Campfire Talkin' [ to be continued ]

Time for "Prosery" in the dVerse Poets Pub ~  Lisa hosts and provides background on performer Alejandro Escovedo, features him singing "Bury Me."  Next, we write a story including this line Lisa gives us from the song lyrics:  ‘Bury me with the lies I told’ 

 

                                    Image ~~ Copilot

"What's the deal? What the docs say?"

"Not much time left, unless I have that heart surgery. No big loss in this town. It's time for me to leave. Bury me with the lies I told. Promise you there ain't no one gonna miss this old coot. Big lies, white lies, you name 'em, I told 'em. There's a plot up yonder, top o' that butte, the one they call Dead Man's Purgatory. That's where I want to go."

"Seriously?! There must be someone in this town who'd be sorry to see you go. I would!! Remember that time the cattle got spooked when we were movin'em one pasture to another? Couldn't have got through that mess without you. I know plenty other folks have stories."

"Dude, time to buck up, let the docs fix you. You ain't goin' nowhere, anytime soon!"  

Long Ago & Far Away

Time for Prosery ~ Not Poetry in the dVerse Poets Pub ~ Kim hosts and presents us with the challenge of using this line "not yesterday I learned to know the love of bare November days before the coming of the snow" from Robert Frost's poem My November Guest.

Not today, not yesterday, I learned to know the love of bare November days before the coming of the snow, as a child growing up in small town USA. We were three sisters in a modest home, rich in all but money. Four seasons shaped our world, snow forts and sleds, willow swings, barefoot summers, crisp leaves and laughter, lilac breezes in spring. 

Nearby, grandparents' hands worked the land. Rows of corn, jars of ruby jam, hams cured in their smokehouse. Our mother sewed dresses from feed sacks, her needle singing love into every stitch. We knew joy without knowing want.

Now as November settles soft and gray around me, I walk memory's lane, each season, each face, each echo of laughter still warm against the chill. I give thanks for the wealth of simple, boundless love.

The Chaos of Dissonance

Time For Prosery in the dVerse Pub ~ Bjorn has channeled one of my favorite poets and vocalists ~ Leonard Cohen ~ he invites us to use this line from a track on his last recording ~ "there's a lullaby for suffering"

There's a lullaby for suffering, soft and slow, woven into the fabric of our nation's breath. It hums through the cracks in our streets, the echoes of promises broken, banners we wave with pride ~ and in anger.

The words of this lullaby are scattered throughout the chaos of dissonance; left vs. right ~ red vs. blue. We sing songs ~ none of them harmonize.

We speak of hope, but it’s a hope that feels like an illusion, distant ~ blurry. The melody is familiar, yet it feels like a dirge for a country that has forgotten what it once meant to be united.

But still, the lullaby plays on. A soft, persistent hum beneath the noise, reminding us that something precious can indeed find its way back ~ to what once was, to who we were ~ to who we are.