What is Love?

Love is a time I left behind

But cherish every day

It’s unicorns and magick wands

And the sound of falling rain

It’s a Token song from years long gone

Grilled cheese at 3am

It’s stickers from the Dollar Tree

And laughing in the bed

It’s promises that I still hear

Although they’ve long since died

It’s sketchbooks full of lettering

And a pair of ocean eyes

Love is what I carry with me

Each and every day

It’s there in every word I write

And the words that got away

It’s memories and melodies

Kerby and Hannah Lynn

It’s everything that I still am

But will never have again.

~Mandy Kocsis©2023~

prompt 10: I remember in highways

I remember in highways

what is love

but remembrance

and I remember in highways…

 

in moments on lines,

like beads moving on thread,

strung to make pictures from pixels of glass.

 

I remember in fragments of myself,

in pointillist pops of colour against light –

stained glass memories of sun on shuddering leaves

in hot, August winds

who had forgotten how to weep

until September arrived.

 

these longings

these recollections of highways,

like sutures,

binding pieces of me

to all those open flaps of wonderings,

wanderings,

of wanting –

anchor me to the spaces between re-membering

and

longing to completely forget.

 

when I land “there” –

in these moments of recognising myself

against the backdrop of forgetting why I wanted to know me –

I pretend to ignore the pain in my ankles,

from the impact of the landing,

I feel only gratitude for the journey…

 

ok,

maybe a little loneliness, too,

for the pieces of me I had to leave when I arrived.

 

that’s always the bargain

when we remember in highways:

the place never leaves without you.

 

r.l. elke

Hour Ten: What is love but a poem of predictive text?

What is love for me and how much is it worth

to spend the money to make sure that your family

has been able to enjoy the rest–comfortably seated

at the studio, teaching gentle yoga and reiki

among the wave wall and clouds of your breath?

 

What is love for the veterans and what they have done

so well for this year–

and all of us who have had, not had, any

experience with the chakras of our being, in our lives,

in a beautiful world,

of the same world we are in,

for our second wedding,

and our family will not have any questions?

When Ireland Loved Walking

frantic leaping
o the leash
put it on put it on put it on
jumping with joy jump jump
it’s a tussle to get the clip on the collar
finally, door open dash out
survey all that is to be seen
put nose into the air into the wind
snuff snuff deep sighs happy sighs
deep snuffs to get the scent of what’s there
let’s go and she dashes forward
the leash goes taut and i pick up my pace
to keep up with her pace
little legs moving back and forth
little hips moving side to side as we
move along the sidewalk
sometimes tail up looking forward
most of the time she keeps nose to ground
criss-crossing the sidewalk
abruptly stops and i almost trip over her
a pause to take in the smells then off again
we walk … she walk-runs, I walk very briskly
have to watch her when she stops to sniff deeply
before I know it she’s rolling in some intoxicating odor
walking walking running running walking running
up and down the street
alongside the curb
looking for that spot of spots to do her business
finally she halts and crouches into that familiar squat
a little hunched ball for number two
or stretched out with tall straight out for number one
she looks at me for approval
good girl good girl

Hour 10 – The Cow

I rub my eyes and struggle to free myself from those moments between sleep and awake.

I hear it again, but I know this time that I am truly awake.

It is the sound of a cow right outside my window.

 

I don’t own a cow, nor do I live anywhere near anyone else that does.

I don’t even live in the country where one might just happen by.

But there it is once more, a cow, it is definitely a cow.

 

I pull myself from beneath the warm blankets and walk to the window.

As I open the blinds, there it is. A cow. And it’s looking right at me.

It moos again as if it wants something from me.

 

There is no one else around as it is just barely dawn and I don’t know quite what to do.

I decide to get dressed and see if it is injured, or stuck, or something. I don’t know what.

And I hear it moo again. More urgently. Perhaps rushing me?

 

I reach to open my bedroom door, but I jerk my hand back instantly.

It is burning hot to the touch.

The cow begins mooing more insistently if that is possible.

 

I feel the door and it too is hot to the touch and that is when I see the wisps of smoke curling under the door.

My house is on fire!

The cow’s mooing is getting louder somehow.

 

I stumble to the window where the cow is waiting, and I struggle to get it open.

It has been painted shut in some past redecorating project of mine – I panic.

The cow moves to the window.

 

I watch dumbfounded as the cow puts its head down and runs straight into my sealed window.

Glass shatters around me.

I shake off my disbelief and make my way out the window.

Sirens in the distance are getting closer.

 

The firefighters ask me if anyone else is in the house as they check me for injuries.

I tell them no, but I want them to make sure the cow is ok.

Later, at the hospital, I was told that no one ever found a cow.

 

– Diana Kristine

Empty Spaces

Hour Ten

The fans are all gone, the game is over, the silence rings throughout.
Seagulls and crows pick through the overflowing garbage from cans insufficient to their cause.
Peanut shells and popcorn bags, drink cups and wrappers, remnants of a family outing to the ballpark.
Janitors brooms, litter picks doing their jobs. Containment and disposal the goal. A full house is loud. A full house is busy. A full house leaves debris in its wake.

Sticky wads of gum under seats and on floors, handrails and seatbacks. Club sections, luxuries suites and press boxes, littered with beer cans and pop bottles. The odd jacket left behind.

A beat up shoe cast aside. High top Nikes left to whomever finds it. White and black the home team’s colours, making it easy to spot.

The final game of a winning season a play off berth cinched. Yankees over Red Sox, in the eleventh inning, winning 15 to 14.

Playoffs bound, in it for another round.

Dripper hour 9

Dripper

Jackson Pollack
master mixologist
in his studio
contemplating the formula
for the perfect purple

         two drizzles azurite
three drools pyrope
four plops phosphorite
three sprinkles cinnabar

pure vivianite
with a trickle of vermillion

a splash of tungsten
a splay of ruby sulphur
a blotch of kyanite

                             more flicks of red to plum
more flecks of blue to violet

two dribs of manganese oxide
three drabs of alamandine
one tiny droplet of sandaracha

a spurtle of mayan blue
a gurgle of dragon’s blood
with a single woman’s tear

a splitch here                                              a splotch there
yes, absolute perfect purple
but it’s hard to see

under all those drips

~ J R Turek Hour 9

What is Lasting Love

Love that survives
Sorrow, grief and pain
Love that outshines
Individual gain
Love is greater
Than life’s rewards
Love that battles
Feelings untoward
An eternal symbol
Of passions devout
And what life is truly about

What is Love?

I haven’t any answers
You haven’t any clues
The question is often asked
When something doesn’t ring true

Often confused with feelings
and contradicting thoughtless acts
the paths of knowing and doing
may not always tract.

Because love is not a gift,
given in the context of emotion
but a calm state of being
steeped deeply with devotion.