Posted in Photo

69/365 Rainstorm

Lately I just haven’t had words. Especially today I wish I had something eloquent and pretty.

But since I don’t seem to have anything maybe it’s time to just do a picture a day challenge.

Posted in Photo

58/365 Steam on the Road

Things have been boiling over
Crescendo until ….
Trill
Then the clouds break

I couldn’t get a picture of the actual steam coming off the road without using my real camera but by time I got home and inside to grab it the rain picked up and the steam was gone. 

Posted in friday fictioneers

Friday Fictioneers – At Last

Fat raindrops rolled down the window pane accompanied by the ever present haze of city living. Ghosts of years gone by stood silently silhouetted against a dark, starless sky.

Lights from the spire sprinkled to life in a dazzling glaze. A gasp caught in her throat. The sign she had been waiting for.

Her Prince Charming casting a wide arching call for her to come.

At last.

She shoved the suitcase closed around three stuffed animals and a bag of Cheetos.

Fading photos, her momentos of a life forgotten, would have to stay behind.

The nurses quietly blocked her door.

nyc-jill-wisoffPHOTO PROMPT ©Jill Wisoff


 

A special thanks to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for wrangling in Friday Fictioneers.

I did a few of these then stopped for several weeks due to my work load (at my actual job and my grad school work). Luckily I’ve found myself with a slight bit of breathing room … or the possibility of killing men just watch them die if I didn’t get a chance to space out soon … So here I am.

Posted in stream of consciousness

Golden Light

Sunday thing.

Bubble

Music – The Echelon Effect on Spotify shuffle (I do this a lot you see)

We blow bubbles into the golden sunset,
Memories trapped in worlds we struggle to relive,
Reflecting rainbows, shimmering golds
We whisper our secrets into bubbles
And send them off to shrouds of secrecy
Beyond prying eyes and probing fingers
With promises of happily ever after
If we ever make it down from there.
We were but kids, young and in false belief
There will always be more to dream
Bubbles float beyond our clouds, grey skies from there on out
We always knew they would pop
Our precious memories would come tumbling down
Held in such high regard, we would learn to see
Truths about what we’ve done
As our pristine bubble memories rain down sharp fears
We were but kids, in the golden light, wondering what we’ve done

Posted in Word Prompt

I Dream of You …

I dream of you when I’m alone at night
When the air is cold and the moon does not light
Shadows flash framed against window panes
Remind me of gentle scratching rains
Under which you tried to dig my grave
You were weak and I was far from brave
In those woods where our trembling eyes met
You begged me not to make you do this yet
In my dreams the trees scream for me
Mounds of dirt rise up, making you see
Those are only dreams when I’m alone at night
When the moon is old and the air falls light
Into spaces between my time exposed bones
Where you left me, forever naked and alone

Posted in stream of consciousness

The Rain Is Coming

Sunday! 

A note for the curious: Daylight savings time does not work on biological clocks. 

Prompt: Meander

Music: Nine Inch Nails: Not The Actual Events

Rivers meander through the woods.

I splash through them in ratty old shoes and uncombed hair.

If I can just follow the babbling stream,

Follow to where the siren voices are calling me.

Dirty fingers clutch my ancient stuffed bear,

A toy from generations before.

His stuffing is busting from the frayed seems in his neck

But I love him anyway.

My constant companion.

The water splashes around my ankles,

Stabbing me with sharp, cold droplets.

How long till the rain comes?

The small stream won’t meander through the woods then.

The storms feed it,

Grow it like a monster in your dreams.

Soon it laps at the edges of our safe spaces.

I have to make it to a safe space before it rains.

Once it starts it will never stop.

The rocks along the bank are slick

But I have to stay close.

If I lose the meandering stream

The rain will surely get me too.

My beloved companion, clutched by an arm,

Is losing steam.

His seams …

Are ripping, falling.

We’re leaving a trail of stuffing.

There’s not time for me to consider,

My young mind knows we should be more careful

But I can smell the rain.


Please check out the poetry over and The Perfectly Imperfect Bunch

Posted in Word Prompt

Silly Questions

WordPress Daily Prompt – Sympathize

I smelled it before I saw it.

“Well, shit.” Of course it was pouring and my umbrella was in the car. Fat droplets splattered the ground, exploding on impact. Each a little crime scene that would evaporate within the hour only to come storming down again.

Do I have to leave? The only appropriate answer was yes. I forgot enough appointments with my counselor; neither of us wanted the “hey, I thought we had a meeting …” voicemail.

Like an answer to my unspoken calls, beams of sunlight pierced through the clouds and the rain screeched to a stop.

“Now or never.”

Even the universe has a sense of humor.

I was 15 steps from the buildings main door, under the huge oak tree, when the clouds clamped shut over the sun and resumed their downpour.

Fuck.

