haiku
something stirs my soul
it's Caribbean music
i just want to dance
acrylic
linked with
recuerda mi corazon
for more haiku friends.
please visit, and join in
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recuerda mi corazon
for more haiku friends.
please visit, and join in
*********
*********
NOTE: still having problems with this blog. still trying to work it out. i did change one setting which apparently resulted in deleting ALL comments that had been there. Sigh....well, i wasn't able to read them anyway. working.....working....on the problem.
IF YOU ARE NOT ABLE TO LEAVE A COMMENT ITS OK. I KINDA KNOW WHO COMES AND GOES! :)
COMING SOON.....LIKE TOMORROW??
OR LATER TODAY MAYBE.
I'm participating in.....
Stay tuned (or just come back later) for a freaky, scarred up story, story, story, or art, or poetry, (or something). It's that time of year!
And....if you want to see more, and surely you do, your curiosity is getting you, isn't it? ......please visit...
MAGALYGUERRERO
and link from there to other hosts and participants
MAGALYGUERRERO
and link from there to other hosts and participants
SATURDAY
ok got my internet back after long power loss.
so.....here is my story for
BEAUTIFUL FREAKS FEST 2
thanks for taking the time to read.
The stories/poems/dolls, jewelry, whatever are to be about scars...
in some manner...
but ending in an upbeat way (i think) so my story is about a woman whose heart has been torn and scarred and she is suffering grief from one day to the next and it gets confusing to her, but finally after a long while, her soul is cleansed and she is able to find some semblance of a normal life again.
ok got my internet back after long power loss.
so.....here is my story for
BEAUTIFUL FREAKS FEST 2
thanks for taking the time to read.
The stories/poems/dolls, jewelry, whatever are to be about scars...
in some manner...
but ending in an upbeat way (i think) so my story is about a woman whose heart has been torn and scarred and she is suffering grief from one day to the next and it gets confusing to her, but finally after a long while, her soul is cleansed and she is able to find some semblance of a normal life again.
THE SCARRED HEART
A short short story
derived from love and tears and fear and long ago poetry. Who cares about an
old crone, anyway?
*****
The crone sat in her rocker made of branches of long ago
dead trees, rocking and thinking, as she stared out the open door of her
dilapidated tiny house deep in the forest. The one small window held crazed
glass, yellowed with age and dust and intense sunlight, one half covered with a
large dust web. It allowed very little light into the darkened room. Her black
dress reached the floor, enveloping her shoeless pointed toes, which as she
rocked, made patterns in the dusty floor. Dustballs danced in the low light as
her feet carved out their ballroom. Outside, in the alternating sunlight and
moonlight, shadows and glare, a movement caught her eye.
“Is that a raven perched so low on your shoulder, child?”,
she called out. “No, Mother”, she answered. “It is only the dark angel resting
for a moment.”
And so she sat and pondered, her mind alternating between
the doorway and the raging flames of the fireplace across the small room, its
own opening a portal to another plane.
Through the open doorway she watched the sun bake the hot sand outside,
and her face felt the heat of brown withered grass as it gave way to the flames
of the sun, turning so quickly before her eyes from blue-green to crackly brown,
and then to darkest blue as the moon pushed its way quickly though the scene,
disappearing behind another planet.
“Come in, child.” She said at last. “Come in out of the
charred heat of the burning sun and sit with me by the fire. We will reminisce
sweet days gone by.”
The crone glanced quickly at the fireplace portal, noticing
as icicles formed within the darkness of her own smothering soot-filled
chimney-hole heart, before her attention drifted back to the open doorway, the
moon thrice gone and the sun blasting flames on the sand again.
“But no, mother,” she answered herself. “The door is closing
and I will not reach it before it latches.”
The crone knew then, as she sat and rocked, the raven wings
of the dark angel would spread like a barrier of time, and hide the door that
never existed. And she slept.
Outside, long, narrow grey clouds trailed slowly through
sunless white skies like smoke, entwining with smoke from the icicle
chimney-hole , dissipating into nothing, taking with it the heavy weight of
sad, and bringing instead, finally, the color of cleansing rain.
End
(a truth)
Again, I know you probably cannot leave a comment. That's ok. I'm just happy you visited and read the story.
BLESSINGS
