Posted in stream of consciousness

Submerged

There’s a tide rising within me.
A radiating wave of light reflected from the ocean floor.
I’m submerged in relief,
Grasping for air.

RDP: Water

Very quick tiny poetry – slash – stream of consciousness write. This year I’ve been learning the art of balancing my “writer/author time”. I don’t have much of it. In the past, I spent the majority of my writing time writing here. That meant I didn’t often get to the projects that were more substantial. My goal for this year is to devote more time to things that don’t really go here like short stories and work that can be published. I really, really thank you guys for sticking with me even though I’m not posting often right now.

Posted in stream of consciousness

Smudged Charcoal Memories (Repost)

This was originally posted when I was doing regular timed stream of consciousness writes. This was also back when wordpress provided a daily word prompt. The word that day was candid. Today’s prompts are circular and riddle. I can see circular tones in this and a riddle of kinds.

I have photos in my mind, candid pictures, frozen in time.

Of you, me, the world as it wishes it could be … the way it is and the way it could.

Like rough charcoal sketches, outlining your jaw

Tracing your lips and infecting everything we’ve become.

Conversations are easy, expressions in stars and beauty …

Total comfort we take for granted.

And yet here we are, with candid pictures but nothing solid.

Smudged charcoal memories

Scenes were there, we know, but we’re always just missing the point.

Always just grasping the cusp of the greater things

Only to find ….

We were never meant for the better side

So we cling to something more, hoping, praying, waiting …

We hide beneath silence and sideways glances

While we dangle from the precipice

Fuzzy charcoal portraits and blurry night walking pictures

With broken smiles and tear stained eyes

Are all we left behind but not all that’s left to find?

How long can you hold on? Hold out?

Close your eyes

Posted in stream of consciousness

Be Good

 I write lines to remind myself

“Be good. Be good.”

They say it was me.

They just don’t understand.

My fistfuls of paper won’t convince them.

“I’m good. I’m good.”

It’s written in blood.

They just don’t understand.

Posted in flash fiction, stream of consciousness

I Was

This is an actual stream of conciousness type write. With inspiration also drawn from the photo for Fandango’s flash fiction challenge.
Music: All Them Witches – Lost and Found EP (can be found here on youtube if interested)

Victoria_Borodinova at Pixabay

When I was a kid I liked to imagine my life somewhere exotic, in times and places far away.

I was Esmeralda, dancing in the hot breeze. I was Ariel, venturing beyond the realm of known. I was a power ranger, saving the world one swipe and swoosh at a time. 

I was anything and everything: a paper bag carrying Superman’s groceries; a walking stick leading a great adventure. 

I was taught, and well it seems, that I was only an accessory. 

I was a compliment and a burden. 

I was helpless when all I wanted was to be a hero. 

I was worthless, a string of fake pearls snatched from Ms. Scarlett’s neck. 

I was scattered, a faded news piece, irrelevant before my ink dried. 

But all I dreamed was of being a hero, of saving the world one crisis at a time. 

And maybe on the weekends I could still be Esmeralda, dancing under the moon.

Posted in flash fiction, Word Prompt

Every Day is the Same

I’d heard of the yellow brick road. I saw The Wizard of Oz when it first came out. I never thought I’d find myself standing here. The bricks aren’t yellow, more of a grey, and the air hangs heavy and full of electricity.

Trees aren’t the same. They’re monstrous and dead. Orbs of fruitful memories drop to land. They scatter, running from the light, but I catch a few. And what delight! They’re flexible and sticky. They play back cherished memories.

But what of the ones that run? They roll from the path, away from the sun, into the trees, obscured by dead leaves.

I chase them down, determined to know.

What is it these scared orbs hold?

In the darkness they reveal things unknown. Small strings which take hold. They pull me farther, abandoning the path, as they trap me under a forest wrath.

These memories aren’t cherished. Forgotten and unloved, they demand immediate resolve. I find one after the other, a path none should take.

I abandon handfuls of the light and cling to the dark. They pull at my strings, they break my heart.

Then I jerk awake, just an old woman in a bed. Little memory of the dreams I’ve had. Nothing rushes back, nothing remains. It’s just me and a window and brick wall company.

Every day is the same.

RDP Prompt: Memory Lane – FOWC: Daily