Inspiration

I am writing and writing.

The words once stalled

now fly from pen

I try to push

fingers

faster

keep the

stream flowing

smoother, finer

more detailed,

less

oblique.

I reach for my

glass; Inspiration.

Ruby liquid  poured

down throat onto page

in  poetry and fodder for

Magpie Tales and Flash Friday

and you today...

skating across ice

skating across ice

corset's binded noose unfurled

frozen freedom flies

~

A Lover's Winter Quarrel

I am rap, tap, tapping at your door
in the icy cold lee from the wind
The icicles slip, drip, dripping from my nose
as I wait for you to let me in.

The stair so snow, snow, snowy around my ankles
as a shiver starts up my ill-covered spine.
I keep on rap, tap, tapping on the door frame
praying that forgiveness will rend the door open in time.

I dare not yell, tell, swell my sad story
as to why I quake without coat in the cold.
Rather beg, plead, coerce with remorsefulness,
but the light clicks out in a statement far too bold.

Just a bit of cold, bold poetic fiction for the Magpie prompt this week.

Winner

I took the empty jar devoid of its pickle treats down to the dusty basement. I tucked it into the box, where it would wait until next year's crop of pickling cucumbers to be made into sour, crunchy nibblies. For now, it would just fill in a corner of  the derelict store room. 

As I lifted the jar back onto the shelf, my gaze fell upon another box on the adjoining shelf. No written missive on the side of the box gave clues as to its contents. I paused, trying to think of what the box held, to no avail. Curiousity got the better of me, so I brushed off my hands and pulled down the box from the rickety metal shelf. A layer of dust coated the top of the box telling me that it had been forgotten for too long. A puff from me sent the dust into the air. An erstwhile warning burst from my brain, but too late to prevent me from sneezing and coughing in the cloud I released. 

One final sneeze released me from its grip, as I choked back a thick snurtle. With now bleary eyes, I wondered why I was down there in the first place. Ah yes, the box...

With already dirty hands, I wiped the lid of the box. It had certainly been down here a long time and my jeans took the punishment as I swiped my soiled hands against them. Now what was in this thing anyway?

The yellowed tape that protected the contents of the box was brittle in my inquiring hands. It crumbled as I picked at it. Intent on seeing the interior of this vessel, I put the box down to collect a blade to aid me in my quest. Retrieving an exacto-knife from my tool box, I returned to my mystery package. Gently, I ran the blade the length of the top. It was a big box, now that I thought of it. Some weight to it too, but still I could not place its contents.

Brringgg....

