The Living Poetry visual prompt
This phone
was my last defense
to not letting you go
It has been 5 years
since we last spoke
last smiled
last touched
last kissed
This phone
stored our love
our life together
Today
I chose to live on
without you
without us
So
I break our tie
to set both of us free
You said
you wanted to be a painter
from a young age
Then you gave up on that
after a few attempts
and a reality check
Now
you spit out phrases
to shut off
the squirming words
inside your sore head
You are not sure
if they are just noises
or music notes
As a reader
I see paintings
in a vast array of
pigments and colours
when reading your words
No matter how much
you think you may fail
you are an artist
by default
– dedicated to Mike Ennenbach Mike’s Manic Word Depot
We are created equal and in God’s image. This sums it up. I have to reblog…
You see us under the bridge.
In dirty clothes and nasty fingernails.
The druggies have no teeth…and the poor and unlucky too.
We sit hoping….wanting…
Wanting food and water…most of the time…
And a kind word
That maybe God has not forgotten us
And if we hold on
Keep pushing forward
Reaching even small goals…
That in the end.
Someone will remember us.
And we shall enter his kingdom as princes to the King.
Not as paupers and beggars but princes.
And oh what a glorious day that will be.
Once upon a time
our story was an inspiration
in every piece of music you wrote
I hoped it stayed that way
You and your guitar
by the ivy clothed window
facing the morning honey beams
Life is happening nowadays
You run out of time
to hear the birds’ morning routine
and wish coffee can be drip fed
My luxury of morning coffee in bed
is downgraded to Valentine’s treat
We are no strangers
But if I have to choose
I am willing to be your old guitar
play me till your fingers bleed
and your heart is content
once again
I thank the beginning of each and every day
Yesterdays are locked away
Triumph and defeat are two masters the same
in the fate of facing a brand new day
I went to the bank with Frank
He couldn’t understand
why there were three service windows
and only one teller
We were in the queue of five
It was quite a stressful morning for Frank
It started with my hair colour
Frank pointed at my hair
“Your hair should be black”
He said that to me
every time I wanted to start a sentence
I felt bad
I forgot to tell him before hand
I spooked him with dark blonde hair
on an asian face
It wasn’t logical
Frank was right
My hair should be black
Frank started to pace up and down the queue
“Three windows, one person
it doesn’t add up”
He looked at me
“You hair should be black”
I suggested we went out to the park
left the banking for another day
We walked in the Autumn air
I put my green beanie on
Frank and I shared cookies
underneath a liquid amber
near an empty skateboard park
We counted the cookies
before we enjoyed them
four on each layer
two layers in the Tupperware
four cookies each we had
To Frank
that made perfect sense
I see you everywhere
I am afraid to look too close, too intently
you may evaporate from my thinning mind
I paid attention to the Guinness beer at the bar
I heard your say
“come on love, let’s have a fag outside”
I saw you run topless along Mona Vale beach
Your laughter was a string of bells
sent a sense of peace in the midst of roaring waves
I fixed my eyes to you in the powder room
you straightened the black laced body sliming coset
touched up your flaming red lipstick
I dared not to approach
You might swirl up in the cigarette smoke
You might disappear into the cloud
You might walk back into the dressing mirror
I still see you everywhere
I try not to look too close, too intently
then you may stay a little longer in my memory
Everything seems lovely on the surface.
There must be something inherently wrong with me.
That’s why I am surrounded by regrets.
It starts all over again.
The candle light is drowning
in a pool of waxy I love yous.
Silence is the inevitable ending.
This is a poetry and painting collaboration with emerging Sydney Painter Virginia Bucknell
Love
demands absolute devotion
The stage
decorated with charisma and wit
Wild possession
seized by concealed undercurrent
Passion
let it downpour in crimson
Death
gravitates towards eternity
Oil painting ‘Love Story’ by Virginia Bucknell, you may see more of Virginia’s paintings via: Art Lovers Australia Weebly Instagram
Flicker of Thoughts 