Anticipation

Alisa Hutton/Dusted Words

dustedwords

bubble

It is that unpredictable edge of the wave right before the break. Breathless raw fear that feels as though it may swallow you whole. That moment of  bated-breath before uttering the words of your unspoken heart. I love you. Feeling electricity run through your body like a freight train about to jump its tracks. Tender vulnerability that is seconds away from the light of exposure. Will you rise in strength or cower in shame? Do you open your mouth or leave it alone? Do you keep in silence what I already know? It is anxiety screaming as courage fights to enter the ring of all that is unforeseen and unknown. A dance between yesterday and tomorrow when today is the most meaningful show. It is the universe speaking to you in its loud taps and whispering ways. Exceptionally honorable in its truth and magnificently bold, the feelings of the heart…

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Gentle Breeze (For Glen Campbell, (1936-2017)

Beautiful tribute poem from John W. Leys/Darkness of His Dreams

Darkness of His Dreams

glen-campbell-november-2015-alzheimers-update

Counting the dirty cracks in the sidewalk,
Listening to a great old song,
Echoing through my ears,
Whispered on a warm summer breeze
From a southern night, long ago.

Memory’s door is always open,
The path is free to tread:
A little boy singing with the radio,
Rhinestone dreams shared across the miles.

Bedrolls and sleeping bags,
Traveling down the line,
Spotlights and fan mail;
That subway token still inside my shoe.

The caress of your voice still lingers,
Transporting me across the miles,
Through the years,
And keeps you, forever, gentle on my mind.

8/9/17

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Radical Authenticity

John W. Leys/Darkness of His Dreams

Darkness of His Dreams

Allen told me, If you want to find your voice
Forget about having it heard.
Speak your true unfiltered thoughts.
Don’t hide that special spark of madness.
Say what you say when no one is listening,
Write what you write when no one is reading.
Don’t write for “likes,” page-views, or popularity.
Open a vein o’er the inkwell,
Vomit gray matter onto your keyboard.

If you write it they will come,
A raggedy band of freaks and weirdos,
Marching out of step with themselves,
Painting their passports brown:
An audience looking for what you’re writing,
Searching for what they didn’t know existed,
Congregating together, hanging on every word.

In an age of cloned sheep,
Thinking for yourself and
Standing apart from the crowd
Can be a revolutionary act.

10/11/16

Inspired byDiscover Challenge: Radical Authenticity

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Games They Play

games for two

They had games

secret games

two players only

no one else invited

no one else aware

intensity building

with each forward move

danger rising

as they rounded a corner

the unknown of next moves

fueling fires

burning since early evening

growing

with each minute longer

they played

senses on alert

watching each player

eye the other

trying to read

the sexual glare

pushing strategy deeper

too far in

to quit

neither backing down

suddenly

risky bet

got their pawn

new game on

 

Honey Sticks and Cough Syrup

Beautiful writing from Michael Erickson/The Ink Owl

The Ink Owl

Strong hands pulling down cool cups.

Steam whistling in the evening air.

A cool rag applied to a burning brow.

I know your hands, as tender as a lark on a branch.

You stir in the tea, silver clinking against mug.

Murmurs of songs long sung touch your lips.

With those hands you pluck a stick of honey, clip off the tip and begin to pour.

Gold streams from the plastic stick, mixing gently into steeping tea.

I smell peppermint.

-M.E. InkOwl

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Poem: Italian Sonnet “What We Could Become” #dVerse #amwriting #poetry 

Thanks to Lillian from #dVerse Poetic’s Pub for hosting last week’s #dVerse prompt on Windows, looking out and looking in. 

My apologies, I meant to publish this on my blog without realizing I was on Go Dog Go. So bonus poem today! 

——

Credit: Jade Limcaco via UnSplash


———

Here I stand, watching the sea, in and out, 

The tide flows, paces itself in and out. 

Though I should be outside in the surf’s shout 

Quiet of the indoors keeps me about. 

By grande window stop, my mind in such doubt. 

Wrapping my sweater tightly thinking long, 

Of days gone by, the future’s pull a song. 

Watching boats sail by, sea birds diving flout, 

Captured fish, tiny sea creatures, I pause. 

Unsure where to start, where to go, no hint —

Of what lies before me, from the before. 

So I wait, I wander, I wait for you, flaws —

And all; unsure if you were a dream or —  

Some hopeful vision, what we could become. 

——-

©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved. 

Monday Gu(e)st: S II: 10. Physical Health vs Mental Health-Vandana

Today I introduce you to Vandana…one of my oldest blogger friends…

Thoughts of Words

Today I’m presenting you all Vandana. She is also one of my oldest followers, dated back when I was at near to 200 followers. Her writings reflect her attitude towards life. She shares motivation articles besides writing poems and all at her blog My Feelings My Freedom. This writing I’m going to share is a thing that many speak on, write on. But, the uniqueness in her writing on this topic somehow attract me because the way it was written in the most simple yet intriguing way. So, please welcome Vandana.


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