The phone broke me from my explorations. I jumped up and ran upstairs to the demanding ring, leaving the contents still a mystery.

~~~

A week later, I carried the laundry downstairs to the washer. Humming to myself, I sorted darks from lights, into my regular waiting piles. I tossed the first load into the washer and brought it to life with the push of a button. Stilling humming an errant tune, I paused to shut the open storage door with a frown. The tune disappeared on my lips as I remembered the box I had discovered the week before. I never did return to unearth it's contents, as life busily spun me on to my next task. 

With curiousity peaked again, I approached the dusty box. A memory nagged at me, but I couldn't quite place it. I knelt on the concrete floor and felt a shiver run through me. Suddenly, the contents of the box didn't seem so important anymore, but a compunction drew me forward despite myself. I slowly lifted a corner of one of the flaps, feeling my heart flutter around its edges. I don't even want to know what is in this thing! My brain cried, but my fingers demanded I continue. They knew what I did not.

I took a breath to focus my running thoughts and peered into the small revealed rectangle. Dry newspapers gave up no hints, so I flipped open the other flap carefully. Crumpled newspaper. I released the breath that had disappeared within me. A dull glint caught my eye and I froze. My hand mutinied my soul's demands and reached out to the cold metal in the box. No! no! was all I could muster in a whimpering voice, but it was too late. My fingers tentatively brushed the metallic edge, even as tears began to fill my eyes and overfill their bounds. Slowly I pulled one, two, then three pieces of yesteryear's news world out of the box to reveal the trophy nestled inside. 

Water streamed down my face, as I attempted to blink vision back to me. It did not matter. I knew the name on the cup. I ran my hand over the lettering and broke. Sobs wracked my body. I convulsed and choked out my pain and loss, filling my husband's old relic with fresh grief. Why now? Why now had I discovered this snapshot of his past, when I had been so with it for weeks now. It hurt, this reminder of a reality that I could not change. His glory athletic days were long gone, swept away by the disease that had robbed his body of its health and vitality. It had robbed him of everything. It had robbed me of everything. 

It would be a year that he was gone in a few short weeks. I could never forget that date. It loomed on the calendar, but I had tried to busy myself to forget it. Now this old burnished trophy demanded memories and I was powerless to stop. I sat cradling its cold comfort in my lap, as it filled up with pain, anger, sorrow and tears. Its lie of Champion felt heavy, as I rocked back and forth on the unforgiving concrete. I did not want this award today. Any day really, but the wave would pass. 

Winner. 

I sighed deeply and gently brushed a travelling tear off the front of the award. It seemed to gleam a little brighter.

Winner...

Inspired by a Magpie Tale Prompt

The Clean House

Through yonder window

I do peek

while head bends

to the floor.

If only, 

if only the floor

were clean

then I could go outdoors

but no

I labour and 

scrub below

the view of grass still green.

bright promises glint

reflecting day's descent

left darkened on

knees of nevermore.

breezes blow

past brushes path

small mercies

on a cheek so keen.

Aye, by lantern light

rest will come to alight 

on  thine house that sparkles bright

and a woman laid to bed, goodnight!

*

This is my take on the Magpie prompt this week. I have been cleaning in preparation for visitors this weekend, so envisioned myself on the floor scrubbing, looking up longingly at the tease of the outside world. Life kind of looked like that today.

Some Days

Some days,

 I want to hiss and burble

splurting old rusted words

and tears everywhere

as I break my rotting hold

on existence

that has gone beyond

its expiry date.

Some days,

no amount of

trying, tape or trauma

can revive

past due promises

that remember

those shiny hopes

of yesterday's beginnings.

Some days,

I pray 

for the pipes to burst,

the dam to flow 

so i can rip out 

my old decayed heart

filled with detritus and disease.

Aye; yet replace with plumbing brilliant and new.

Some days...

Some days,
I ponder
wondering what to write
thus I visit friends
and pick up inspiration
where I may
like today
with my visit to Magpie Tales.

The Watering Can

   I filled my old watering can up at the new tap that I had installed just that afternoon. The old one had dripped horribly and no amount of elbow grease or washers would stop the leak. There wasn't a problem that I couldn't tackle, so I set to the task and fixed it myself. Water droplets glistened off of the old tin, as I slaked the thirst of my precious ferns. I surveyed my gardens, looking to see which of my other beloved plants needed a drink, when my eyes drifted past the road at the bottom of my mossy front steps. A car was jerking to a stop. I set the watering can down on the ledge at the top of the stairs, as I walked by it. I stared forlornly at the car on the curb. Not again. Its dented fender and chipped paint bespoke of distraction and disregard. Nothing had changed. I saw the disheveled figure behind the driver's seat desperately straightening errant hair and checking lipstick. Like it mattered. The fact that she was here spoke volumes. No amount of rouge or hairspray could hide the fact that it had happened again. I sighed as I descended the steps towards her rusted old Buick. How many more years would she get out of it, I wondered. As many years as she could push.

