SIGH.fOR THE FIRST TIME THERE WAS A “magical widget,” and I had not the credentials or smarts to navigate the route apparently everybody else can. But I tried…
Haiku by Issa:
“Without you –
the cherry blossom grove”
My first halibun, and I had to look the word up on Wiki. Problem is, when I search
my mind and heart for a “you,” no one answers. May be no one ever had that
experience. The cherry trees are blossoming at this moment along the Hocking,
nearby, and I am a little sad, but it is night and cold and dark. Maybe the sun will
rise as promised, and I can be touched by beauty after all.
When cherry trees bloom
I know that the world is still
alive and lovely.
No, you go first. What’s your first preference? Your second? Me, I think the eyes, especially the bedroom eyes, wih their big pupils and lids at half-mast.
Now a confession — no, not a confession about sexy no-no’s, but a confession about why I wrote this post. I wanted to see what it did for my readership — blogwise, that is.
I’m curious. though. Did you agree with me on either your first or second preference? Been there, done that…..
P.S. Research has shown that the better looking he is, the more selfish. Not true for women, hoever…
The Witch’s Lament by Anonymous
Being a witch is not as much fun as you might think. Oh, there’s the glory of saying what you think, no matter the consequences, and the snickers when a car splashes mud all over you. But have you ever had the experience of a grandchild referring to the other grandmother as “the nice one?” None of my grandchildren call me Grandma, and I just realized it is because there’s only one “Grandma” in a child’s life, and I have been usurped on both sides.
Whether you’re a witch or not, when you age, conversation becomes impaired, and in the foggy, scrambled mess someone is sure to take offense. Take me, for instance. I got involved in writing a book and neglected my nurturing family duties, and sure enough that old specter sibling rivalry raised its head and the old witch got dumped! Barred from the hearth and heart of one child and two grandchildren, who may never know why the witch went poof up the chimney without saying goodbye. I got disowned. So let that be a lesson to all ye who relinquish the angel role in favor of the witch. Why would anyone want to do that, anyway? Just a contrarian who took her blessings for granted.
(Amber/Liz’s identity was significantly altered earlier in the novel, and now she finds herself doing marital therapy with her parents, one of whom had molested her as a child).
Both have been beaten down by the years. Now that Carolyn is accompanied by her husband George, she resembles a little bird, almost leaning against him. He is wearing a suit, and is clean-shaven. His half-moon of gray hair offsets the reddened complexion and broken facial capillaries of the habitual drinker.
Liz/Amber flashes back to herself at twelve years old and sees his suddenly glittering eyes and hears his panting as he reaches out a trembling hand and touches her. In her flashback she does not move, frozen, horrified and stimulated. She had gotten use to a drunk daddy, but this man was sudenly a stranger. She remains rooted to the spot beside him on the bed where they have been listening to the radio. It is Saturday morning, and Mother is working at the laundry, Amber’s little sister is dead, and Mother is gone, and her Daddy is gone, leaving nastiness in his place. And she has lost herself, too. She isn’t herself any more, nor is he.
(Available on Amazon under Nan Mykel, Shattered Boundaries).
I passed Steve’s apartment the other day and thought I saw a devil’s head with horns in his window. When I passed again I saw that it was a Buddah with outstretched arms…Somehow I am reminded of the time I was standing at Lenox Towers looking down on and into all those windows, offices and lives. I felt as omnipotent as God until I happened to look up and saw someone else at a higher level in the twin building looking down on me.
Reprinted from Pickin’ Fleas, 2002
Rapunzel–she of the long hair–was separated from her best friend club-footed Hans by her jealous father, and locked in a tower. One day Hans heard her singing out the window of the locked tower. “Let down you hair,” he called, hoping to reach her in this way.
She let down her hair but as soon as he pulled on it, it flew into the air, a wig, whereupon she confessed she had cancer, and no more hair. Hans pointed to his foot and called, “we’re even now,” and when supper was brought to Rapunzel, Hans entered.