From the Window

Jan 31, 2012

She shuddered as the November wind hit her back.  The weather had been damp the last few days and a break in the clouds would be well appreciated.  Pulling the trench up around her neck and fiddling with the red scarf at her neck did little to cut the icy wind. 

            A loud scraping noise broke off her inward thoughts and brought her gaze up with a start.  The rational part of her brain told her it was just the empty branches of the oak in their usual violent dance.  Wicker Street was always windy due to its proximity to the waterfront.  The coming snowstorm made it no different than usual. 

            Knowing the source of the sound seemed to be of no ease to her frazzled nerves.  A large gust and then a snap sent a scattering of sticks and then a rather large branch raining down on the sidewalk just before her.  It had been foolish to wear heels today.  Heather decided to double-time it to the safety of the open sky again. 

Her body shaking now more in reaction to the near miss of the fallen branch and than the cold, she pulled the tall collar of her coat round her even tighter.  Glancing up at the trees hovering over the walk, Heather’s eyes passed over the drab gray house once again just as she did daily.  So many good memories there.  No longer beneath the large oaks now, she could slow up a bit.  She had time.

Just a pause, she thought, a ritual of reflection.  In her mind’s eye the tattered curtains, barely visible from the dirty glass picture window, had become new lace once again, tied back by those canary yellow cords.  She had always taken care of the house. 

As she turned and clutched the rusted wrought iron gate, it hit her.  There was a yellow glow of incandescent bulbs coming from the foyer inside.  He was home.  Even better.

He would be sitting with his coffee right about now at the kitchen table doing his crossword in the Times, waiting for supper once again.  No longer.  Those days were done. 

She clenched cold metal, not so cold now, but warming to her hands.  He likely wouldn’t see her in the darkness.  The yard was large and poorly lit in the waning light of dusk.  These days were different.  This day was different.

The yellow glow was joined suddenly with a burst of bright orange, then shortly with a loud blast.  She turned away as the glass gave way in a rush of explosive fury.

As the acrid smoke escaped the shattered window, a smile crossed her lips.  Pulling the tube of red lipstick from her pocket, she eagerly applied it to her lips.  If she couldn’t have the place then neither could he.  Burn baby burn. 

The Wicker Woods

Feb 21, 2012

What lie beneath the floor

In yonder Wicker Woods

Held Jack’s mind, held Jack’s eye.

What great foreboding, I,

Headed to him with wanton lie.

What beastie great and filled with greed

Has struck a cord and planted seed

To grow up in yonder Wicker Woods.

Great brambles high,

Filled with thorn

Have I hidden a love so forlorn.

But Jackie boy sought to

Leave his prison nigh,

Only to find his gate so high.

His mystery lost to the outside world,

Reduced to ashes by golden tongues so curled.

Fire bright escapes the night,

Bringing down the gate by light.

So only I know what hidden

            Lie

                Beneath the ruins

                        Of the

                              Wicker Wood!

Java for Astronauts

Writing Club Nov. 19, 2013

Prompt: Write about the photo- An astronaut sitting on a bench at a bus stop with a parking garage behind.

I guess when there’s nothing left to do, you find yourself sitting on a park bench waiting for a bus to pull up and take you home, never mind that you’re stuck in a 300 lb. astronaut suit on main street Mars.

I came to find myself in this position when the ship left without me.  I guess that was their plan all along.  Who wants an incessant snorer on a 3 month trip in close quarters? 

All that was left was freeze-dried decaff and Tony can’t fly the ship without his morning cup of joe.  So they sent the new guy.  And like a fool, I headed down the gang plank and into Lunar Lundy’s for 4 espressos to go.  No sooner was I out and they sealed the hatches behind me and lit up the rockets. 

Good thing I had my moon boots on to absorb my less than stellar landing.  So here I am on Delta Five outpost until I can grab the next intergalactic solar bus home.  It’s been three hours since my com went down and this E.T. doesn’t even have a quarter to call home.  Guess I wait for my ship to come in…

My Little Boy

My little boy moves like a marionette,

 Held up by invisible strings. 

Dancing across his own stage to a story all his own,

Full of life and vivid colour,

That only his mind can see,

Whirs and spins and sputters,

Of cars big and small.

Accelerate and race to

Tumble down into traffic jams

Or be eaten by monsters with

Bright blue fur.

And when words fall like water

Into an exaggerated story as he animates,

I am entertained by tales of t-rexs and brilliant pirate battles.

Blown away by the exuberant exaltations

Of little things he notices.

Astounded by astute observations

From a seven year old mind.

In his bright eyes full of life I see

A boy ready to fight for life,

Frail as he may be.

Written in 2012 for Cody. With all the struggles he has passed through, he still sees the joy in life.  You are right little guy when you say, "There are good days and bad days, but on those bad days we've got to remember the good days."  

In the Clouds I See

In the Clouds I see

April 19, 2013

A poem for Sydney, my creative little girl.

Sydney sat by and by,

Watching birds fly in the sky.

Dreaming fondly of what will be,

Hoping to the high heavens a great future to see.

And in the clouds grand and round

She felt unbound,

Free from frights of this life.

Though amid a world of loss and strife,

Great Imaginations into the heavens soar.

What winged things upon the wind bore!

Visions of fields vast and mountains high in the sky,

Watching kings from aloft,

While resting on cloudy pillows soft.

Peering into crevasses deep within the land,

Seeing camels cross the desert sand.

And within a moment’s breadth

She decides to return home to rest,

For after all home is best.