   "That's quite the bruise that you are going to end up with," I stated.

   I had reached the curb just as she was unfolding her long legs from the rumpled interior.  I saw pain, fear, sorrow and anger flash across her face before she quickly replaced it with a look of surprise and nonchalance. 

   "I... I bumped into the cupboard door," she replied hastily. "It's nothing."

   A smile splashed across her face, as she flung her arms open. I couldn't help but think that it looked rehearsed.

   "Are you going to greet me or not Sis?!" she pouted with a smirk.

   A crooked smile crept across my tired eyes. I loved her so much it hurt, especially at moments like this. I knew that snippets of the story would emerge over the next few days. The images would be glossed with her mistakes, her failings and all that she could and should have done. I hated her in these moments. Not because she had let it happen, but because she could not stop it from happening, and I let her go back again and again. I felt I failed her as much as she failed herself and of course HIM. His name was always spit through my teeth. It didn't help. I offered sanctuary, reprieve, a new beginning... but when the phone rang after she had been there for several days it was always the same. He apologized, said he loved her and that it would never happen again. Things would be different; better. But her battered old Buick kept on showing up on my curb again and again. I kept wondering how much more it could take. Or her. Or me. There did not seem to be an easy fix to this problem. No washer to ebb the tide.

   With hugs and tears, I watched the beaten up old car pull away from the curb. She had been here for almost a week this time. I thought that I had gotten through to her somehow. I hoped that maybe she would be able to find her own feet, but her taillights blinked as she turned the corner. I brushed the tear that quietly crept toward my chin with the back of my hand. I glanced down at my weathered skin. Water. Yes. I climbed back up my mossy steps and picked up the watering can that I had abandoned the week before. Only a week, and yet my ferns had already started to grow over the empty vessel. They were trying to hide the dents and battle scars. I sighed again. 

"Perhaps tomorrow will be a new day," I mused as I filled the watering can and returned to the ferns that shaded my heart from the hurt that seemed never to heal.

This is in response to the prompt over at Magpie Tales. Go check it out and see what others have to offer.

The Searcher

   She wandered through the long grass, eyes searching everywhere. Her candy-apple red Mustang convertible shone in the hot mid-day sun, but its glare faded behind her as she slowly walked further and further away from it. From behind her she heard the beginning of the tune "Material Girl". She had left her cell phone in the car. Any other day, she would have been in a panic to flip open her life-line and primp for the call. Today, it did not matter though. 

   "Where was it?" she wondered to herself , stopping every once in a while to scan around her.  It seemed she had looked everywhere and was beginning to lose hope that she would find it. A pout crossed her face and she was tempted to stomp her foot. Looking around her, she found her audience coldly unfeeling to her plight. No one cared. She was alone in her search with no one to direct to do her bidding. Her petulance dissolved in a huff. Her eyes stared flatly at the markings around her. Thoughts of tears were wasted here. This too would bring no assistance, although a single pearl slid down her cheek. She stumbled across a tree branch and crumpled to the ground. A small cry escaped her lips and she winced in pain. Finally her self-pity got the best of her.She shuddered and flung herself to the ground erupting in the tears that now were too real to control. It was too much. She sat hunched over in the grass letting the sobs escape her. 

  The wind whispered in the trees around her. Slowly she slackened her torrents and sat up. The whispers seemed to call to her. A brisk wind blew through an oak that hung its branches down to the ground. Its movement drew her eyes and she slowly lifted herself, drawing towards where the branches swayed. Her hand reached up to still the branch that hovered. The energy that flowed dropped her to her knees again. Her gaze took in the soiled pantyhose, then focussed beyond. She had found it. Desperately she scrabbled through her purse. Her fingers finally found the sought after item at the bottom; an old tooth brush. With shaking hands, she scratched at the soft limestone covered in ancient mosses. The letters emerged unwillingly one by one, until at last they were all revealed. Her expensive polished manicure was a memory left in yesterday's visions. She stared at the name written in front of her. Her mind blew hollow, as the wind drifted away. The sun retreated behind a cloud-cluster that had formed rapidly over top of her. Hard droplets splattered on the stone at her wrist. The brush clattered to its surface 

and she was gone.

This is a Magpie Tale

Alone in a Fish Bowl

In my world

I am swimming still

drifting, dreaming

I can't get my fill.

The whole earth surrounds me

with oceans far and wide.

I smile in constant wonder

at the spaces I can glide.

Just waft around the corner

and whistle round the bend

as I take a step to you my friend

it seems it will never end.

The beauty, it surrounds me

in colours orange, green and gold

my only wish is for you my love

to be here with a hand to hold.

This poem  is inspired by Magpie Tales and I think I might throw in a link to Thursday Poet Rally as well. Happy Thursday.