At the Mirror: Lines in the Sand

If you’re like me, there are times when you come across a quality of writing that exists only in your dreams. This piece is a seamless collaboration between Jimmi Campkin & Basilike Pappa. It swept me away. I hope you enjoy it.

Lines in the Sand (part 1)

by Jimmi Campkin & Basilike Pappa

To call you love would twist my tongue.

I never sing love songs with eyes shut; and neither would I share junk food behind the Hilton with you – exhaust fumes, saucy lips, a light breeze through our hair– before we kiss and go to bed as animals turned pets, our biggest sin forgetting to floss.

But from the moment you said my name, sanity performed a pagan dance, silver jewels gleaming naked.

So why not conspire against the national demand for ironed sheets, and go riding drunk under the moon? Sneaking into each other, we will exchange bass lines, starry eyes, blinding treasures and the secrets to a perfect kill. And if we turn each other into poems in the flesh, we can always blame the weather or a collapsing bridge.

From the moment you said my name, my senses did a pagan dance, spitting out neon, perfumes, smearing lipstick on it all.

So why not kiss all the way down a perfect fall?

But I’d never call you love – I’d rather bite my tongue.

*

My earliest memory of you; on a trampoline, your hair backlit by a radioactive green sun, and one hand reaching for the pale blue above.

Another early memory; a crowd of no-one, pointless under-formed bodies and ill-fitting clothes, and a pair of eyes that parted them like the red sea, like a blowtorch through ice. Your eyes weren’t shimmering, or beautiful like those described by the shit poets you detested so much. You carried harpoons with hooked blades …

 

Continue Reading: Lines in the Sand (part 1): Jimmi Campkin & Basilike Pappa

At the Mirror: Missed Perception

I read this post on Pam’s Roughwriting blog almost a year ago and saved it for the return of the Halloween. It’s THAT GOOD, and I couldn’t wait to share it with you. Pay attention to the costumes in the short video. It will fill up your heart. Happy Halloween.

Missed Perception

by Pamela Wright

On one of my hold-my-breath-until-we-land flights a few months ago, I was the last passenger to enter the plane (my normal routine) and sat next to a nice-looking man who barely looked up.

But I looked him up and down, gauging how well the flight would go. Not garrulous, check. Not nervous, check. Not a drinker, check. All good to go.

But as I placed my purse under my seat and opened my book, I took offense. Perhaps this man – mid-30s – dismissed me already for being one of those things: a talker or a nervous flier or worse, just an “older woman” who was – dismissible. 

I shrugged my shoulders and sank into my book. Almost two hours into the flight, after I’d been reading without a stop and my seatmate had been clicking on his laptop nonstop (yup, harried businessman, I told myself), the flight attendant made an announcement that caused me to laugh out loud and the businessman laughed too and then…we looked at each other.

Has that happened to you before? You think you know someone from their outside appearance (old, young, teenager, academic, businessperson, clergy, European, African, mid-Western, male, female) and then suddenly, eyes focus on each other, and you think: ohhhhhhhh….

(Continue Reading: Missed Perception)

At the Mirror: Entreaty to the Sea

I’m traveling again, so I leave you with an exquisite poem by Lana. I can always count on her to mesmerize me with her offerings. Enjoy.

Entreaty to the Sea

by LT Garvin

When your grandmother

decided for care and comfort

and laid a string of pearls

across an ocean

it’s open depths

yawning the unknown

a depth you could not follow

So you said your prayers

beneath cerulean heavens

and bribed the Norse god of independence

to gather the shards

of your broken soul…

 

(continue reading: Entreaty to the Sea)

At the Mirror: Timeless Echoes

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I’m a little under the weather this week and happily invited Balroop Singh to the Mirror today. She’s sharing a poem from her new book Timeless Echoes, a collection that invites you to hear the echoes that reverberate around you, reminding you of lost opportunities, repressed desires, cherished moments, and hope that shimmers through clouds.”

