Archive for March, 2015

Escape Childhood by Holunder @ deviantart, via Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie

Sometimes the world around me is a world I don’t understand.
And so I hide in my own world, a magic mystery land.
A land where dragons fly the skies, and I’m their only queen.
A land only I inhabit, that only I have seen.

I hide away from reality, though I know that’s not the way
and I can stay quite hidden here, for many, many days.
But if you want to join me, come on in, there’s room for two
I will make that exception, in my mystery land, for you.

Being queen in a made up world, it does come at a price
and though the dragons amuse me, and are really, very nice,
it can sometimes get lonely, as I go away to hide –
and when it does I’d want someone to be here at my side.

Perhaps we could build a castle, a cave, a hide-away?
Erect our very own mystery tent where you and I can play?
And you can tame your own dragon – I have named mine Finn
and we could go on a cloud chase and fly the northern winds.

Yes, I know that I am dreaming, that this world of mine ain’t real.
And furthermore I know escaping life won’t make wounds heal.
I know I shouldn’t go there, I know that I can’t hide
and most of all I know that you will not be by my side.

No you won’t ride a dragon or chase the northern wind
and you will never know such twirling madness deep within.
A figment of my twisted mind, that is all you are
as close to me, to real, as the night sky’s most shining star.

Today, the last day before NaPoWriMo 2015 kicks off, I’ve chosen to go with Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie’s Photo Challenge #54 and be inspired by the image by Holunder at Deviantart. I love these kind of poem-y stories, but I tend to make them go on forever… 


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Wordle #205

Sing, Craft, Repair, Deal, Billow, Frame, Chance, Add, Back, Exist, Fiery, Call

Let’s repair the broken frame, my dear
let’s sing and take our last chance.
It will take craft to mend this deal
but when it’s done we will dance!

Let’s take our life back, one last time
add new to what is old.
Let my skirt billow as we dance,
together happy and bold.

If I call your name, will you answer, please?
Remember that we exist!
Of our love, fiery, an ember burns
not all is lost in the mist!

It is with great sadness I make this entry to The Sunday Whirl and their wordle #205… This is one of my favourite prompts, and after being away from poetry for almost a year, The Sunday Whirl was the first place I went as I started writing again. But over the next few months I’ll have to find a Sunday substitute it seems, so I would like to thank Brenda for all the past wordles, wish her luck and hope (passionately) that she does come back in summer with more for her wordless! Good luck, Brenda!


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Image from Google images, click for link

He looked at her with greed and much more
there was anger and passion, yet still
she couldn’t be sure of what she felt
in her heart, should she bend to his will?

I need to know, he said, if you will
do it again, I’ve just never felt
anger this strong, there has to be more
I cannot sit here idle and still!

I don’t know she said, I’m unsure still,
I don’t know I can handle much more!
Have not given up – I never will,
but this fear can just not be unfelt!

They were so bad, but right it had felt,
that they’d glanced at their old father’s will.
They shouldn’t do it, as he lived still,
though desire was great to know more!

I will do it, she said, yes I will – but deep in her heart she felt
that on this matter to know more, would never make her mind still.

This simply feels wrong… And not just because of the bad, bad children in the poem, but because I feel the form is limping so terribly for me. *sigh*  Anyway, it is an attempt at Björn’s not-quite-a-sestina for the Sunday Mini Challenge over at Imaginary Garden with Real Toads. A first attempt at anything’s never easy though, is it?

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Photo by CC Champagne

Photo by CC Champagne

Daily walk
‘cross familiar turf,
our routine.
Frequent stops,
for you, rather than for me
out of love I walk.

Lying close
four paws in the air,
tail a’wag.
Belly rubs!
Breed the love I feel for you,
my furry princess.

Rain and shine
you are always there,
by my side.
Love immense
between woman and her dog
out of love I walk.

