Life’s Texture

https://narami.wordpress.com/2016/12/20/tuesdays-of-texture-week-52-of-2016/

Touch life, in a Chilean desert,
Where the sand is fine, rusty,
Pink with a sash of burgundy.

Feel life in a frozen apex above
An island of Canary, mountain high
As the ice covers and caresses.

Stroke the electric vibrations that
Emanate in mirrors, hiding the
Motion of nightlife, stirring it forward.

Pluck the purple passion found in
Tender petals. Surrounding you
Covering you with soft touches of pleasure.

Caress the swollen clouds that dangle
Teasingly just beyond reach. In the heavens,
Promising the cool breezes to passersby.

Manipulate the boulders, stacked by size
Treating the balance of gravity as
If the history of the world is on your back.

Trail your hands around the Austrian pattern
Swirling in a monastery as though
It was a moving footprint of a snail’s shell.

Splash against a sandy beach, scrubbing
The ocean’s waves. Feel the surging
Power that pulls away from your hands.

Touch a savage pattern, alkaline and dry,
Feel the salary of traditions old
A page of understanding that caresses as we learn.

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Falling into Dreams

GUARD | STRANGE | RIVER | LAND | MIND  The challenge is to use these five words in an original work of writing. I love these types of Challenges. It gives me words that I might not put together myself, to be used to create a picture in the mind. This poem is from a dreamer watching where dreams come from.

Weekly Writing Challenge #66

It was strange,

to see night fall from our dreams

bringing a river of light to bear,

drowning the moon without

insights into the mind

of the dreamer.

An unusual land, Dreams,

lacking the guards of civility while

blooming weeds the colors of

invention,

watching as they

fall into night’s place.

It was strange to see night fall

into our realities only to be resented

for being unique.

Cee’s Oddball Challenge, week 47: The Blues

Cee’s Odd Ball Photo Challenge: 2016 Week 47

When the band has the blues,
When the night burns florescent,
Then time collects in pockets
Of memories, greeted with toasts.
Proffered feasts fading into the
Jazz heated spirals of sax,
Yes, sax, and trombone glissandos
As time burns through the bar
As patrons slide to the floor
Melting into the hot blue night.

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Where was I when the Night Caught Fire?

A response to https://janedougherty.wordpress.com/2016/11/16/where-were-you/#respond

Where was I when the night caught fire?
Alone as always I am alone,
Waiting for a wave of compassion or science,
Of fiction or poetry, Of well baked pies,
Where was I when the night caught fire?
Trembling on the floor, angry and hurt,
Disbelieving that yet again you left me
Without looking back. So I stood on the porch,
Watching the blaze from dead stars as their
Ashes reigned down and buried those
Without umbrellas to protect them.
I waited that night for someone to notice,
For parent, child, friend, but the silence burned
Through any preconception I had of friendship.
Where was I when the night caught fire?
Writing oceans of water to extinguish the flames.