Lost

   I haven't been on here for quite a while. I feel really guilty about that. Summer has been extremely busy and I have been working on a few projects; a book being one of them. It has been a great summer and I have enjoyed every minute of it; I have the pictures to prove it.

   This poem, I titled Lost, came from a writing prompt last night at The River Bottom Writers group meeting. The prompt was 'What is lost among the stars.'

   Two reasons encouraged me to write this poem. The first is my great friend Leslie, to whom I dedicate this poem, who noted one day that she would like to see me write something less...how shall we say?...gloomy. The second reason was due to dreams that I have lost so many years ago and want to find them again.

   Dreams are so important to all of us. Hold fast to your dreams and see them become reality. Keep writing!! Enjoy!!

Lost

There is something lost deep among the stars

Embedded in the rich ebony sky

Their jeweled light captures my searching gaze

As a moth drawn to a flickering flame

Somewhere within the arms of the heavens

Souls of the sleeping wander the vast night

Seeking relics abandoned and forgotten

Now buried and hidden beyond the stars

Past the Guardians of the Forgotten

Souls hunt ‘til colours of morning’s dawn shine

Many find seizing tight to meet the gleam

Others, lowered brow, awaken to bleak gray

There is something lost deep among the stars

Embedded in the rich ebony sky

As darkness blankets me my soul lifts high

I drift past the Guardians of Lost Dreams

Here within the arms of the vast heavens

Searching consumes each decaying minute

The colours of dawn will not see empty hands

With lifted brow, firm grasp, hope shines brighter

Waited

    Lately, I have been watching Doctor Who. A British series about a man, a Time Lord, called The Doctor who travels through space and time having adventures. He is always accompanied by a woman companion. The last couple of season it was with a girl named Amelia Pond (she later gets married and then Rory comes along too). There have been a few episodes where Amelia has waited for The doctor and/or Rory to save her.  She seemed to be always waiting. Soon she was known as 'The girl who waited.'
    I feel like 'The girl who waited'. Except, my story is different than Amelia Pond's.  I don't have anyone to come and rescue me. You would need to have met them for them to do that. I am 'the girl who's waiting.' Waiting for someone who isn't coming. They say he will come when you aren't looking or waiting for him anymore. But I have a feeling he won't ever come.
    At River Bottom Writers group I wrote this poem (the prompt: a bitter taste) I wasn't intending to share. In the end I did. I didn't think I was going to get emotional while I read it but I did. The crackling voice and tears came searing into my soul the truth of what I had written.
    Writing brings out the emotions, the dreams, the truths hidden deep, and secrets we wouldn't normally share. This is my truth.
     Keep writing all!!!

Waited

I've been waiting for you to come
Since I was yet a little girl
Dreams of shining knights in armour
Gifts of sapphire roses that twirl

I've been waiting for you to come
Since I was yet a lonely teen
Daydreams of true, valiant princes
Rescues me from an evil fiend

I've been waiting for you to come
Since I was yet a woman young
Visions of a devoted man
Searching for me 'til feet stung

I've been waiting for you to come
For as long as I remember
Waiting for you to walk with me
To the last days of Decembers

I've been waiting for you to come
With every lonesome breathe I take
Picturing our babe in your arms
A family of our own make

I've been waiting for you to come
With each anguished beat of my heart
But time ticks on viciously swift
Youthful dreams taste bitter and tart

I've been waiting for you to come
Since I was yet very little
The truth that you will never come
Scorches my soul black and brittle

I've been waiting for you to come
And now it's time I wait no more
I've waited long for you to come
And ne'er shall I wait anymore

Love of Eros: Part 3

Pushing that thought aside I head to my usual spot in the Teashop, which is empty and I breathe a sigh of relief. I don’t glance around to see if anyone else is there but keep my sights set on my out of the way spot. If there are people here I wonder what they think when they look at me. I don’t want it to bother me and yet it always does. It’s not so much as people, as men who really have my concern. All I see is men being friendly on the outside, but running away from a raging herd of wildebeest on the inside. This is how I see myself - true beast.

My appearance? I can just imagine how I look. I don’t need a mirror. I’ve seen it time and time again, through eyes the colour of mud slime.. There are times where I try to dress sophisticated or hot but seem to fall short. My mud dark hair with its little Medusa strands are probably ready to strike anyone who comes too close. Body size? After lacking in model perfection and height closely resemble a mix between the Michelin Man and the Stay Puff Marshmallow Man. 

Who or what could I blame? Genes? A lack of self confidence or stress? An evil spell cast on me by a vengeful sorceress? At least spells could be broken.

 A headache is forming. This isn’t worth thinking about. I have thought about it so many times it couldn’t continue. I would have to accept the fact that I might be single for the rest of my life and Valentine’s Day would, in fact, be just another day. The only thing now was to carry out this pronouncement.

 I unloaded my greasy, fingerprinted laptop that my best efforts never managed to stay clean. Mae stopped at the table to ask if I wanted my usual. I smiled at The Teashop owner and nodded. In less than a minute she brought out my pink wreathed Coalport teaset steaming hot with honeysuckle and camomile tea. If truth be told she most likely had it ready. I thank her then sit down.

