.
Pressing smooth opening inside both one to another,
Enlivened top and bottom, awake below,
Held inside, tingles of bodily happiness then release.
Cradled by holding – seen and recognised.
Tendons and sinews tighten for needed moments
Returning to refractory lightness
Chest breaths easy in open flows.
Lips curl at corners as safety unfurls.
Gentle eternal recurrence welcome this day.
The Grace To Blossom, 2nd Hour
2nd Hour
The Grace To Blossom
He gave me another chance,
by grace, to blossom;
to breathe again.
knowing I would fall,
he held the seeds of my new birth,
and set them in a dry place.
I withered and died.
Far from Him, I tried to seek my own life,
wallowing in regrets and strife,
he waited until my eyes
grew blurry and dim unable to survive,
without Him.
Finding no pleasure in this foolish escape,
I was lost and
could not rescue my soul,
I had lost control
getting lost in unfamiliar rhythms – sporadic beats,
discord and unsung melodies,
that altered my path.
I was blinded by a world I did not recognize,
yet not caring if I lived or died…falling…lying in
my vanity.
Unguided choices threw me into a
cistern of drowning consequences,
recompense for rebellion and doubt.
Yet His love guided me and lifted me out,
righted my fall when on His name I called
and praised Him for His mercy.
I found favor as He rescued me from dried places,
in this seed were no traces
of life to stand.
Yet, by His command,
he planted me by refreshing waters,
Restored, He gave me another chance to blossom,
to breathe again.
2020 Hour 6: Perfect Day
2020 Hour 6: Perfect Day
Time-Infinite
My wrist watch, high on something sassy and chilling out
Using its hands to knit a sweater for the sky
And giving the atomic clock the finger.
Weather-Cold
Breathe in, blow out the chilled air
My bare hands ice packs that I hold to my cheeks
To remember that I’m alive.
Activity-Walking
My feet have mapped out the city
Footprints repeated through the maze of blocks
Treading each like friends who meet, hug, and depart.
Status-Solitude
Quiet is both my companion and shadow
Broached occasionally by a cacophony of my thoughts
Which walk with me arm in arm.
Hour 6 — The Alarm (Clock)
Beth A. Fleisher
Hour 6
Prompt 6: My Own. 🙂
The Alarm (Clock)
Clearly, the inventors of alarm clocks
and digital phone alarms
to start the day
had a skewed (or totally screwed up) psyche.
How else would they have devised such torture?
On a daily basis, no less!
You’re in deep REM sleep,
maybe in some lovely dream space,
and suddenly there’s this loud, discordant noise
jolting you awake,
dragging you from the dream!
Heart thumping, you look wildly around,
until gradually the blood gets back to your brain
and you realize what it is.
Reaching for your phone,
you smack the blinking X to make it stop.
Ahhhh. Blessed silence returns.
You snuggle back down in your blankets, hopeful…
…but, really, do you have any prayer of returning
to that magical, mystical dream space?
Nope. It’s Gone Forever.
Thanks a lot, stupid alarm!!
Fishing with Jimmy
Brothers on the Bow River
on a cool spring day just outside of
Calgary, Alberta, Canada.
Wading up to our knees,
we feel the gentle drift of the current
and hear the swish of our flyrods.
We savor the sweet taste of cigars
and watch our smoke rings evaporate in the air.
I admire the long float of my Green Drake
as it travels hither and yon down the blue water.
Standing there wishing this would never end,
I realize it doesn’t matter if I catch a trout at all.
