Fading into

The night sweeps in with darkest dreams

in hazy images of places unseen

by a memory which cannot recall

much of anything at all.

What thoughts did Poe on writing find

through twisted years and phantom skies

where birds flew once then disappeared

and clocks that tick for a deafened ear.

We frame the dark in lighter hues,

set ghostly candles in musty rooms

whose flickering adds to the coming night

where a moon will shine on the endless fight

of here and there now gone from view

drifting into shadows as they do,

the whispers linger on humid air

as the moment finds in a new despair

to save the soul through words and hope

whilst empty lies the hangman rope

we tear it down and burn the threads

a funeral pyre for a dream that’s dead.

Feeling a bit gothic (in a good way if there is one) for some reason, ghostly image found on internet and upon seeing it, this poem appeared….

 

Unburied

We unearth our treasures unknowingly,
lost bones gathered on silent sand
washed ashore like mermaid souls,
quietly wandering in ghostly apparitions.
We gather together
bits and pieces of a dying life,
what once moved with the undulating sea
now tossed aside like yesterdays trash.
Picked by clever hands
stowing away into the gaping empty bag,
fossils of a thousand years away
yesterday cleaned and tucked into jars
kept in the sun and cherished.
We unbury mementos as we walk along
not searching for the particular
just these gifts from the sea offered
waiting for the eye to catch
to silently wonder in awe
just what it is that is finally found.
What once was so strong,
carried on the back and found so deep
majestic creatures that still inspire
yet dwindling in numbers we cast our eyes outward
searching for sight or sound,
for we know they will sing
though we may never hear the song,
we know the beat of the waves
from cradle to the grave,
we become one with this history
unburied and gifted
and loved.

A photo of my finds at the beach yesterday, a whale vertebra, a shell with a peaceful little heart broken through it, and what I think is some sort of dead coral, rather stiff yet pliable….thought it was a fish carcass at first. Just thought I’d share my finds, have yet to wash off the sharks teeth, another small bag in itself. The whale vertebra is the size of my palm. Very cool finds ūüôā

Swaying mantle of silence

We move in and out,

mere breath like wind through open windows

sill waiting to catch a bit of the morning light

while birds of a thousand feathers scatter

as the cat treads stealthily through the grass.

There is always that sense nearby,

the underlying lurking of things unsaid

and moods cast aside with unintentional force,

we become specters of self as feet move

tired in the damp and musty air.

Where has the cool wind gone that I recall,

night of dreams of eagerness through fear

as the words are lost in the shuffle of paper

and we suddenly see we are drowning in our quest,

taking charge before a hundred waiting faces

we close our eyes and slip away to the shadows

wondering where the ideas had come from and gone.

The lighthouse waits to show the way,

penned by a soul I know not well

and I will know her words for I am drawn

into the waves of passing days

and a continent away foreign and unknown,

I will come to know across this space and time

through yellowed pages of a dime-store book

left behind gently used

eager I will learn

what it is, this ghost of form

that called me to hear the wind of yesterday.

Strange dreams came calling last night and today by chance happened into a thrift store and bought a dirt cheap copy of Virginia Woolf’s “To the lighthouse” to read at my leisure. I have not every read any Woolf so looking forward to what I may find within the pages.

 

A nudge from the universe

As I sit glancing at the images

beautiful thoughts filling my mind today

and all of the blessings that have been given.

So far from yesterday yet still so close in heart

I see the magic of spirit around me

of those no longer here.

Gentle games they play with me,

numbers I adore come unexpectedly and I watch,

waiting for more

as I think of a person who wrote so long ago

and a passage that always comes to my mind,

as I turn to the next read on the universal web

I see his words staring at me

almost as if in a taunting smile

that to believe in the goodness around,

keeping the heart light and the spirit strong

I am moving in the right direction

with nudges from the universe.

I laugh then just because

and it feels so very good down within,

to set free the spontaneity of joy

and to feel so very thankful today

and every day,

how these moments let me know that it will be,

the magic will continue to spin around

wrapping me in its sparkling embrace

as I light a candle or two or three

giving light and love to a festive moment,

I am humbled by these gifts

and give thanks.

Ghosts dancing

We move between the words

shimmering images slipping into stories

visualizing ourselves whole again

as we feel each selection

as if it were us.

We are spun like silken threads

woven into each piece of humanity

we are no color discernable

simply apparitions of a form

filtering in as the whisper of the wind

that became one with this dance

feeling the pain of the life we had lost.

We are the dancing of ghosts

heartbeats thundering yet still unheard

it is the passage of time that haunts

the knowing that changes had become

a part of us,

as if it had caught us unaware while we stood

staring at the sun above

never knowing that as we wandered the sentences

we gained body

and could finally be seen once more

at least by the invisible crafter of stories

who must have heard

our midnight cries.

