Mixing messages

She drifts into the conscious thought of a remembered dream,

beauty and flowing waters surround

as the images tell of strange futures

and mixing messages between

then and now.

“She comes out of the sun in a silk dress running
Like a watercolor in the rain
Don’t bother asking for explanations“

Music playing in the distance of a memory of a childhood room

turning round the record in the night

as the sun disappears into the panelling

beyond the scope of the window cutout,

damp sets in to the fabric of her life.

“She doesn’t give you time for questions
As she locks up your arm in hers
And you follow ’till your sense of which direction
Completely disappears”

Falling asleep in the corner where the monsters are blind

tucked into the fever as the ball rolls over

seeking her like a hunted deer

quivering and still as she becomes gone from view.

“By the blue tiled walls near the market stalls
There’s a hidden door she leads you to
These days, she says, I feel my life
Just like a river running through…”

Disappearing into nothing

the ghost of form moves into the places

unseen she watches as the men move on

as she slips away like a fallen tear.

“While she looks at you so cooly
And her eyes shine like the moon in the sea
She comes in incense and patchouli
So you take her, to find what’s waiting inside”

She has returned as the heat passes

and the light of the room by the door ajar

reaches to her senses and she can breathe

safe once more in cotton slips

she falls back into the escape of slumber.

“And you’ve thrown away your choice you’ve lost your ticket
So you have to stay on
But the drum-beat strains of the night remain
In the rhythm of the new-born day
You know sometime you’re bound to leave her
But for now you’re going to stay
In the year of the cat”

Morning comes and the memories of the night

become a distant thought

as she rises to the dawning of the amber sun

she remembers the moon on her journey,

the hidden shadows cast to allow her escape

and she stretches out to touch the softness

of the cat curled at her feet,

smelling the strange perfume upon fur

she inhales the patchouli

content that it was real

somewhere in time she had been moving

yet again.

Words set in quotes- The Year of the Cat from Al Stewart

Sweet relief

Two days of solid anguish

No, not watching too much election tv

Wrote a post that was sucked away

Into the Bermuda Triangle perhaps?

Publish button broken

Like a heart that relies too much

And being outside the home world into writerville

So very important,

So the Cubs won and I cried like a child

Writing beautiful pieces that into thin air

Disappeared,

And now I begin again

Patient little grasshopper I’ve become

Dishes done,

Coffee made,

Paper read…and one last try

And there I behold in the corner once more

The post/publish button has reappeared.

Doing happy dances

And smiling so very big

Thank you Word Press Gods

For opening the door

To my much needed bliss.

I hereby dub the button,

The bliss maker💕💜💟☮