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)

Smorgasbord Christmas Posts from Your Archives – The Snow Globe by D. Wallace Peach

The Christmas season has shifted into high gear, and I’m so pleased to reblog The Snow Globe, a short story from my archives that Sally Cronin was kind enough to share. I hope you enjoy it.

Smorgasbord Blog Magazine

A fabulous story by D.Wallace Peach to bring some romance and mystical magic to Christmas. I know you will love it.

The Snow Globe by D. Wallace Peach

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The Snow Globe

Delores perches at the scuffed counter of Dee’s Diner on Christmas Eve, keeping one bespectacled eye on Angie as the waitress mops the linoleum floor. The sign on the front door has already flipped from “Open” to “Closed,” and the crimson Panhandle sky fades to a duller shade of rose, a single bright star glimmering on the eastern horizon.

“Thanks for closing early, Dee,” the teenager says.

“No problem, honey. I got plans too.”

Angie looks up and smiles, clearly skeptical, but too kind-hearted to ask. It’s no secret Delores lives alone, unmarried, and childless—except for Buster the cat, who’s not particularly festive when it comes to the holidays.

At closing time, sole proprietor, boss lady, and…

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Smorgasbord Posts from Your Archives – Artists and Old Age by D.Wallace Peach

I’m over at Sally Cronin’s wonderful site today with another post from the past. This one about the joy of remaining creative as we age. If you have a moment, stop by to say hello. Comments are closed here.

Smorgasbord Blog Magazine

Time to enjoy another post from the archives of D.Wallace Peach where Diana explores the loss of things as we get older, including our identity.. unless of course you are an artist.. in which case……..

Artists and Old Age by D.Wallace Peach

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My brother and I just spent a few days touring our parents through senior housing. At one point, he leaned in, and whispered, “Growing old is tough.” I agreed, though “tough” is probably too mild a word, the reality deserving something more visceral, definitely more chilling. As my parent’s generation enters what I would generalize as “old age,” they’re struggling with what seems an endless list of losses—family, friends, careers, driver’s licenses, vision, independence, stamina, health, dreams, and the myths about who they are.

I mention myths because so much of who we are is perception, our firmly-gripped beliefs about ourselves. One of the more painful…

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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: The Falling of Stars

The Falling of Stars

by Kim of Peace, Love and Patchouli

Into the night I move in restless sleep
moon filters in to whisper sweet words on dreaming ears
and I feel you beside me
four years gone, you still speak.
I rise and move through darkened halls
and slip beyond into the moon lit yard,
fireflies hover in jungle gardens
and I know you’ve come once more.

The streak moves through the midnight skies
and I reach out a hand to touch the memory…

(Continue reading: The Falling of Stars)