Awaiting the sun

Awaiting the sun

11 November 2018

sunrise pinterest com 3
Courtesy pinterest.com

 

The rhythm is that of the wind against the fallen leaves like a banshee wailing. Her mind syntonises with it finally as she picks up pieces of the shattered glass in front of her. There is no saying how much time the wind will continue to blow relentless. Her mind blows with the wind, flying high in the sky gathering momentum. At the same time her body continues to mechanically operate on its own. She carefully stacks the pieces of shattered glass in front of her and starts her daily work of repairing the window pane again.

She must have repaired it a hundred times yet every sunrise, the storm strikes at the same place again with the tree breaking through the window instantly killing her husband yet another time. Every day she wakes up again with the agony of knowing that she will again witness the scene of her husband’s death. The torture of knowing that initially numbed by the pain of his horrific death all she will be able to do is pick up the pieces of the shattered glass and start repairing the window as if to negate that it happened at all pursues her daily. She lives dreading the moment of initial sunshine which once made both her husband and her so happy.

She realises that she will never be able to grieve the loss of her husband as by the time she has finished repairing the window it is night time again and she falls asleep, exhausted. The first days that it happens, she does not remember exactly what has occurred but is only left with a sense of foreboding. Upon waking up that sense of foreboding slowly grows throughout the first week although it remains quite hazy. As time goes by , however, memories of the day before play back with excruciating precision.

She usually wakes up already knowing what will happen and totally helpless as she watches the events unfold. All she can do is repair the window in a wild and desperate hope that the next time, maybe at least once, it will not give way as the tree comes crashing through. Some days she would work her fingers sore until the nails almost peel and her fingers bleed and yet the next morning she would wake up to perfectly manicured fingers, her stomach tense with the knowledge of the oncoming onslaught.

Her mind soars higher as her fingers work swiftly repairing the window pane. She feels the moment when the night descends softly around her body that falls back on the bed. She watches as she lies almost lifeless her breath ragged as she struggles to overcome the sleepiness. Yet the slumber slowly overcomes her and her breath becomes more peaceful. It is the darkest point of the night now. Soon the killer dawn will strike again. She watches the body of her husband turn around and embrace her body.

Something inside her chest expands and she feels it stirring her body as she looks onward. The sun is about to rise and the winds are still howling. Her mind continues its wild jig with the winds. She knows that as the sun rises the storm will pick up strength and the tree will fall over breaking through the window pane. Her mind stills itself as the winds continue howling. The first rays of the sun pierce the horizon.

She opens wide her mouth and as it slowly rises she finally swallows the sun and the storm slowly loses its strength. Darkness falls all around as heat scorches her mind. She can feel the light exploding throughout her skull. She clenches her jaws as her mind maintains its stranglehold on the sun. The tree never moves again. She rolls her tongue softly over the blisters on her tongue. In the darkness beside her she can hear the soft breath of her husband. She utters a soft sigh and turns toward him holding him tight.

Let’s pretend – Tindersticks

Carried by the breeze

Carried by the breeze

6 November 2018

Christian Schloe artflakes com the-moon-asked-the-crow
Courtesy Christian Schloe on artflakes.com

 

Whisper secret tones

Cast again veil of darkness

End wayward duress

 

Relinquish the day

Shine moon over the sun’s glare

Lessen light to bear

 

Chant the night to me

In soft-spoken melodies

Carried by the breeze

 

Reading of the poem: 

The message – Still Corners

The Gods are sleeping

The Gods are sleeping

13 September 2018

Gods sleeping rassouli.jpg
Courtesy Rassouli.com

 

The Gods are sleeping

Their infinite arms outstretched

Embracing our frames

 

The Gods are sleeping

Moss and heather cover them

Dark their sheltered caves

 

The Gods are sleeping

Their hair miles of cypresses

Wisps heave in the winds

 

The Gods are sleeping

Their faces emblems of peace

Bodies a firm rock

 

The Gods are sleeping

They dream plans to overcome

The human frailty

 

The Gods are weeping

Their tears a river of pain

Bondage unending

 

Reading of the poem: 

Fragile – Sting & Stevie Wonder

We escaped at last an end of horror

We escaped at last an end of horror

1 September 2018

Escape horror pinterest com
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They told us tales of how we would have gone

With our skins to hide and wailing bellies

With our knees quaking and courage foregone

A tale now foretold as our breaths would cease

 

The sun melted into the horizon

Traces of the cold to come submerged us

Jaded darkness overcame the prison

This was the end we would go without fuss

 

The eyes within the cypresses watched on

We walked uphill to places forgotten

The will now forsaken the soul forlorn

A semblance of human its core rotten

 

They gathered us in increasing darkness

The night was the tool of lasting terror

Free will brought all courage we could harness

We escaped at last an end of horror

 

Reading of the poem: 

Ends of the Earth – Lord Huron

 

The Edge of the Light

The Edge of the Light

24 June 2018

edge Christian Schloe
Courtesy Christian Schloe.

 

There is dark

On the road to Home

It revives

Surprises

When we feel that we’re alone

It cloaks us like ink

 

We reach brink

Of our own limits

Fortune tells

Unheard Tales

The faithless the self impales

Carry no crosses

 

Heartbeats still

Raging fires cease

The disease

Self made ache

We commit the same mistake

Over and over

 

Withered eyes

Seek out the lanterns

Look outside

Not inside

Curtains ruffle as they slide

Concealing outcomes

 

The Light shines

I hold it within

Starry skies

Breath that cries

Outreach of my inner depths

When the will wavers

 

Seek the star

When the night is dark

Like a spark

It will guide

Know that in darkness you ride

The Edge of the Light

 

Reading of the poem:

Shine a Light – Banners

 

« When you come to the edge of all of the light you’ve known and are about to drop off into the darkness of the unknown, faith is knowing one of two things will happen. You’ll have something solid to stand on or you’ll be taught to fly » Patrick Overton

 

Hush

Hush

15 May 2018

Hush George Redhawk

 

Hush she said and the woods were silent. The pitter-patter of raindrops a deafening sound covering her waning heartbeat. Hush she said and the rain softly subsided, an occasional drop on a leaf resounding like a thud in her head. Hush she said and the leaves ceased caressing the wind, their whispers fading into the rising dusk. Hush she said and the blood in her veins slowed tenfold until she could hear the drip like a background music to the occasional flap of wings of a cawing crow shaking off the rain. Hush she said and the darkness engulfed her with its palpable silence like a long forgotten and well-worn cloak. Hush she said her eyes finally closing, her soul softly embracing the dark night.

 

Reading of the short story: 

Wilderness – Adam Hurst

 

 

When the deed is done

When the deed is done

6 September 2017

 

BnW bored panda com cat-looking-at-you-black-and-white-photography-103
Courtesy bored panda.com

 

Tilting head

From perception points

Stuck at joints

Light anoints

A jaded shadow set free

Darkness pervades light

 

Say instead

Light swallows darkness

Inside thin

Flickering

White on black blackened whitened

Checkerboard wizened

 

All is said

When the deed is done

Take a look

Loosened hook

The fish floating out in sea

Upstream and toil free

 

Reading of the poem: 

BnW pexels-photo-120271
Courtesy pexels.com

The way Home – Sleep Dealer