Showing posts with label Sunday Whirl. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Sunday Whirl. Show all posts

4.29.2012

Intractable Deceptive Heart
















Intractable deceptive heart
beating to a strange new rhythm
followed wayward eyes
into a blind alley
at the end of denial lane

Stubborn unreliable feelings
a flock of furious birds
hovering over the once blue-green sea
of passion, now pewter from
emotions spent chasing demons

Willful unreliable emotion
drunk from the flush of a thousand angry
lies squandering the chance of a lifetime
accommodating the reckless desire of immediacy

Read more Sunday Whirl
here.
 

3.11.2012

Libation of Sorrow



Accident or purpose
Mars the heart
Trouble bunches around ankles
Pushed down the frame
With insistent charged fingers
Full of plenty
Confused and torn
Ask the question
What was sacrificed
A toll was taken
Handle the consequences
Settle for the result
Imbibe libation of sorrow




See more Sunday Whirl at www.sundaywhirl.wordpress.com

1.22.2012

Gone Too Far





The whispering began shortly after the Smith sisters entered the room. With a woman’s instinct born of too many nights doing what she should have been too young to do, Jessie the oldest, pushed through the crush of spectators hovering around their old man. This was standard procedure. Jessie knew her lines without a script. She would scald him with words meant to cleanse the befuddled thinking from his whiskey-soaked brain. He would first try to charm her, then he’d invent some story to make his behavior seem reasonable. But there was no reason at the bottom of a bottle. He knew better than to confront their mother in his condition.

She held back a moment, stalling when she saw her mother’s ashen face as she stood on the edge of the crowd. Her mother stumbled slightly as a man, a stranger, slid an arm around her waist to steady her. Her father’s blood decorated the man’s shirtfront in streaks and spatters of crimson. Disgusted by the latest installment of their family drama, Jessie started to turn, but her sister Jackie, always oblivious, pushed on through, causing the gawkers to scatter in her wake. Jackie had a knack for never knowing the right thing to do in any given circumstance. Her actions weren’t reactions, but mere acting as if on cue.

She saw what she didn’t want to see over her sister’s shoulder. Their father lay sprawled on the dirty bar floor, shards of broken glass circling his head like a broken halo. Jackie’s mouth flew open to question her mother, but it closed hard like a trap door. Her mother was too drunk to focus on the scene in front of her, the pattern of her insatiable urges written all over her haggard face. When she saw Jackie’s horrified face, a happy-go-lucky greeting formed on her tongue, but local law enforcement took control of the tragedy before the habitual confrontation ensued. Jackie looked at the cop and looked at her father, then decided the act wasn’t worth the effort. This time her mother had no defense. This time she’d gone too far.



See more Sunday Whirl at http://sundaywhirl.wordpress.com/

1.08.2012

The Heart Of a Giant


 
Come fly with me,” Penelope said and nudged Tucker on his shoulder.

He stretched his long arms and plopped his size twenty feet on her coffee table. “Today’s a bad day, babe. I have thousands of things to do. The fence won’t rebuild itself you know. The stones are heavy, and there’s just me to lift them.”

“You could ask Toggle for help. He’s big and strong and—”

“Are you saying I’m not?” he asked, a hint of injured feeling in his tone.

“I’m not saying that at all,” she replied as she lifted a spare key to the gate from the hearth. Tuck was a sensitive giant.

The fluttering started again. Her breathing increased its fractured pace before it settled into a normal rhythm again. She had almost forgotten the large bump that weighed her abdomen down.

“Come on, Tuck,” she begged. “It won’t be too many days before the baby comes. Then I wont’ be Able to fly for a long, long time.” When he didn’t immediately object, hope began bubbling and bouncing in her tired soul. “You know I can’t fly without you,” she wheedled. “When you’re with me, I feel as if nothing in the world can stop me—”

“Okay, okay,” he said and rose to his full height of ten feet. The top of his head brushed the underside of their thatched roof. He smirked. “Grope around in the storage bin for my crash helmet.”

“Must you use the word grope? It sounds so… so….”

He lifted one eyebrow.

“And must you be so smirky about my flying abilities. I can’t help it if my steering gets a little… off sometimes. At least I can fly.”

“Do you want me to fly with you or not?” he grumbled.

Without another word, she found his crash helmet. Should she dare flash him an appreciative smile? She did and he smiled back. Tucker loved her in his own way. The heart of a giant is larger than most and filled with strange and unusual emotions. He didn't see her the way others saw her. He filtered his view of her through what resided in his oversized heart.


After he smashed the helmet onto his head, he took the key from her hand and led her out onto the open field in front of their small cottage.

“Hang on,” she said.

“I always do. I don’t want anything happening to the baby… or you.” With a boom and a shock they lifted from the ground, veering left, then right to clear a large tree directly in their flight path. He turned to her, squeezed her hand, and grinned. “We both know you couldn’t fly without me.”

It was true. Penelope’s power only stabilized when her hand was in his. Together they were invincible… if she didn’t plow them into a tree.


REad more Sunday Scribbling at http://sundayscribblings.blogspot.com/
REad more carry on tuesday at http://carryontuesdayprompt.blogspot.com/
REad more sunday whirl at http://sundaywhirl.wordpress.com/





1.02.2012

Certainty of Change


Plum(b) lines drift off center,
little by little, creating changes in the level
with slight variations from normalcy

Joy, fine stitches in quality garments
gathering family, faith and friends
like expected blessings in a rich life

Loss, a course pattern of thick, bright
yarn woven into the texture of existence
like aberrations in bulky sweaters

Pain, a shovel that digs deep into the
meaning of survival until it hits a root
like a hard stop in an endless progression of days

Hope, words written in the wind
with bold lettersexpressing anticipation
of joy, loss, and pain in the certainty of change

(c) Denise Moncrief 2012

Read more One Single Impression at http://onesingleimpression.blogspot.com/




Read more Sunday Whirl at http://sundaywhirl.wordpress.com/




Read more Theme Thursday
at 
http://www.theme-thursday.com/
Related Posts Plugin for WordPress, Blogger...