How we danced then in joy,

as we spun through rainbow-colored images

surrounded by kin of the world

and we sang the verse of a thousand worlds

as we moved into each moment,

free in our love of beauty and as we watched

the stars moved past like bullets in the night

as they tore a hole into the sky,

allowing the spirit to join,

to gather us as one,

finally giving us life once more.

Beautiful image by-Steven Fresquez -at Fine Art America

http://fineartamerica.com/profiles/steven-fresquez.html?tab=artwork

The Gate #writephoto

Day after day she walks through these stone walls.

Her portal to the past,

her home forever,

as the cold stone has gone green and mildewed from the hundred years past,

she has watched the changes,

met the others and found her place.

She knows these gates by heart,

the smooth feel of the metal against her hands

and the memory of the first night she had come.

The moon was hanging so high above in its penumbral state

watching her like a silent eye above,

mocking in its glistening way

as she moved through the mist

knowing she would return

time and time again.

For she was a piece of this puzzle,

as she realized this, iciness of doom sent a shiver through to her soul

and as she saw the hole standing and waiting before her

she knew there was no turning back.

In the coming of the day the sun peers through,

shadows cast long by the bars of the gate

leaving a prison sense to the headstone in view,

the words worn smooth by her ghostly hands that caress it,

her name barely discernible to those who wonder as they walk by,

who was this young girl,

for only numbers of years remain

gone too soon they shake their heads,

walking away on their passage to the next stop.

She watches regardless,

content in knowing she will not be seen

for she is now the keeper of the gate

for her eternity.

Join in the fun and stop in to see Sue (see link below) for the directions and run with it from there. This is my submission this week.

Thursday photo prompt – Gate – #writephoto

The locket (a short story)

Ellie sat waiting in traffic as the sun streamed in, blinding her as it¬†rose in to the position of becoming an annoyance. She was heading to the farmers market on the main street in town, they was an antique sale going on that weekend and she loved vintage postcards and anything old that could be bought for peanuts. She reached over and grabbed her sunglasses, fumbling around in her overstuffed bag and finding them, settled them to rest on her nose. The morning radio news spewed their normal routines, canned laughter that made her roll her eyes and she looked over to the car that sat tied up alongside of her, only to see a very irate man shouting into his phone. She had sat there, not moving for what seemed like eternity and was getting irritated. Must be an accident up there she thought to herself, and when the car ahead of her nudged forward a little, she decided the market could wait and eased her Toyota into the oncoming lane to pull a U-turn. I’ll go later, she thought as she gently pulled out and around heading back home. She made it about a quarter-mile when a small sign ahead grabbed her attention. “Estate Sale” it said and she looked down at the dash clock and realized it was just starting. “I will be the early bird that gets the worm” she said with a chuckle and turned down Bard Street, a road she had never been on. The large elms spread themselves creating a canopy of shade which after sitting in the sun with her car whose air conditioning only spread light cool, it was a welcome relief. There were a few cars parked along on the side of the road ahead and so she joined the line of parked cars and got out to head to the small white stucco house with the sign in the yard. Three people waited at the door and by the time she got there, they had already gone in to peruse the offerings. She walked through the stately glass doors and felt the hair on her arms begin to rise. The front of the house opened to a beautiful foyer and in the middle stood a table with a Chinese vase filled with orchids. She looked at the ornately carved legs and knew she had seen this before somewhere. Another woman came in behind her so she left the table and continued on to where voices could be heard in the room to her right. The large lit room was a library of sorts. Tall shelves went from floor to ceiling and the musty smell of old worn books dusty with tired bindings filled her nose, the furniture was in immaculate shape but she wasn’t here for furniture. At the far end of the room was a stone fireplace. The mantel was hand carved and had some small glass knickknacks sitting on it, but what drew her eyes was the portrait that hung above it in a stunning gold filigree frame. Two young girls gazed into her eyes and she stood in shock as her purse hit the floor with a loud thunk. Eyes turned to look at her but she stood there transfixed on the image before her.

A gentleman in a worn grey suit walked up to her and placed his hand on her arm, drawing her attention from the image to his warm green eyes. “Is everything okay Miss?” he said and bent down to pick up her bag. Ellie took a small breath and watched as he pushed a book and a tube of lipstick back into her bag ¬†and then he rose and held out the bag to her. “My name is Michael and I work with the firm handling the estate of Elouise and Jadis” he said, holding out a small business card that he tucked into her shaking hand. “I see you’ve seen the girls in their portrait, it is rather beautiful is it not” he said as he looked over at the image. “And you are?” his empty hand held out waiting to be politely shaken, and Ellie, slowly catching her breath tentatively took his hand and introduced herself. “Ellie” she said quietly. He shook her hand softly and withdrew it with a nod, “Let me know if I can be of service, if you’re interested in purchasing anything I’ll be happy to help you”. He walked away with a smile and Ellie returned her gaze to the photograph. The young girl on the right wore a small locket and Ellie reached up and lightly touched the same matching one around her own neck. It felt warm to the touch. She took a few steps towards Michael who stood over by the bookshelf watching her. “Excuse me, could you tell me a little bit about Elouise and Jadis? If you don’t mind that is” and Michael cleared his throat and began.