 The fragrance of the steeping tea relaxes me and the headache that once was brewing eased. Focus on my writing is what I need right now. I poured my tea as my laptop warmed up. Closing my eyes I settle back against the chair. The first lip burning sip is delicious. A heavenly warmth spreads through my body. I smile at this simple pleasure forgetting all about the world and its sickness called love.

I open my eyes to survey my surroundings, actually not my surroundings, I could tell you exactly what went where and if something had been moved. What I was really surveying is what I couldn’t do when I first entered the teashop; see who else was here. Table after table was empty until I came to the mahogany table by the window. A man sat, with legs stretched, out blatantly staring at me.

A man sat, with legs stretched out, blatantly staring at me. His sun hued hair glowed like a halo in the light cascading from the windows. Sapphire eyes, above a radiant smile, bore deeply into mine drawing me in.

 Despite the magnetic pull I found the strength to snatch my gaze away. I made eye contact with Mae, who had the cliché ‘from ear to ear’, grin. What secret was she hiding? Then I looked back to the man. He was no longer sitting at the window. At his full height he surpassed my 5’3” with ease. I watched as he walked with grace and confidence toward me the same smile never leaving his face. This godlike man couldn’t possibly be coming toward me?

Oh My Gosh he was! 

 

I put my teacup down, my nervous fingers almost spilling the contents. I bit my lip at this exhibition of nervousness. Cursing inwardly and all I could do is pretend to write. What came out on the screen resembled a two year old pushing wildly at the keys. There was no stopping my fingers. I risked a glance up and had to tilt my head way back to look at this man. My stomach fluttered and I had to gulp to keep the butterflies from escaping. He seemed to smile wider at my nervousness. And despite my nerves I smiled back.

“Good evening,” his voice was deep and angelic. “May I join you?” I nodded not taking my eyes from his as he sat down smoothly in the seat across from me. In his eyes I saw a future full of love.

The Love of Eros: Part 2

I pick up the cooling concoction in the Coalport teacup with its pink mulberry wreath design, her most requested set and place it to my lips. The taste is pleasing. Past the rim of the cup I notice a white statue of a man on one knee before a woman in a flowing dress catches my eye. I, Eros, envy him his love; envy the love of the mortals that are affected by the proverbial arrows of amour. These modern mortals have forgotten that centuries ago during Emperor Claudius, who banned marriage to keep his soldiers focused on war, lovers sought out Valentine, a priest, to marry them in secret. If it meant being with my chocolate haired writer I would go to any corner of the earth to be with her.

Valentine married the secret lovers until Emperor Claudius discovered the treason. He sentenced the treacherous Valentine to death. I watched as he sat in his prison, a dank and dirty place, no regret shadowed his face. Lovers who he had secretly married visited him bringing him flowers and notes showing their gratitude. I would shower my cherub with anything that she desires. As I have come to know she does not require extravagance. Hers is a giving heart. Running through her veins is pure intentions towards mankind as evident in her actions. Caring for those who cannot care for themselves is the essence of who she is.

My intentions, genuine as they may have been, to help Valentine escape his confinement were locked away too. I am bound, by law, not to interfere. Interference on my part is prohibited. The only act of mercy I could give was the gift of love for the jailer’s daughter and hers in return. For the time they had with each other he felt the same love others had experienced.  The same love I pray to experience with her. Not just until death but for all eternity. 

I set down my teacup and for a moment I watch out the window as numerous couples waltz in perfect step to Sleeping Beauty Waltz by Tchaikovsky. It took me back to another February 14^th when the couples Valentine had married and all citizens gathered. Not for a festive dance but for an execution; Valentine’s execution. Before he was taken to meet the hangman he gave his love one last letter signing it ‘From your Valentine.’ I understand better now the magnitude of sorrow each tear she shed at his death and after with each word she read. If I were never to hold my tender-hearted angel again, or gaze into her ever changing hazel eyes, or cherish each word she spoke the world would know my sorrow. 

Doubt, an uncharacteristic becoming a god but not a man, harassed my mind as the hands faithfully circled the clock to the hour of her coming. Would she come? A shadow passes by the window, the bell above the door chimes; my heart stops and my breath catches.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I enter The Antique Tea Shop with my overburdened laptop case slung painfully over my shoulder. I wasn’t going to come today. The thought of being around love sick couples was a little nauseating more on the envious side. Then deciding against an equally depressing night alone at home I gathered my things and came to the place that could take me away from the world, even for a short time.

 February 14^th is just another day I tell myself hoping one day I will believe it. I definitely didn’t have ‘a love of my life’ who would get on bended knee, buy chocolates, send flowers,  or shower me with jewellery (not that I care for an abundance of those things but once in awhile would be nice). All my married or dating friends would be out tonight. They invited me to come along. But really, who wants to be a third seat on a bicycle built for two. This is a night for lovers to declare, again or for the first time, their undying love. Of course I am jealous and it hurts to know that I will never feel that kind of adoration. If we are being realistic who would ever go out with me.