The Circle – Part VII – Faye. She could be Atlas, but she’s tiny, timidly peeking at her potential makes her nose twitch and appear more whiny: Self-doubt is never a good credential. To boost herself, she scurries off to the class. Cautiously scuttling forward with her guides She nervously asks about if she’ll pass….
Morning Haiku – 25
Twenty-five green shades Pulled over the sly eyes of Summer gambollers.
Aug05
Daddy’s dead. And I didn’t kill him, like Sylvia said. And I cried on the day he died. I don’t know why. If Mum reads this, who will she miss? Will it be me? Or our absentee? Either way, she won’t cry… Carmen Miranda, Portuguese-born Brazilian samba singer, dancer, actress and film star, died today…
Morning Haiku – 24
All seven sons fly The nest from sisters’ crying Tweets all Summer long.
Liebster Award Nomination
Today, I received a notification for the Liebster Award from Peaks of Cheeks, who digs, digs, digs into our mine the whole day through… Thank you so much, I am honoured to be nominated. So, (Deep inhalation of breath) here goes…. The Rules: Thank the blogger who nominated you and add a link to their…
Aug04
When do I begin? Where I heard the wolf howl? If all at once laughter escaped the twisting dawn, If in reflected midnight sunsets a secret touch is felt will dark fingertips journey? Soft everything. A red blue calls and the forgotten city remembered hurries still. Will I forget to remember the sleeping memory shadow?
Morning Haiku – 23
Green scent of green mint Chopped into perfect Summer Sauce poured on roast lamb.
Aug03
Poenitet. There each new morning, emerging from the shadows darkening in all four corners of the room, awaits each aspect of Poenitet. The first holds a pitchfork with prongs to turn back time just to that excruciating moment: The rasping of a voice, shouting; The strain within muscles, lashing out; The muddle of misplaced promises…
Morning Haiku – 22
Yellow butterfly Drinks nectar from bowing cups Of Summer lilies.
Aug02
What is Pink? Is Chiffon always that colour? If it is, then it’s my most favourite cloth. Each day, I swear, her dress becomes my new true, and I’m drawn further into her subtle, russet lips, like unfurling petals of an early Summer rose. I long study the shine of her hair, and how it…