“Elouise was the oldest sister and Jadis was born one hour after Elouise. Elouise passed away ten weeks ago on her birthday, she lived to a grand old age of 97 and Jadis passed away an hour later. It was quite strange the way that all transpired, they were twins at birth and died the same way. Neither of them ever married, no children either. It was told that Elouise ruled the home and unless a young man passed muster, no one was to be with her sister. they died old maids. They both did a lot in the community and were kind and loving souls. I’m surprised you hadn’t heard of them. They were both actresses in the local theater and devoured books like ravenous crows, the two of them.” Ellie just absorbed every word that Michael spoke, tales of their plays, their good deeds, they were a piece of history that had now come to an end. “How much for the portrait?” Ellie asked, knowing the price would be far above her price range. “One hundred dollars, but you could make an offer and it may be received” he answered with a smile. Ellie reached into her bag for her wallet and still not believing what she was seeing, counted out exactly one hundred dollars. Her budget for groceries now severely constrained but worth it. “Don’t you want to even make an offer lower than that” Michael said. He watched her with curiosity, as anyone in their right mind would try to low bid it, but she shook her head no and handed the money over to him. Michael pulled out a receipt book and asked her some information, tore off her copy and handed it to her with a 20$ back. She looked confused but he just smiled. “You seem like a nice young woman and no one is going to want a lot of this stuff, it’ll just go to auction and I’d like to see you get it, as it¬†seems to have moved you in some fashion and I know you will treat it like the treasure it it.” He walked over to the fireplace and carefully removed the image. Ellie held out her hands to take it, watching as her hands shook, she took the faded image carefully and thanked Michael and turned to leave.
“I hope to see you around some time” he said to her retreating back and Ellie turned and gave him a soft smile. “I hope so too” she said and walked out the door. She set the framed piece carefully in her car, smiling to herself that a traffic jam led to such a find. Her car moved through the dark canopied trees and light beams fell softly in her windows landing on the locket around Elouise’s neck in the image. She reached out a hand and touched the sun spot then touched the locket around her own thin neck. I can’t wait to show Jadis what I found, she thought to herself and went home to see her younger twin. Better late than never she thought, a ten week old late birthday gift for our wall.

Blue room waves

The blue room poet moves through

An apparition of color

Waves seeking to catch

The watchful eye

As I walk on by.

Ghostly light filtered in a rainbow

Yet when captured

Only hues of blues remain

And the walls welcome the serenity

Of a thought set loose

Riding the wave of a quiet peace 

Fan moves in gentle circles

As I drift away.

Paint job all finished on the room and the hurriacaine shutters on the Windows left rainbows on the walls, but when I took the picture, only purple and blue remained even though I could physically see all the Reds, yellow,orange,green, etc….must be the blue room ghost. The candle holder on the table, three monkeys….see no evil, hear no evil and of course speak no evil….


My desk isn’t in yet but the couch and table is inviting me to write….sorry for the grainy shots…will attempt some better ones, and my “art piece” on wood….I think an elephant painted it….I call it beautiful mess….or lightning cactus….

Welcome to the den and writing hideaway….peace all, K

The ghost within

She sings songs of blue worlds

those never seen through these eyes

The view of lavender hue

whispers like ghosts long gone

returning in the passing dusk

to gently say hello again.

She sings of star filled skies

of phantoms that run in forests deep,

here then gone,

but she knows the truth

with each indent below of passing thought,

time holds nothing for long,

to the eye invisible but souls ride winds

playfully reaching through words and design

to mark their presence

on waiting hearts.

He captures light in boxes

perhaps not seeing the entire shade

of her favorite colors in the box of his crayons,

he weaves effortlessly the magic

Like a modern Van Gogh

of starry nights and twinkling light melting

and her heart smiles for the pretty things ,

for the simple grace of love.

 

gorgeous photo sent to me by my father. Stunning, and the colors I adore and words that made my heart smile. Thank you Serenity.

Between worlds

Somewhere
Out there in the past
Fires burn
Lighting the sky
In a soft glow
Of warmth
Light filtered between
The silence of the heart
Of the ancestor that sits
Unseen
Yet felt
In between worlds.
The sage crumbles
Turning black the smoke rising
Cleansing
Glow of ash
Blowing gently into
Thin air
Breathing in the night
Speaking words long forgotten
Letting go of everything
From with
Thrown to the sky
As the dream comes into
The sleeping mind
Nourishing with the riches
Of a peace between
Sleep and waking.