Echoes Of Life

Solace sailed away with you
Sinking hit me much later.
Love buried within my entrails
I swam to safety…
Shores don’t ditch!
Tongue is sharper than a thousand knives
Wisdom of the ages warned.
But your sagacity surpassed eons
Your simplicity – a façade…
Only I couldn’t fathom!
What next? I ask myself
Life echoes…no complaints.
I choose life…I love its echoes
Hope mentors my path
Happiness would follow.
The dew on my dreams is still fresh
Sunbeams add a sparkle
Prickly path shines with primroses
A new self is beckoning,
Smiling at my strengths.

***

Balroop’s website Emotional Shadows has a wealth of poetry. If you have a chance stop by and say hello.

Amazon Global Link: Timeless Echoes

At the Mirror: Tide-Pool

If you love poetry and poetic prose and haven’t found Holly’s blog, you are in for a delight.  This exquisite piece of writing is swoon-worthy. Enjoy!

Tide Pool

by Holly of House of Heart

In that hour before dawn when the stars still hold on to the velveteen sky,  stealthy specters rose, pulled on layers of clothes and quietly slipped into the low lying fog.  Silently father let the car roll down the driveway signalling me with a fingertip to his lips to not make a sound for fear we would wake the sleeping who might want to intrude on an adventure for two…

(continue reading:  Tide Pool)

At the Mirror: Out in the Cold

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Eli Kyoko and I began following each other this spring. I’m so pleased to share a poet of immense talent with anyone who hasn’t discovered MoonLit Pieces.

Out in the Cold

by Eli Kyoko

I wore your hat to protect my head
from the debris falling from our family tree
but the spilling blues and red,
lumps the purple on my skin
The invisible scars, the indelible tints
Throbs and thumps within
‘Cause father, when you left
I saw how mother went out in the cold
gasping for life, bereft
She wore my hug to warm her skin, to endure your sin
I caught the cerulean falling stars from her cheeks
and wished for …

 

(Continue Reading: Out in the Cold)

At the Mirror: Stranger in a Strange Land

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Marietta Rodgers has a funny, quirky, oft times political blog:
The Mordant Scribe.
This piece of writing is plain and simple fun, and not what you think.
If you need a laugh, read on.
Comments are closed here. Click on over and enjoy.

Stranger in a Strange Land

by Marietta Rodgers

“You’re here,” I say, a bit frazzled because I had not finished dusting my collection of  Gothic ashtrays.

“Yes, I realize I’m a bit early,” the stranger says uneasily. “I’m a little nervous; I haven’t done this in a long time.

“Well, I’ve never done this before. Do you want to do it right here on the table,” I ask, pointing to my kitchen table with a rotting fruit bowl as its centerpiece.

“Anywhere is fine,” he says, looking down at his feet embarrassed.

I nod and make my way to the hall closet. Immediately when I open the door, a broom falls out and the handle hits me square in the forehead with an audible, whack.  I shove the broom into the very back of the closet so it won’t assault me the next time I open it. A lone Members Only Jacket is hanging up, just hoping and waiting for the day that epaulets are in vogue again. My eyes scan the contents on the shelf. I see the box that I want underneath an old blanket. As I make my way back to the table, with the box in hand, I hear my tea kettle singing.

“I hope you don’t mind, but I was going to make myself a cup of tea.”

“I’ll have one as well.” I sit the box on the table and empty the contents of the fruit bowl, where I notice several fruit flies had died.

The stranger adds a little milk to his tea. The milk was already expired by at least three days; I had forgotten to dump it out. I debate on whether I should tell him or not. I finally decide that I will not.

Mom always said to check the date on the milkShe probably meant before you buy it though, not if you’re at a random stranger’s house.  

I pour my tea and politely refuse the three-day-old milk, when the stranger offers it. Instead, I open my cookie jar and take out a flask containing whiskey and pour a little into my cup.  I don’t like how the stranger is judging me with his eyes…

(continue reading: Stranger in a Strange Land)