I stood hostage to the rain, staring out into the parking lot. How many steps to my car? I was parked at the back of the lot so … well math is hard but the answer was a lot. The oak tree could only shield me so much, even its branches were beginning to give way to the strength of the rain drops.

“I have to go, it’s only going to get worse.” It’s only going to get worse. I let the words bounce around in my mind. Lately it seemed that everything only got worse.

Maybe I was paying some karmic debt for kicking puppies in a past life. I still wasn’t sure.

Ok, one foot in front of the other, only way out.

The clouds pelted me with lukewarm bombs.

Oh, this fucking sucks.

I thought I would want to run. I was sure I would want to get from underneath the oak to my car as quickly as humanly, or inhumanly, possible.

Instead I stood frozen under the pouring rain.

Maybe it wasn’t so bad. Maybe, if this was the worst it could be, it wasn’t so bad.

Can rain sympathize with a broken soul? Can it wash away that which threatens to tear us apart?

I let the water pool in my hand. What silly questions.

But still, I’m just crazy enough to stand out here in the rain.


There are new posts for you over at The Perfectly Imperfect Bunch!

Posted in stream of consciousness

Funnel Clouds and Silence

Word dump writing attempt, prompt – WordPress Daily Prompt – Funnel

Music of choice: Artist – Balmorhea – no specific song or album, just listening to them on Spotify.

Funnel.

Funnel clouds.

I’m from tornado country.

When I was growing up it would rain all winter, cold shocking rain that pierced your skin when it hit. When spring came the rain didn’t stop, it just warmed up but brought with it heavy downpours and storms.

Try explaining tornado sirens aka repurposed air raid sirens to people who have never had to worry about them before.

Or why the yellow sky sets me on edge.

But the purpling blue cloud of a man descending on our skyline doesn’t.

People seem to forget how quiet it is …

Right before the storm.

That’s not a saying just because, it’s true.

The birds know.

Beasts know.

When that funnel hits the ground …

They’ve been telling you.

It’s the same with all disasters, earthquakes …

Almost with human made ones too.

Heartbreak.

The silence almost always precedes it.

Hits to the gut, the legs, the back …

There was always unimaginable noise

Yelling, screaming …

Then silence.

Or at least a call for it, “shut up!”

The universe begs us to be quiet.

Listen.

There will be plenty of noise when that funnel cloud hits the ground.

It sounds like a freight train, rumbling everything around.

Walls start crumbling …

When I was in school they pretended that having us sit in the hall with our heads covered and our asses in the air would protect us.

It’s ironic that it’s almost the same position you end up in when life’s noise becomes too much.

On the ground.

Hands over your head.

After all, your most precious commodity is your brain.

You can break your spine,

Lose your legs,

Never walk again.

But as long as you can still think,

As long as you can still reach for that silence.

Understand.

My 10 minutes are up.


Go check out The Perfectly Imperfect Bunch

Posted in Word Prompt

What Secrets This Lake Keeps

What secrets this lake keeps
When the dark nights rain
And it’s just humid enough
For the lake to stain
With the ghost of clouds
That couldn’t quite take flight.
There’s a story here
Only unfolding in those nights.
Billy lives in that mansion across the way.
Him, his mistress and a perfect family.
He shines the spotlight over the lake
When the fogs settle in thick.
Billy claims it’s for the speedsters,
Whipping in and out,
Keeps them quick.
But I know the truth,
Of Billy and the lake
And the girl he vowed to take
As his first, his wife.
His heart and soul she was.
Until one day sweet Billy found her
Facedown in the red mud;
Gunshot wounds
To the back and head.
The gun was his
And sweet Billy was no saint.
Scared, he hid
Her body at the bottom of the lake.
Now he shines his spotlight,
When the fogs coat the waters thick
To keep the specter of his love
From spilling his secrets like oil slicks.


Go see what’s new at The Perfectly Imperfect Bunch

Posted in Word Prompt

Float Among Galaxies

Flying through space and time

“Faster! Faster!” We cry.

We could die, it would be possible.

I can lean back and see everything,

I’m floating among galaxies

While dragging along the gutters.

Everything’s so beautiful from here.

Up or down, it no longer matters.

I’m but a bit of dust among these stars.

It never occurs to me that the rain is splattering the road

With oily traps made for little cars like this

Or that I’m not the only person floating in space,

Careening through oily gutter streams.

But I could die tonight and it would be ok

Because I’m loaded again anyway.

My head’s been filled with daydreams;

The stars could take me under their wings.

My particles could return home in pieces as they came.

But lying here in the road tonight,

It never occurs to me that this isn’t where I belong

Or that maybe one day you’d miss me.

Because all I can do is float among galaxies,

And drag along the gutters.

But I could die tonight,

And that would be ok.

Because it never occurs to me,

That you won’t hear it

When the last things I can say

Float among the galaxies

And drop along the gutters.