At the Mirror: Route 91, A Festival

pixabay image

I’m switching around the blog schedule for NaNoWriMo, which I’m unofficially participating in this month. My goal is 80,000 words. Uh huh. I’m a nut. My muses are out drinking ale at the fire pit while they scheme about how to make this happen.

Anyway, my  “Sunday Blog Share” of the past will still be my every third post, but it will be on random days. So I’m renaming it “At the Mirror.” The Mirror is a reflective lake in one of my books, and when someone looks into its waters, they see the true beauty of their souls. The blog posts that I share are beautiful to me. They evoke emotion… sometimes joy, sometimes tears, longing, memories, or plain old awe.

Today’s post is by Diana from A Holistic Journey. The format didn’t allow me to post the beginning here. So… all you get is the link… ❤

Source: Route 91, A Festival

Sunday Blog Share: The Fire Inside

Mike Allegra did it again. He had me laughing until my sides hurt. Happy Sunday.

The Fire Inside

by Mike Allegra

Transitioning back to my house husband role was easier than expected.

The new high-tech washing machine that Ellen bought turned out to be cooperative and friendly. It even sings a little song at the end of each load, which is far more pleasant than the roaring, meaty farts offered up by the dryer.

I cleaned out the refrigerator — throwing away the squishy things that were supposed to be crisp and the crispy things that were supposed to be squishy.

And I reworked Ellen’s filing system; that is to say I “filed” and created a “system.”

After removing the old and unneeded documents from these files, I found myself with a stack of paper about four inches high.

My son, Alex, stopped me on my way to the shredder. “Don’t shred them,” he scolded. “Burn ’em!” This idea seemed slightly psychotic, but…

(Keep Reading: The Fire Inside)

 

Sunday Blog Share: Beyond the facade

A lovely poem by Kim about kindness and compassion and our ability to make a difference.

Beyond the facade

by Kimberly Laettner – Peace, Love and Patchouli

 

You must have been a beautiful baby

the song plays quietly in the background of my mind

I hum along and wonder,

well, aren’t they all when you think about it?

When it comes down to a heart beating

and the miracle of cells dividing

multiplying

creating something so unique,

and why is it only

babies that can be beautiful

for when we see the dirty unkempt homeless man

or the woman with the missing limb,

what changes in the mind to see…

(Continue Reading: Beyond the facade)

Sunday Blog Share – What If: Not a Poem

A sublime piece of writing for the passing of summer into autumn. Comments are closed here; please click over to indulge in the beauty of this short “not a poem.”

What If: Not a Poem

by Jan Malique from Strange Goings on in the Shed

What if I could bring back all that you’d forgotten? Will you smile then, run in fields of glory, be the child bathed in laughter?

Piece by piece assemble the memories of past joys and sorrows. Unveil faded images, lost and now found. Bring back Summers of familial bliss.

Offer a brief glimpse of smiles thrown beguilingly, of tears shed in anger, of sighs whispered in solitude under star laden skies…

Continue Reading: What If: Not a Poem

Sunday Blog Share: Allie Potts – An interview with my muse

 

I’m enjoying meeting all the muses that my post kicked off.
Allie Potts goes on a clever, caffeine-induced search of her muse.
Comments are closed here on Sundays. Enjoy Allie’s post.

***

The air was heavy with procrastination as I heard the door open behind me. I didn’t have to turn around to recognize her perfume, a mix of earth and chocolate spice. It could only be Moka. Moka Chino. She spelled her name with a k rather than a ch. She thought it gave her an extra shot of originality. I’d never had the heart to tell her I thought it made me question whether her head was on right.

She sashayed into my office as if it hadn’t been years since we last met. Though I tried to keep my expression neutral, I couldn’t help drinking in her appearance. “What brings you to the old neighborhood?” I asked as she removed a pair nutmeg shaded glasses, revealing mascara stained eyes underneath.

“It’s Latte. She’s missing.”

Latte was Moka’s cousin. Tall and skinny, though just as smooth. I’d met her at one of Moka’s parties and we’d spent the next hours in easy conversation. Latte’s side of the family wasn’t nearly as rich and she’d offered to help with the occasional job or two for whatever change I could spare, which was never much.

It was worth the expense. Her contributions might cause me the occasional heartburn, but…

 

Continue Reading: An interview with my muse – a fiction challenge

Sunday Blog Share: Shaded Memories of Moonlight


A beautiful wistful poem I saved for months to share today.
Comments are closed, please click through and Enjoy.

Shaded Memories of Moonlight

by  J.C Watkins Peace 

Do you remember the room? I do,
Sitcoms would titter on the old television,
the three of us on my old springy bed,
only one of us was paying attention,
I had thoughts of you instead.
In these shaded memories of moonlight,
your skin was warm and soft,
paying no mind to the comedy,
as life’s tragic drama unfolded before me.
Our hands would touch and
separate; almost like they were dancing,
entities other than our own,
flirting for us, deliberately glancing.

Do you remember the house? I do,
big and old and cheap, but real.
An unused living room as we’d live,
we’d live our lives in bedrooms,
only leaving to corner one another,
in that kitchen with the broken window.
In these shaded memories of moonlight,
the dance would continue, to and fro,…

 

Source: Shaded Memories of Moonlight at Mistakes & Adventures

Sunday Blog Share: A Grain of Dust

A poignant journey through life’s memories. I can’t do justice to this gorgeous post here, to the way the memories and images are delicately woven together. Please head over and enjoy from the start.

A Grain of Dust

By Cloud Walker

Youth!  It is a magical word, a word that evokes, awakens, arouse all of our memories of days long gone and wishing we were still there.

(Continue Reading: A Grain of Dust)