Haven’t done one of these in forever (and was never good at them to begin with), but I needed something to focus on. This is (supposed to be) a Shadorma (a non-rhyming six-line poem in 3/5/3/3/7/5), written for MindloveMisery’s Menagerie and their BJ’s Shadorma & Beyond. Although today’s challenge was to attempt something called a Sijo, I’m not quite ready for that yet, so I hope this is close enough to qualify as a Shadorma. 

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Image from Wikimedia Commons, Light blue Lilacs

Why can’t every day be like this? She smiles and takes my hand.
Every day can’t be like this, dear, because then it wouldn’t be as special.
Her skin feels just like it always did. Soft and wrinkled, but silky to the touch.
And her eyes are still pale blue.

Why did you have to leave? A cloud briefly blots out the sun.
It was simply my time. I didn’t want to, she says.
We are quiet for a while.
Listening to the gentle breeze rustling through the
lilac buds in the leafy alcove outside the house.

I slowly tell her what’s happened in my life,
all the ups and downs,
the successes and the failures,
the good and the bad.
How I miss her so very much, still!

She sits there with her wrinkled face lifted towards the sun and
her white, short, curly hair messed up from weather and wind.
She doesn’t judge, just listens – though I’m sure she’d have plenty to say.
Lovingly. She really doesn’t say much. She doesn’t need to.
It is I who need this moment.
This beautiful spring day in the horse shoe shaped alcove of lilac bushes outside my grandparents’ house.

In my mind’s eye it still looks the same.
She still looks the same after almost 30 years…
The garden is still immaculate from all the hours of backbreaking work she puts in.
The mouth-watering aroma of freshly baked cinnamon buns wafts out the kitchen window. A brief moment of peace in her hectic day. A coffee cup on the table.

Perhaps the apple trees are blossoming and she’s already started planting the vegetables…
Perhaps not.
It really doesn’t much matter.
Nothing much really matters.
The perfect spring moment… Just sitting silently, with her, in my childhood paradise…

Herotomost over at Imaginary Garden with Real Toads asked us to imagine our perfect spring moment for … An Old Man’s Fancy today. To sit in peace and imagine what that moment would be, where it would be, how it would be – and possibly with whom it would be. In an instant I was transported from my flat in windy and grey Stockholm to my grandparents’ house, a lovely and warm spring day under blue skies and my grandmother drinking coffee. She passed away in 1988 when I was just 16. I so wish I could have a day with her now, as an adult. That I could hug her again and tell her I love her.

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International Peace Day Logo, image from Wikimedia


If you were free to fly, would you?
Soar high among cotton ball clouds.
If free your heart was to wander,
would you love what is not allowed?
If you could escape from your everyday life,
and set out for the great beyond,
would you feel free, or lonely,
when you’re released from your bond?
If freedom of speech was a concept
so foreign to you and your kind,
would you be happy to wander,
free in body, but not in mind?
Invisible chains and constructs,
beliefs in what’s right and wrong,
powerful weapons that keep us
locked up, where we don’t belong.
But what is the ultimate freedom, I ask?
What is it we seek, what should be?
A freedom to live like we want to;
to love, to think and be free!

The Midweek Motif at Poets United this week is Captivity. As I started to turn the concept of captivity over in my mind I couldn’t decide which kind of captivity I wanted to write about. Who would be happy with the freedom to speak their mind if they weren’t free to love as they pleased? Who would be happy to walk the streets freely without the right to speak their mind? To love if shackled in body? And it all became interconnected (as I suppose it should have been from the beginning)… So I’m not writing about captivity per se, but about what being free should be. And while I understand fully that it is a simplistic way of looking at this topic, this is just poetry… 

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Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie, Photo Challenge #53 (photo: Caleb)

Worshipped above all else
– the last drop of water.
In a land where no rain would fall
and all the seas were dry.

I meant for this to be longer, but somehow couldn’t find any more words. I guess that means the poem’s done with me (even though I didn’t think I was done with it). This is for Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie and their Photo Challenge #53, which is also where I got the above image (credit: Caleb).

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