With a thought the feeling returns and I impulsively clutch my chest. It won't go away. My mind whirls with disordered thoughts. I realise that I'm frowning again and try to relax my eyebrows. The pain abates a bit, and I chastise myself once again for my...
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Musings Stories
Talk's Cheap
A conversation between two people, one deaf the other mute.Hello all. I'm trying something out here. It's an 'internal musing.' I think it's called? Most of my stories so far here have been about nostalgic-look-backs, so I thought who better to ref nostalgia, than an old person? So I wrote a first draft and sent...
It has not always been a subject that concerned me. I mean since I first got online and started finding people I called friends, or just acquaintances. The fact that these are disembodied people who may or may not be what they say they are. I am the trust...
CK's Thoughts
Live, love and let live.It amazes me that we all seem to be looking for the same things in our lives.To be accepted by others for who and what we are. Yet I read some of the work and the comments here. Things that rings loud as I read, disturb me sometimes. Being a live and let...
Cherry Blossoms
Another puzzle to piece togetherFrost coats the cherries, pulling them from swaying branches, clinging like sorrow. Just last spring soft pink petals fluttered like butterflies patterning the ground with poetry and prose. Hard to believe that, in my grandfather’s time, feminine shaped s...
In my heart and mind a vagabond is who I be.Wandering place to place, no harmony you see. Never settling down, capricious by nature.Stable place, none, searching for adventure. Wanderer begging not for money, but forgiveness. Carrying not a sack, but much...
The Ballad of Nicholas Hughes
An elegy for the son of Sylvia Plath and Ted Hughes.The Ballad of Nicholas Hughes Suggested by the prose pieces of Sylvia Plath and writings about Sylvia Plath and Ted Hughes. The name Nicholas Hughes Doesn’t ring many bells … His reputation didn’t stretch very far … Except he was the son of two poets … An...
The Day Our Innocence Died
The pop song American Pie reconfigured to fit 9/11 memories.The Day Our Innocence Died By midnightraider61 Based on the song “American Pie” by Don McLean “The Day the Music Died” was February 3, 1959, the day Buddy Holly’s plane went down in a corn field. Don McLean wrote and recorded this song in 1973; at the tim...
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A Mistress to Many
I wrote this some time ago, towards the end of summer, about an affair. It's not what you think.Today, dear reader, I muse. I muse about a love affair that has consumed me for a good part of this summer. The beginning of the summer saw me and my unwilling mistress spend a lot of time together. I put a lot of effort in this affair, but the effort was...
Fruit Trees and Stupid People;My trees are full of fruit,my neighbors gather in groups.Oranges and Grapefruit everywhere,and there goes my neighbor,.. ( inhis underwear. I give them away forfree..) O.M.G. now he's on his knees.They bring over bags, bucket...
Hermit's Existence
Life is all about questions and answers.I think I have found the answer to a question,asked myself many times. How I can live life free, never causing anotherperson any hurt or despair? Become a recluse and live all by myself,never having to answer to anyone except me. Finding a place deep in t...
Coyote Moon
We are all children of the universe, Mother Nature is our guardian.A Children's Moon displayed today, upon a canvas bright and blue, not a cloud in the sky to see, the only thing on exhibit, you Mr. Moon. Showing yourself in the brightness of day, for children who would usually be asleep in their beds, when you appear at...
Unanswered Questions
Why is it easy to talk the talk, but hard to walk the walk?Why do I some days not want to go outside?Why do I curl into a ball not able to move?Why do I some days desire to run and hide?Why do I choose to withdraw not improve?Why do I seem forever stuck deep in a rut? Why do I dwell upon the negative things?Why d...
Lunaria annua
Where do we live?"Ride a cock horse to Banbury Cross" the old nursery rhyme goes, but although there are many fine ladies, I'm sure, few if any ride any kind of horse through the streets of this ancient town. If you are lucky you could see me going about my daily business...
I giggled, staring across the water, the tips of mybrilliantly painted orange toes staring back at me, wiggling like little piggies. “Hi!” I waved at them, sliding further in to the almost too hot water with a sigh, my gaze moving up the eggshell tile to...