To Matter Or Not To Matter

July Writing Prompts: # 5 The Sting of Rejection

Photo A.M. Moscoso

A funny thing happened

on the way to my grave

I thought I mattered, I thought I counted, I thought people meant what they said.

And then one day I took a breath

and landed in a ditch.

Nobody noticed I was missing

until a frantic friend called to ask me…

Do I matter? Do I count?

I know I can count on you to be there- you’re such a dear and precious friend.

Sleeping Ripples

RDP Sunday–RIPPLES

I want to be where the sun is shining and the water moves lazy and sleepy half awake and half in dreams to the shore one little ripple at a time.

I want to be where the sun is shining and the water gurgles and turns, acting as innocent as silver, delicate droplets of rain falling into a lake, one quiet ripple at a time.

I want to be where the sun is shining and the water wakes up from it’s dreams of solitude and quiet and races to the shore in one viscous ripple after another.

Next Summer

Word of The Day Prompt: Awakening

Waiting for next Summer

waiting for the next time I can sit back and sip a Mojito at the restaurant down the street

and complain to my friends

about how heavy the traffic was today, how busy I was at work, how I almost didn’t get a seat on the train.

Waiting for the world to wake up

for

Summer to start

for the clocks to start ticking again.

Four Walls Wilderness, USA

RDP SATURDAY: WILDERNESS

Photo A.M. Moscoso
Photo A.M. Moscoso
Photo A.M. Moscoso

I remember it, like it was only just a few months ago

that I could hop in my car

catch a plane

buy a ticket on a train and a ride across the country

without a second thought.

I just packed up and went into the wilderness without a care in the world.

Photo A.M. Moscoso
Photo A.M. Moscoso

Has it been forever

since I’ve been lost in the wilderness

between these four walls

where it’s always midnight

and the Red Plague

has held sway over us all?

The 2nd Avenue Nomads

RDP SATURDAY: NOMAD

I travel the same gray path

from my front door

to my car

to the train that takes me to work.

 

From the station

it’s few steps to where I work

below the sidewalks, cracked with hard use

under the streets bumpy and worn

where 12 elephants walked shoulder to shoulder

just above my head

in 1903.

 

We are all just ghosts

from  different times

haunting 2nd Avenue.

 

Photo A.M. Moscoso

 

 

 

 

 

Unjust Spirits

FOWC with Fandango — Rage

Artist: Hieronymus Bosch

Have

you always been

so

cruel

indifferent

selfish

and

ignorant?

 

Have

you always been

so monstrous?

 

And what sort of beast am I

to have never seen it

to have tolerated it

from  you

for all of the  years?

 

Angry at you

furious at myself

my rage is a storm

that will tear the skies apart

until there is nothing left

of it

or

of me, of you.

 

A just and fitting end

for such unjust Spirts.

 

The Obstinate Cat

Ragtag Daily Prompt Thursday: Abstract in Black and White

                           ( sort of )

Artist: Wassily Kandinsky

If I wanted to tell the story

about the world as it is in this moment

compared to the one I came from

and the one I am going to end up living in

a year or so from now,

I think I  would tell it in fragments

a smile there

a betrayal there

a nightmare that stayed with me long after I woke up and started my day.

 

Bad jokes, kind gestures, Mozart, Robert Johnson and Abba made my house a home

 walking my dog up hills, why are there so many half eaten hamburgers at the side of the road?

 

It’s not hard to be polite in line if you have to stand

six feet away from someone

now we can smirk or grimace because nobody can see the

lower half of your face or hear what you say under your breath.

 

Life was a completed puzzle that the obstinate cats of the world

shoved off the table

piece by piece

to the floor

but not before they ate that one piece that goes in the middle

that one piece that made it all make sense

That’s the story I would tell.

::: Below are some portraits by Wassily Kandinsky that I spent some time looking at before I wrote today’s piece:::

Artist: Wassily Kandinsky

Artist: Wassily Kandinsky

Artist: Wassily Kandinsky

Fandango’s Friday Flashback-Yes You Heard That Right

Fandango’s Friday Flashback — April 24th

I posted this a year ago today-wow, it’s not  bad!

Na/GloPoWriMo Day 24: Locate a dictionary, thesaurus, or encyclopedia, open it at random, and consider the two pages in front of you to be your inspirational playground for the day. Maybe a strange word will catch your eye, or perhaps the mishmash of information will provide you with the germ of a poem

When it is bored
and looking for some fun
my brain sends a crazy message
straight to my tongue.

It plays with words I see
and ties them up in knots
it shoots them past my eyes
and straight out of my mouth:

Like.

Façade, facade
such an easy word to say!
One day I read it
and then in a meeting I pronounced it
Fuk-ah-day

 

The Beast

FOWC with Fandango — Head

I can’t get much further away from my life then I am now

I can’t give anymore of myself now

 I have no more goodwill to share, thoughts and prayers to give, light and positive vibes

to jiggle out of my soul

and send out on the backs of winged goddesses or golden unicorns

 into the universe-

Not when Gunhumpers and Trumphumpers  and Trailer Park Refugees hang out

en masse

at Walmart

as if they don’t have a care in the world

and the

Beast wearing the crimson crown

upon it’s thorny head

isn’t following them

waiting for it’s chance

to kiss them and caress them

to look them in the eye

and take them breathlessly

with the rest of us too.

Ps I Hate You

[WRITERS] EXERCISE #2: The Truth

Photo by Daria Shevtsova on Pexels.com

Every line

every dark shadow

every bad tooth

the jaw that hangs crooked from my skull,  the dull eyes, the thin lips

untouched , uncared for, discarded.

My face.

 

The Beast.

 

Trapped in a mirror

the one that hangs neglected in my hallway.

it screams from it’s glass prison

but

I shout it down

throw it down

crush it under words as heavy as stone

Shut up

you wasteland of skin and bone

nobody sees you, nobody cares for the looks of you

 

Not even me.

 

Photo by Thiago Matos on Pexels.com