ENTRIES - November 9 thru November 22

The following is a list of some of the entries made on this blog. They are entered here in date order only. This list will be updated periodically.


Feel free to leave comments if you wish, and if you'd like to visit the author's blog, click on the name above each entry.

November 9 thru November 22

Moe
Look! A carousal.
Colorful horses go up
and down. What great fun.

Sarah Copeland
Monotone memories
startled from reflections
in his faded glass eyes.

Ares
He came in with grace
following my whistle
with a noble gallop.

WHY
In the shadow of
his restless dreams, he runs
and hides from watching eyes.

gege
Galloping as if
Somewhere it will go;in truth
It runs in circles.

Sarah Copeland

I walked silently along the damp coastline, my bare feet sinking every
few steps into the cold sand, so bright against the shadowed forest
wall. With every gust of ocean air the trees swayed a little further to
each side their groans like a mid-day yawn, all swayed except the
eagles tree. Its bark grayed and peeling, barley covers its thick trunk,
it takes four of my uncles to hug it properly. I smile, my lips cracking,
as I remember games of hide and seek with portly city cousins, all of
us being able to hide behind that eagle's tree. The eagle is just
returning as I sit on the driest piece of driftwood I can find, he is old
now but still as powerful and majestic. After finishing his freshly
caught breakfast he takes to the swirling winds and battles his way
around the corner and into the next bay. Quickly the sky begins to
change, the dreary fog of night lifting to reveal the sun's first rays as
they tentatively peek over a heaving horizon. Slowly my mind
becomes once again aware of time and I unwillingly rouse myself and
retrace my sunken steps back to my mothers house atop the
secluded west cliff, I can see it from here, the blue and white looking
as if they were plucked straight from a photo of Greece. I smile again,
wincing as the wind stings my chapped lips, and sigh as the reality of
a new day slowly sets in.

Roxy
Who is this mysterious cat?
Eyes wide with mystical sight
What are your thoughts on this celestial night?
Purr Purr to your delight.

Crafty Green Poet
Curiosity.
The self confidence of the very beautiful.
The flash of a bird flying past.
Instinct to follow.

WHY
Every morning he nudges me awake,
then plops on my belly for a second until
he loses patience at my slow awakening.
Opening the cabinet door, I reached for his favorite food,
then realized I had done it out of habit. My morning ritual
had been broken after five years.
I hope tomorrow I will not forget.

Sarah Copeland
Parting thick fog with
golden fingertips
she peers into
the enchanted forest.

Eerily quiet, it makes
silver tears run freely
from her blind eyes.

She feels along its path
hearing every shade of color,
like a symphony it proclaims
an existence.

Tree trunks, purple like
storm clouds, bend themselves
over her path, their leaves
a gentle pink provide shade
for her parched body. Soon
her path will end and sleep
come to call, her last joy
to be remembered for eternity.

Sarah Copeland
Time it is kicked away
like a crumbling soccer ball,
patched and nurtured
after every game.
We roll along, sometimes
in a straight line,
mostly zigzagging thru life,
never staying too long and not often coming back
as the same person.I think of friends
I once knew
and wish with all my being
to slow this ball,
to pause and remember,
to grab pen and paper,
to say hello,
once more.

Sarah Copeland
Mind rising above
pain and reality;
a neon field of daisies.

Crafty Green Poet
The flower glows
reflecting the sky -
a lightning flash.

gege
To create, to grow

One must see the world askance

Changing hues and shapes.

Read more....

Sarah Copeland
Rebar crosses line main street,

contradictions within themselves

as they emit the cold of death

and preach the warmth of love.

Flowers adorn some, others

sit alone in contemplating

silence...I shiver

...eternal silence? Must be hell.

Quickening my pace the fear

in that thought settles into

the blur of my past, as I

round another corner those

rebar crosses crumble like rust in my memory.

Sarah Copeland
"It's raining again

loud on your car

like bullets on tin."

~Moby

The spoon inside last nights coffee cup rattled as the bass kicked in

on my stereo, the time, six am, filled my room with an unearthly glow.

Outside the only light came from a winter crescent moon, its silver

light passed on to the clouds, trees and grass, like a disease. I lay in

bed for a few moments watching the tree tops sway back and forth, as

the wind picked up its speed it gained a howling voice as it squeezed

itself through the cracks in my one room cabin. A sharp snap like

bones cracking almost made me sick to my stomach as the green

glow of my stereo disappeared and relative silence regained its

presence. What was the point of paying for electricity when it only

worked reliably for four months out of the year. Darkness was creeping

back in as purple clouds, like angry bruises, began to cover the sky;

the sun’s repression their mandate.

Clumsily I found the light button on my watch, ten after six, I swung

numbed legs over the side of my cot, its regular protesting creeks

silenced by the crashing rain that had begun to bombard the earth,

every drop making its own crater in the thawing ground. I pulled on

jeans and a t shirt then groped about in the darkness until I found a

sweatshirt hanging over the back of my orange and green couch, I was

glad the miracle of power had been taken away as it conveniently hid

the dizzying paisley swirls. I could barely hear myself curse over the

deafening roar of rain as I stubbed my right toes on a corner of the

frozen iron stove. Squinting into the darkness I found my lighter and

the box of kindling, after some pleading and coaxing I succeeded in

lighting a half charred log on fire. With the discovery of light once

again I became aware of a sudden change, I stood for a moment in

front of the stove pondering this, trying desperately to regain feeling in

various places. I turned and began my journey of five steps towards

the kitchen in search of my kettle, the floorboards creaking beneath

my winter weight, I froze. Silence had again returned, slipping

unfeeling feet into damp hiking boots I barged through the front door

and into a blinding world. Almost every trace of shadow was gone,

hidden beneath a blanket of the purest white tinted orange by the first

rays of a winter sun.

