Something About This Tree

 

For Friday Writings ~ Poets and Storytellers United

Ghost Tree

in my imagination

 

it had leaves

alive

in my reality

its beauty astounds

something magical about a ghost

On Mother's Day my Family and I celebrated with a late lunch at a restaurant with a great outdoor eating space. Right next to our table was a large tree that looked "dead" to me. It was explained they are called Ghost Trees and used frequently to enhance landscapes. Literally moved from wherever they are, transported to their new homes. Roots secured within a concrete base deep into the ground. This tree was simply beautiful and silly me didn't take a photo. Which meant a return for more of their tasty food! Which I did.

At A Glance

For Poets & Storytellers ~ Friday Writings

 Rosemary encourages us to use “flash poetry” in our poems ~ a distinct kind of prose poetry, characterized by ‘flashiness’: emotional intensity, immediacy, sharply vivid imagery, the capturing of a moment rather than a narrative!

Spider's on the ceiling

 

see him, legs a-dance

can't behold him squarely

only sideways, at a glance

from 'cross the room I'm squinting

pretending nonchalance

yet lock my eyes upon him

courage I do not want

he knows I know he's lurking

eight eyes shine with mirth

I'll watch him sort of vaguely

give him a wide berth

In The Good Ole' Summertime ~~

* Origin of "Little Miss Muffet" Nursery Rhyme is Unknown *

Painting by John Everett Millais 1884 ~ Wikipedia

* Little Miss Muffet sits on a tuffet

eating her curds and whey 

it's hot and mid-summer

ghostly goblins ~ surround her     

terrified ~ she cries who are you?

The past ~ come to haunt you

Big Ghoul proclaims, you pilfered our breakfasts 

when kids all were we

time to turn tables ~ now, now can't you see?

We're taking revenge ~ switching things up 

sweet breakfasts no longer for you

it's gruel and cold toast, weak tea in a cup 

your future ~ Miss Muffet ..  BOO HOO !!

A Secret

1967

Three sons ~ five, six and seven years old

A daughter ~ newborn

vietnam ~ a secret never told

the burdens we carried

their father and i

the weight of worry

the lengths i journeyed

in an effort survive

so many conflicting emotions

fear. love. the need for control.

in face of uncertainty ~

my ritual:

crawling into bed each night

fully clothed

a symbol of the armor

i needed to protect myself

our children

ready to act when necessary

until his safe return 

Alas Alas

photo by Lori Crawford Arnold

 politics as performance art

a fairy tale of sorts

packed with heroes and villains

damsels in distress

roaring rhetoric

boastful braggadocio

perfidious promises

luring us into their theatre

onto their stage

a macabre fairy tale

feels all too real 

Glimmers

 

 a sunbeam's kiss / upon my face

the morning dew / its tender grace

a star filled sky / spring flowers in bloom

a babbling brook / a rustling tree

whisper of  hope / sets me free

a stranger's hand / when I'm alone

acts of kindness / gladly shown

in these glimmers / I can find

joy to light / a troubled mind 

Let There Be Light

Holograms are 'so yesterday'

three dimensions

plus a collection of light beams 

[ forget about 'em!! ]

AI says we're headed straight

for a brave new world called

 'virtual immortality'

Building digital models of ourselves 

chat-bots bequeathed at death

the “old / new” version of us ~ so to speak

Cobbled together from snippets of

old videos, photos, letters, blog posts

data points ~ loaded into a machine

Do we, dare we ~ resurrect ourselves for posterity

there are decisions to be made ~ ethical, legal, moral

[ my family laughs ~ questions my sanity ]

Welcome to 2026 and my Video Reading

Time

Aftermath

I wander the halls

Looking for signs of Mother

Something left behind

A photo displayed

Proof she was here

Workers greet me with tears, smiles and hugs

They know how sad I am

They're sad too

And this becomes the proof

 I need to sustain me

Hindsight is Usually 20/20

If I were ready

I would not crave 

your kiss, your touch

If I were ready

I would tell you I miss you 

miss the ‘us’ we used to be

If I were ready

you could not steal

into my dreams each night

If I were ready

I would confess 

I never stopped loving you

If I were ready

I would admit .. I should have

 said goodbye long before you said it to me