Cracks in the China

 

Linking with the Sunday Muse for Muse #170 

Hosted this week by the amazing poet Shay!

Come join us!

An old woman looks in a mirror, recalls a little girl with a rag doll, and wonders what became of the little girl. ~Robert Brault

 

I used to have perfect vision

Could see straight like the barrel of a new gun

But things get lost in the passage

Heirlooms we once held tightly

Become too heavy and slip out of our hands

China gets broken

And so do knees and hearts

The view ahead becomes too close

And the rear view is like a trip to China away

The strange thing is

It all happens slow and yet so fast

You don’t remember the day it happens

But you look in the mirror one morning and think

What is that?!

For it is an eternity and a moment’s blur of things all at once

A million grimaces and smiles of hello and goodbye

 wrapped around a lifetime of being in the thick of it

From torn ligaments into divorce and on to cataracts

It all sounds sad and full of pain

But frankly if you have been living life fully

Then it is part of the package

You can see it as a blessing or a curse

Just don’t use a magnifying mirror!

 

 

 

The Cat's Meow Three Poems Fuur One

 

Linking with the Sunday Muse for Muse # 148 hosted this week by the incredible talent and wonderful friend Shay!

The Cat Lady,

The cat lady has a secret underneath her oversized dress

. She is more than a frumpy grandma with cold cream and hair a mess

. When the day has ended and the lights have all been dimmed,

 she strips down to her sexy garter belt all ready for her Tim.

  He is tall dark and handsome with a certain devonaire

 he never leaves her lonely and listens to all her cares. 

He always returns no matter how far he roams 

cause where there is a bowl of friakies is where he will call home.

At Midnight,

Touched by midnight where wolves do more than howl

 the heat of abandon rises like voices in a choir

 stripping away the layers that hide the deepest wants

 that is where the naked truth reveals more than whispered lies.

Pitch Black Ink,

You are the ink to my paper that tells the greatest tale.

 The memory of fascination

 the kiss as revealing as no gown

. In the darkness the light is oh so bright.

 I see stars fall and poetry rise from every sigh. 

The Memory of Innocence

Linking with the Sunday Muse for Muse # 72 hosted this week by Shay one of the most amazing poets I know!

Come join us!

"No one loses their innocence.  It is either taken or given away willingly."

~ Tiffany Madison

It is born with us and stays close like flannel

But only for a little while

Soon it departs like a wandering man

That never completely returns

There are letters that are sent

Not often

 but they are always reminders

 of what was

the soft bond of nurturing

the perfume that lingers in the room

but soon will be gone

though we never forget it

it is a pastel book mark within pages no longer turned

for the lace of my bodice

 keeps me awaiting what will come

but the memory of innocence

is the soft reminder of what once was

and in a small part of my heart

always will be

Keeping Me On My Toes

Photo by Wellington Cunha from Pexels

Weekend Mini-Challenge ~ Homographic FUN @ Imaginary Gardens

Beautiful Magaly is inviting us to play with homographs, or words that share the same spelling, but have rather different meanings.

 Here is my attempt.  I do hope I do not tear my paper when my frustrated tears make it wet.  LOL

The stages of life have a way of making a grand entrance.  The only problem is they do not come in at the entrance, they come in at the side door or exit.   Nothing can be completely predicted.  There always has to be surprises to keep me on my toes. I can try to have my ducks all in a row, but most likely I will be lost at sea trying to row my boat without a paddle.  You see, trying to keep a sense of control is kind of like trying to spit at the wind, you wind up wetter than something that has washed up to shore.  The biggest wave that could possibly come will come when you do not want to get wet; that is just how it works.  So you might as well wave certainty goodbye.  It won’t stay for long, and when it leaves it won’t be back anytime soon.  In fact, it will leave like a bat out of hell, and then you will be lucky if your bat hits the ball out of the park even once for the rest of your days!  Now that I have burst the bubble of your view of the future, like a reader’s digest article about death and destruction, let me give you a pill of hope for you to digest for the road:

Life is not easy

We know that is true

But in all its imperfections

It is laced with blessings too

They are sewn in the fabric

Wrinkled or straight

We can spend our whole life

Trying to iron and evening the creases we hate

But when evening is truly upon us

We realize that the wrinkles are a gift of grace

They are part of the beautiful garment of life

And all the blessings are also a part of our fate.

©Carrie Van Horn 2019

Say Hello To Birtha

Image Source

Say hello to "Birtha" my new blog about menopause.....growing older.....life......poetry......food.....health......fat thighs........and the meaning of life.

Come back and check it out.  

I'll leave the light on for you.