Where do we go when we die on the inside?
Do we rupture our attachment to family? Our daily bread?
Our ability to mimic breath?
Jean-Michel Basquiat died of a heroin overdose at the age of 27 in 1988.
Over the years we age and change our perspective.
Through the looking glass.
Are my dreams worth salvaging or should I abandon them immediately?
The subject of this week’s photo challenge is patterns. In a new post specifically created for this challenge, share a picture which means PATTERN to you!
The exterior of a house in Sierra Leone, West Africa. My heart is drawn to the pattern of neglect, the pattern of deterioration.
When I was growing up my mother would say to me: “Child of mine you have your head in the clouds.”
When I grew older I discovered that folks who write poetry are in the minority.
I’m half afraid to write poetry
for you who never read it much
and I’m left laboring
with the secrets and the silence
In plain language.
— Adrienne Rich
Daily Prompt: The Glass
Is the glass half-full, or half-empty?
In a new post specifically created for this challenge, share a picture which means FROM ABOVE to you!
This feather fell from above and rested a while in my garden.
Born again. Another day. Regenerated, cells reprised.
Always. Change. Still. Constant.
Sleep is our exile: from birth to exile.
In our dreams we perform twice-hourly spacewalks to retrieve (several) film cassettes.
The purpose of this lonely circling rendezvous is to move and shake in mystical states, in anticipation of the cliffhanger scene when we forget our safe world in the lonely circle and fail to return from our dreams.
How quickly the lighted taper of our existence burns to vapor, as we fade to black on Earth’s surface.
Return home to our seedpods, in a distant sky with different stars. Far from the astronomer’s gaze.
With our Earth eyes disabled, we use transcendental meditation to put the finishing touches to our minds.
At the time of writing, our film is Untitled.
Two bodies speak to each other in smoke rings.
Signals blown back and forth. The mysterious air
between the pair: cloaking their mystery.
What are they saying? Is language extinct?
Are words with all their meanings pinned
down. Frozen. Stiff.
She adds the tragic loss of her daughter “Michele” to the mystery of how humankind came to be here on Earth.
If God’s people cannot agree on the Beginning of Time, her wish is that her daughter will never trace her and save herself the disappointment of discovering the tale of her beginning —
Upon a Time.”
Her homeland is a primitive island in the midst of the Caribbean Sea.
“Learning to reading
was reserved for the rulers of the island.
As Michele grows up, she will want to be read to at night. What
will her mother tell her? Should she say that her eyesight is poor.
* * *
My illiterate, mother.
I span her like a shadow self,
calling out her name. “Frances”.
Step into my tracks, Frances. Frances.
Tell me your life story. In my dreams
you are a lifesaver.
You are a palm reader. You read palms.
You read me every night.
There beside me…. whispering incantations,
telling me what comes next…
Replacing fairytales? Replacing
I remember who I am today.