Memories

Remnants

It bubbles beneath the skin,
Small ripples emanating from the core of a wounded heart.
Tiny lingering flecks of closeted anxiety,
Compressed with age and hidden by tenacity.
Living fossils that once roamed freely within her soul,
Tearing through the ages and spreading corruption,
Flavoring her every passing thought – her actions.
An excruciating monologue jammed into a loop
– and stuck fast.
What was once a whole sea of anger, now lingers a quiet resignation.
Yet I feel it. Simmering, festering, a silent volcano,

Waiting to submerge.

……………

This poem was written using inspiration supplied by Sammie Cox and the Weekend Writing Prompt was ‘submerge with a word count of 86.

If you want to join in you can check out her blog over atΒ sammiscribbles

 

SoCS – The Card

It lay there – relentless.

It’s wide open face trying to lure me in with fake promises of innocence and plausible deniability. Yet I could sense the danger; see the evil glint in it’s googly eye.

Every so often I came across it, usually in the big grand clear out of hoarded cupboards, of drawers, of boxes, of past lives. Yet every year it survives. The single birthday card destined to be sent out yet never quite reaching it’s full potential.Β  Instead it lingers, ticking away at my mind and forcing me to recall memories of things past and left unsaid.

Oh, I know I could throw it in the dustbin or send it off to someone else to save the waste yet I just can’t bring myself to do it. The stupid humour on it was perfect for our little ‘in jokes’ that nobody else could understand and I knew you would appreciate the line of the poem I’d picked out and inserted especially for you – nobody else would have made the connection.

And yet I can’t send it now either.

Instead I clear it away, packed back into a shoebox, left to fester amongst the half burned candles and dried out roses. Left in the box of memories that mean the whole world and yet nothing at all.

……..

 

This piece was written using the ‘card’ prompt by Linda G Hill as inspiration. If you want to join in or just check out some inspired writing then please check out her blog for rules and more.

lindaghill.com

Goodbye Is Not An Option

This is a collaboration poem, I’ve worked on lately for a funeral service to say goodbye to a husband of forty two years: we came to the conclusion that it’s just not possible.

We will always be together,
Just waiting here apart
You will always have the most of me
Within your loving heart

We will always be together,
Even though we are apart
I will think of you, and talk to you
You rest inside my heart

You had a one way ticket, up into the sky
But your ride came early, I really don’t know why
They took the man I wanted, into the clouds above
and now I miss you terribly,
My husband, friend, my love.

A Nostalgic Farewell

I watch from my window, as you prepare to leave me. The streetlight

illuminates you in a hazy orange gloom, as you banish frost from your windscreen

My window, smirched from warm breath saves me from seeing that look you wear

Fumbling with your keys whilst you wrestle with your overnight bag

Your Caribbean blue charger snorts impatiently at the charade.

I press my hand against the cold glass; you wave goodbye.

Words behind the face

I wish I’d held you, back then
Paused your thoughts on the moment
And asked what I didn’t want to know.

If I could have the time over
I’d pounce – as you pulled that face,
The one you do.

The slightly aggrieved, silent pout
A look that falls across a puppy’s snout
When it’s squeaker gets confiscated.

A flicker of anger denied,
Followed by deduction – confusion,
And freckled with a whimper.

I wish I could have quashed that look,
Braved the tinged sadness,
Just asked what she’d said

You wouldn’t have told me
– of course
But I wish I’d have asked

A Poor Cure

If asked to jump
She would reply, how low?

When told to proceed
Her heels would delve into the mud
Held back by pride
A stubbornness really

It wasn’t until her first day at school
They realised that laughing at her

Wasn’t the best way to cure indignation

Budding reminder

As I sit in the cool evening air

Watching the petals fall to the ground

Hardened pink buds curled tight

Against the licking of the breeze

You rise to the top of my mind

pink_rose_rosebud_723688_h

Source:Β http://www.everystockphoto.com/photo.php?imageId=723688&searchId=0d4d9edc17abb9ccf4ea36642b083bd4&npos=51