Call Waiting

    Image by Sarlota Ban

There is no one on the line

no one to talk to

no one to listen

when I call your name

There are no more wires

no strings

attaching source to end point

sender to receiver

me to you

What can I do  

with these antiquated emotions?

Box them up,

in a plain brown wrapper

sealed with packing tape

to be placed safely in the back

of a rented, storage unit?

Or do I save them

to an external sorage device

forever safe

able to be accessed

at some future date?

Or do I write them out, longhand…

in cursive

on heavy, scented parchment

then roll it up

and slip into a bottle

to be stoppered

and thrown to the sea?

When I call your name

there is no one to talk to

no one to listen

After a VERY long dry spell I am glad to be back and linking this to Magpie Tales, the weekly, creative writing prompt.

It Is What It Is...Not

I dream

and in my dream

things are cross-wise, wrong…

I scour the sink

with my toothbrush,

and tiny black bits of dirt

fall from the bristles.

Everything is off a bit,

like the reflection from the mirror

when the medicine cabinet door

is ajar, just a bit

Then I wake and find you gone.

This will be a poem one day.  For now though it's just 55 words for G-man and his FF55.  Click on the link and check it out!

Lucky Strike

     Image by R.A.D. Stainforth 

I remember

gentle pressure of your lips.

Friction, spark, fire:

you ignite,

I burn.

But that’s past.

Turns out the brass ring

was only smoke.

A stale future

permeates my clothes and hair.

Ashes,ashes,we all fall down.

Check out more responses to the picture by R.A.D. Stainforth at The Mag weekly, online writing prompt provided by Tess Kincaid.

Safety in Numbers

Sunday morning I balance my check book;

the orderliness  of rows and columns is comforting.

I write in pencil, so errors can be erased,

though I rarely make a mistake.

I print the numbers deliberately,

 forming each line and curve with care.

I double-check the math, and when I am finished

 the bank and I agree: everything balances.

I print ‘BALANCED!” with precision

across the front of the statement in ink,

because once reconciled, it never changes.

Then I file the statement in the hanging file labeled

‘Bank Statements-Checking’ in the

third drawer of the file cabinet in my home office.

And everything is just so.

Next I do Sudoku puzzles.

The nine, neat boxes stacked in order wait for me;

there is logic, process, method used to solve the problem.

It is a comfort to find where each number belongs.

There are rules to follow as I systematically fill in the grid.

Numbers are safe (thus the expression).

They don’t lie, or cheat, or grow bored and fall out of love.

One day I will move on to the Sunday Crossword Puzzle,

but not yet. 

I am not yet ready to deal in the treachery of words.

Image by bits-apogee.org

This can be found at Poets United in their Poetry Pantry.  Go there to see lots of others' offerings, or post a poem of your own.  

Away

Exile works both ways;

do you ever miss my touch,

soft along your skin?

Image by experienceproject.com