postcard fiction

silk lace

silk lace
madly ungloved
ballooning as if umbrellaed

I spent several fruitless hours attempting the NaPoWriMo prompt of a love sonnet.

So I turned to the Oracle 2 words from this morning and Muri’s Scavenger Hunt nonce poem list, composing a Mouse poem.

The Mouse by Michael “Mouse” Murdoch – a 3 line poem with a title written all in lower case. The title is the same as the first line. L1: 2 single syllable words having the same number of letters per word. L2: 4 syllables in 2 words. L3: 8 syllables in 4 words. No restriction or prohibition of subject or rhyme. BONUS: Just do this one please!

It follows yesterday’s surrealism if nothing else. The illustration is one of my Postcard Fictions from a few years ago.

When I returned, the scene had darkened.  Underneath layers of rain, the curtain was already falling over my head.
The clouds, no longer hidden, now speak for themselves.  We were united under an umbrella of overpowering landscape.
I just stood there, lost, watching it all unfold in front of me.

Flashback

how to become a traveler s

Our origins are hard to find–
we turn around, try to unwind
the center point of what’s behind–
we travel blind, we travel blind.

With roots and branches all entwined,
we’re lost in our unconscious mind–
remembrance wanders unconfined
and recombined, and recombined.

We long for all to be divined,
controlled by talismans and signs–
but life seems always disinclined
to be defined, to be defined.

For Grace at dVerse, a monotetra. I don’t usually write to a specific rhythm, but I enjoyed composing this. I happened also to pick a good rhyming word right off.

I could not find the photos for this art, which I did for one of Jane’s Sunday Strange Microfiction prompts, in 2017, so I don’t have a close up. But here’s the translation of the words.

What to do between the silent secrets of stars?
Open the question at the crossroads of memory and your dreams.
Chase clouds of deep light.
Learn how to become a traveler in the unexplainable.
(in any order…)

Just goes to show I’m still writing about the same things. Although in this case I had some help from the collage box Oracle.

Already Dead

We have written our words all
over the land, constructed cages
to contain what we can’t
control.  We have put a price
on all the things that can’t
be bought or sold, raised
our voices until we are all
deaf.  We have invented gods
of fear instead of harmony,
raped and discarded what could be
raped and discarded, left
bloody sorrow to fertilize
anything mistakenly overlooked.
We long ago sold our souls,
and our hollowness is so vast
no one can measure it.  And still
we look for more more more–
because what can ever satisfy
the absence of what was
never there?

2-gone-silent-s

For Brendan’s earthweal challenge, already dead. The art is a postcard fiction from 2017, but it seemed appropriate to both the theme and my thoughts.

4-empty-handed-s

You have to become empty in order to begin to fill up again. Perhaps we can learn to choose more wisely this time.

Linking to dVerse OLN, hosted by Bjorn.