Sarah Copeland
The heat of an august prairie afternoon makes his plastic skin melt,

loosening a vintage tie he forces a halting voice to brave the outside world.

My mother, acting equally as plastic, pours another cup of lemonade

with shaking hands whiter then freshly churned butter. I fidget beneath

layers of Sunday dress and tug at pale pink ribbons that almost

disappear beneath unruly blond curls, an older sister's glare from

behind the visitor's shoulder stills

my very soul. With a startling fierceness the visitor speaks;

a narrow tale he etches upon our hearts, the meaning as clear as mud

to my naive heart, as his voice raises with every new truth.

My eyes fulfill the need to stare at something by etching my own stories

on the leather cover of his black book.

Time crept along until finally the young visitor took his leave,

as my mother escorted him to the crumbling front door I once again

raised my eyes to stare at where the visitor had sat, his plate of

cookies untouched and carefully balancing on the thick arm rest. My

simple mind wondered how much of his plastic skin he had shed in

my father's favorite chair, shivering in disgust I tried to push the stern

face of the visitor out of my mind, but it always seemed to reappear.

I remember the cookies my mother made that day, simple circles with

raisins pressed in at random, every year at our august family reunions

she makes them by the dozens, but my mouth turns to desert when

the thought of eating them comes to mind.

That preachers disapproving sniff roars in my ear like a waterfall,

childhood fidgeting masked my fear but now as I remember his plastic skin,

I remember too his plastic words. I remember the hypocrite who

melted in my father's favorite chair that sweltering august afternoon.

The afternoon before the night that, that glorious visitor drank himself into oblivion.

Ares
This dinner guest must be someone from my dream. A mystical

creature who came not to haunt me but lighten up my burden.

Unfortunately, I have no much means to repay his kindness, so I

cooked him the last flour cake I could ever make with the few

ingredients that I have. I was only smiling at him as he eats. It made

my tummy full just by looking at him enjoy the simple meal. For him it

was a delicacy, and I'm very glad it was enough to make his heart glad.

Anonymous

Every night I wake up covered in sweat. I can't get those eyes out of

my mind. I can't remember when he first appeared in my dreams. This

horrible, little creature who chains me to my chair, then forces me to

eat rotted food and drink down dirty dish water until I gag for mercy. It

makes no sense, no sense at all. I can not live this way. But, how can

I kill someone who does not exist?

Sarah Copeland

Strangers
Waves don gowns of gray as they begin to swirl,

their cheeks blushing off white

like a treasured pearl.

Giddy and gay they rush to meet a still sand

only to find silence has plagued

the band...

Ares

In the peace of silent night,

Of glaring moon that had risen and overcame the sun,

Let us be one in the memories and live for our perfect future

Roxy
I am living in my favorite place Hawaii. But a very close second is San

Francisco somewhere with a view of the Golden Gate. It's a warm

Indian Summer's day in November and I am strolling on the beach

near the Marina watching the wind surfers do a dance zig zagging

back and forth on the never ending motion of the bay. Its a glorious

day as the sun warms my face.

Anonymous
He sat there every day playing his guitar with his eyes closed.

The children would come out and gather around him. Quiet for a change.

His music, food for their hungry soul.

Sarah Copeland
His world is tinted in graying yellow

the memories of time, slow to mellow

the horrors never so much as hinted,

in graying yellow his world is tinted

Tables and chairs lean like soldiers

weary and scarred, feeling blurs

floating above on clouds of morphine

like soldiers tables and chairs lean

Word Prompt - Silence

Silence - - a menace

to the musician's ears.

WHY
Deserted

In the deserted alley behind my house, the cats hide from the rocks

and cans that the mean boys throw at them to get their kicks.

The rats used to hang there, too.

Ares
word prompt - breathe

In memories...

Breathing death

she barely tasted life,

From horrid struggle hath

redeemed haven for our strife

Breathing hope

we smelled success,

From evil havoc made us cope

we her tough young spirit bless

WHY
I breathe in the silence of the night, surrounded by the stars and the

trees. Not knowing where my footsteps will lead me, I edge closer to

the silence that calls out my name.

Sarah Copeland

Headline: Cape Cod's Prize catch of the year.

Caption: Using a secret bait Jonathan Barr lured in the biggest catch of the year,

his nets almost breaking under the mass of flopping silver.

Poem

Silver backs flashed

while young fishermen brash

headed into a swirling blue,

and the storm it began to brew;

their boats all washed ashor

eas splinters; nothing more.

First sentence of a book

Camille stole a nervous glance over her snow covered shoulder,

the sun had yet to rise over the silver bay,

but she knew she stood in the market square, the familiar smell of

fresh bait centering her senses; soon her brother too would

venture out into the cold and display his prize cod.

Sarah Copeland
Word prompt - Silence

Standing silently

I almost forget to breath,

a graveyard of old trucks

among the fallen fur trunks

each rusted spot bearing

another tall tale, each growing

a little more with every storm,

for their voices my heart mourns.

But to silent contemplation

I return as shadows turn crimson.

To be continued....