Sad Little Girl

A_Silhouette_of_Sadness.jpg

Sad Little Girl  

she sits, small shoulders huddled over her lot

single pink-bled posy held as a talisman

looking for the flames with reedy sticks poked,

swirling the ashes of today

she sits, tiny blades of shoulders jutting wings

as her identity flies back to the joy, the love, the blessed belonging 

before grown-up words of “discernment”and “polarize” 

settled as vampirous bats about her selfless, small being 

sucking the joy from her morning, stifling her laugh

with fear of this fetid new world where He is gone and

she sits 
still
hoping  

~

The Sunday Whirl

Great-Grandmother

Great-Grandmother

"was it the war that made you great?"
the small child asked, searching her
face for expression like a gold miner
searching for the telltale gilt glimmer
It was neither memories nor malice that
kept her face still,  as the past pulled her
tumbling back, as she crossed the old ocean that
returned her once again from the sea of the murdered
to give to this live tousled haired child a small smile as the
little one retraced with soft innocent fingertips faded blue numbers
forever pulsing with the fire of hell and hope across the cloistered chambers of her heart

5 Poems "The Hope" - "Hold on to your pride" "Baby on Hold" "Hold on to those dreams" "Heart Held" inspired by the prompt "Hold"

Irene Marie Dorey

Hold on to “The Hope”

The strains of the anthem play

across ashen faces of old walking

through gates of hell back into life

free footfalls aimed in the direction

of a desert place where milk and

honey and home awaited … now

that the trains had finally stopped

running and the crematoriums stopped

billowing clouds of satanic smoke

They sung with sunken cheeks and

smiles “The Hope” that they had held

soon to be an anthem of a dream

realized born of the ashes of others

written in numbers on their arms

~

Hold on to your pride

It is more important than my heart

that leaks in clumps of ripped pulse

around the sweet spot where you

used to play and throw your arms

around my neck with a kiss goodnight

I sprinkled the seeds of this pride

sewed them sowed them into your

being – never imagining that they

would grow with such enormous

power to reach in and rip

and yet you hold on to that pride

as I continue to hold on to you

~

Baby on Hold

you stay lingering

forever cherished

though you never

gulped a single breath

in that cold cold white

room of long ago

~

Hold on to those dreams

Hold on to those dreams

those visions, schemes

and all manner of such

until the day when they

hold you, embrace you

and in the darkness that

falls lightly tickle you touch

~

Heart Held

In the hold

of the heart

we live forever

young dancing

barefoot in the

talcuum-sand

of time

After it all -sometimes you just have to smile aka -The Joy of Simple Synchronicity

lisa runnels

After it all - sometimes you just have to smile .....
aka ...The Joy of Simple Synchronicity ... *

I enjoy a world
of simple synchronicity 
where puzzle pieces 
fit even without the corners
bordered - here home fresh, 
from surreal sense fashioned
from tests-catapult one into a
fluff of sloughed anxiety - a
virtual world where
words float as one proned 
lies as the center of a series
of pester - slipping into the
skin of smiling sage,  immune
to the childish ouch, munching
on the sustenance of
the certain know - that beyond a
jello meal quivering - beeping 
beyond the crimson bags of
blood dripping empty four times
through three days - beyond this
altered created universe stand a dozen
words waiting with a wink to be gathered
I enjoy a world 
of such simple sensible synchronicity 
as I shut the door on that truly 
virtual world - leaving the forced 

pseudo-life rhythms of hospital behind - 
far, far, behind - until all that remains 
is a dollhouse memory of machines
and smiling-swishing-squishing nurses'
shoes running through a looking glass 
curiouser than any Alice as I tumble
home returned now with a shake, a shrug,  
a sigh of satisfaction back to the whir and whirl 
and wonder of it all 
as puzzle pieces form a
synchronistic smile 

********************************************************************

~

* Note - 

Just returned from a few days and more than a few bags of transfused blood to 

find these Wordle words waiting for me with a seeming celestial winking welcome - 

the poem followed from this happy coincidence :)

The Sunday Whirl

Wild Horses

Wild Horses 

you might have well have
loosed wild horses at your
imperious signal to thrust
bullets of hoof prints over
my heart 
you might have well 
as I stand at the edge of 
incomprehension 
feet leaden - locks
of ball and chain 
frozen in a single 
paralytic spot 
wondering at the wind of
vitriol that rose to whirl
in vicious vacuous 
stoned laced stings 
where love once had 
lived 
and now cheeks cut, heart
bleeding under the cloven
hooves of your indifference
this heart under which
you once grew from a single
cell seeks to repair itself
alone as you plant your 
unfamiliar flag
on a hill of your own making 
with those of your own chosing 
never looking back 

There were horses

There were horses 

There were horses meandering

in an emerald field far the bullets

there were horses

their velvet muzzles dripping

with sweet dew 

they were there

over the edge far beyond Dismal

meandering, beyond the locks

of spirit, beyond incarceration of

soul soar - 

they were 

right there 

in that newly

sancrosanct spot 

where now 

a single rose

stands 

proud and perfumed 

bearing witness 

bearing witness

to that time when

there were horses meandering

free