Each story

Woven through the fabric of our days,

Two sides to each tale, 

heads and tails easily seen-

We have those priceless moments,

A child’s smile,

A single flower that blooms unlike others,

We are silver and gold

Oft times left behind waiting

Perhaps lost in the hurry

Or tossed away not needed,

Waiting patiently

For that someone to find us,

Picking us up with a simple joy

At something special found,

Heads up we sit beneath the skies

Just waiting for that moment

When we are gazed at in admiration

And tucked away for a moment when needed.

I found you in the shadows

Gathered up along with a few more

Relics of yesterday the penny of color

Blending with autumn leaves

But more than just a single cent

I place you among the special pieces,

Old silver and stones

My gatherings that I can hold

Feeling the energy of each being that held you

Before you became mine,

Loving you because you are here

With me.


We watch emptiness,

the dried hull of fertile lands

states of a parched world unheralded,

disrepair too far gone.

Dirt blows on winds that never cease,

sucking moisture into nothingness

becoming clouds so very high above,

we cannot touch them

they are not ours any longer.

We add water to the cracks

praying for some growth,

anything to slow the erosion

as helplessly we watch,

hopelessly we know what shall be.

We are the faces that look within for something,

anything that will turn this tide of darkness

and we speak our prayer words to the sky,

asking for relief at any price,

but we had already paid once so long ago

and pockets lay empty like the dirt below us,

our prints the only sign that we had been

until they too

were brushed away on the fickle winds

that carried us into everywhere

and nowhere all at once.

We write the testament to our being

wondering if someday and somewhere someone shall find

the strange inked symbols that will be studied,

will they take heed of the history,

will they laugh that we had been nothing

silly beings who could not stop time

to save themselves,

who could not learn their own lessons

marked hundreds of years ago,

by poor souls that we have now become.


Edge of elegance

Eyes closed as we slip into the depths,

blue green water soothing the soul

almost washing the mind of thought

on the edge of elegance

we become beautiful.

Steps taken carefully as the winds blows,

we move awkwardly against the precipice

afraid yet exhilarated by the future,

and we put it out there,

the words rarely spoken aloud

through gentle laughter and quiet breath,

we feel the peace come to settle within.

These places always fascinate the greedy mind,

that only longs to be somewhere in awe,

visually pleasing and we reach out small fingers

reaching for the attainable

and gather the drops and watch as they fall slowly

glistening in the noon day sun

as we lose ourselves for stretches of time

just being in the moment,

we have become human sundials,

marking time against our frames and the shadows that falls

longer and leaner as the day passes in nonchalant busyness.

Shivering we emerge as dusk falls

and we become silhouettes of ourselves

reflected on mirrored water,

we stand still awaiting the end of the ripples

and in the quiet and beauty of this

we know that it will never be forgotten.

Sometimes Stellar Storyteller Six Word Story Challenge

It’s that time again…hop on over and give it a go….lots of fun, I promise….and don’t forget to vote for your faves😊

Sometimes Stellar Storyteller

Six Word Story Challenge, writing prompt

Challenge open Saturday 29th October 2016 – Friday 4th November 2016

Welcome to the Sometimes Stellar Storyteller Six Word Story Challenge.

For those who have never dropped by before a new prompt is posted every Saturday morning at 9am GMT.

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We are world travelers 

If even on a short jaunt into empty space

We are moving it

Shaking it out,

Each step we take on the journey

Going to where the stars lead

Besides the water that soothes

Searching for the pieces lost

Somewhere along the way.

We are anomalies of ourselves

A portrait painted by imagination

Fed on the fuel of what is given

And we starve at times,

Cleansing by choice the poisons,

The toxins built up of hate and madness

And we pray for the right choices to lead

Knowing really there is only one voice,

The gift given lying within,

Trickling out on ears that tune out

That which is pleading to be heard,

Yet to hear means change

And the emptiness has become a part of us,

Woven into the fibers

Packed into satchels 

For the journey to another day.


How could I?

A mere fragment in that unexpected place,

Standing before something,

Knowing and remembering

Each glint and essence

In those eyes

As they smiled with a deep consuming fire,

The inner light shining like all of creation,

How could I have forgotten

The feeling of being in the presence of

A kindred soul?


We are but ghosts of our unknown selves

mysteriously drifting with timeless stealth

apparitions of our former lives

caged, entwined throughout our life

we slip the bonds of tired thought

and move to places we’ve often sought

while floating on high we find our course

and disappear into nothing voids of the source.

We give away the best of worlds

within imagining endless source

till the cup is empty

the well runs dry

it is only then we begin to try

to find our way back on the road of us

we take each step on this endless path

and gaining ground we sometimes fail

in lessons learned we still prevail.

The spirit strength rebuilds the shell

where a magic lived that we had heard them tell

and we close our eyes and see anew

a beautiful moment of truth shine through

and so close to source we begin to feel

each birth, each death

each good and bad

and in between the thoughts we’d had

we finally stand and take our place

whilst gowned in our redeeming grace.


We moved about the soil with filthy hands

dried from lack of rain and more dust

than life within the fallow soil

where nothing grew

and roses hung like withered cocoons on lifeless stems.

What brought us into this place,

this tired garden with no color

in a colorless world

where over there, sprawling farms of green

lay beyond the stretches,

places we could never seem to reach.

We dug out the dirt

hole upon hole with our seeds of magic,

praying for something to take,

waiting for anything to thrive in this place

yet we watered with tears

as the ground greedily sucked each one away,

and nothing grew here in this bed

except weariness and bitterness.

We left when I was small, tiny almost

yet so very large in my mind

and I looked above for that was my garden

and I do not plant still today,

for within is the richness I hadn’t found then,

in each word,

each thought

and each feeling I encounter,

I bloom here where I am planted

and I live

I thrive.

I chose two minutes for a timed rolling piece of conscious thought here with this poem…I planted the seed after seeing many posts about roses, but as a child we only had poppies in a tired dried out garden bed. This is what I made. Peace and love, Kim

Queen for a Day Bans

An amazing post by an even more amazing woman. We can all be Queen but I think Elouise deserves a crown of jewels for this piece ❤

Telling the Truth


I hate the word ‘banned’
My father was the King of Bans
My life as a child was ruled by Bans
My father’s list of Thou shalt Nots
conveniently fenced me in
and robbed evil of its hate-filled power

A thousand times wrong!
The wrong on the tip of my tongue
The wrong in the imaginations of my heart
The wrong in my never-delivered tirades
The wrong my father, and then I did to my body and soul
Haunts me seven decades later

I’m a Queen
though not by succession
I sometimes proclaim myself Queen
Crown myself and decide for myself
What I will and will not do or say
In the secret places of my mind and heart
from which I banned my father

I hereby proclaim myself Queen for a Day
And designate my personal bans for this day–
The 103rd anniversary of my deceased father’s birth


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