20 Lines A Day

A Community of Writers and Photographers


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The Bridge of Time and Promise

Originally posted on who could know then :

dear friends.. i felt the need to write some prose while i worked on the co write poems i mentioned in my last post, the song was chosen not for the title or video but for the close your eyes experience.
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The Bridge of Time and Promise
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Chaos was the default setting in my family. The earliest memory of my uncertain future, was me sitting in the sturdy chrome legged high chair that provided a perfect mezzanine level view of the kitchen table. From the relative safety of that private perch sitting plush as a prince behind my oversized formica tray, I could hear and see everything.

It was a cruel foreshadowing of how I would eventually view the world.

Wednesday meant spaghetti and meatballs for dinner, and not ’50′s style Americanized Chef Boyardee spaghetti either. No, not in our house. I can remember watching for…

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A Stormy Night With You

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As I listen to the rain spattering against my cabin’s window,
I think of that night when we were stranded here.
The roads were washed out and the creek overflowing,
but I was in your arms , safe, warm, a long-awaited dream.

I saw the lights blink on the alarm clock, the bang on the transmitter.
I smiled, we were alone, you and I , no one would check on us.
I tugged on grandma’s quilt and you tugged back-asleep.
I listened to the sweet sound of your breath, soft, even.

When I awoke, stars glimmered in the window, the clock was flashing.
Darkness still surrounded me, along with your strong, hard arms.
I wanted this night to last forever, the moon seemed satisfied with just a peek at us.
You and I, finally in a place where life brought a freshness-alone, together.


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A Stormy Night With You

Image
As I listen to the rain spattering against my cabin’s window,
I think of that night when we were stranded here.
The roads were washed out and the creek overflowing,
but I was in your arms , safe, warm, a long-awaited dream.

I saw the lights blink on the alarm clock, the bang on the transmitter.
I smiled, we were alone, you and I , no one would check on us.
I tugged on grandma’s quilt and you tugged back-asleep.
I listened to the sweet sound of your breath, soft, even.

When I awoke, stars glimmered in the window, the clock was flashing.
Darkness still surrounded me, along with your strong, hard arms.
I wanted this night to last forever, the moon seemed satisfied with just a peek at us.
You and I, finally in a place where life brought a freshness-alone, together.


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shoots and wings, thresholds and thank you

Originally posted on who could know then :

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i woke today to an earlier light,

slicing sun… between wooden blinds.

Spring soil…it shifts and yearns

in shy murmurs… of shoots and wings.

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how the wind is alive

with the long forgotten calls

of weary immigrant birds,

floating currents… returning home.

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and maybe… my day is here

to shed this curfew of skin and doubt,

finally… free myself forward

shutter eyes that lurk behind my head.

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let my instinct… map a ready sky,

a fragile trust and mysterious as flight.

let unfurl… these inadvertent wings

and surrender my will to each unknown.

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there is stubborn in my bones

a rain worn feather remains as resolute,

and how much fear… i’ve let fly

oh, sweet wing of creation… take me home.
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thresholds
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When I began this little blog a year ago, I had such meager and modest…

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http://dailypost.wordpress.com/2014/04/03/prompt-back-door/Our Back 40

Originally posted on Living and Lovin:

http://dailypost.wordpress.com/2014/04/03/prompt-back-door/
So they say to describe our view out the back door or window to a stranger not sure any who stop here any more are strangers.
You have all seen the barn where I like to hide and do my Art work.
You have seen this place from up on the roof when it is covered with many feet of snow in winter.Most if they have been here have seen the wild birds and pretty flowers too.
So how would I describe this place to a stranger from another world?
Simply stated these days it is my piece of Heaven on Earth

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Surgery was April Fool’s Day

Originally posted on Living and Lovin:

The last day of March I was not allowed a midnight snack as I would finally go in to have the shoulder addressed.

April Fool’s Day no wonder I was moved up no one else wanted to take a chance I on the other hand was hoping for less pain and more use.

I had PT the next day yes real quick and tomorrow the stitches come out and more work twice a week for 6 to 8 weeks will begin in earnest.

I have a ice cuff I put on after exercises so I have no need for medication.

Life is good!

My son had another show last night in WY and I sat at home painting Roses he had Rose Art to sell and neither of us planned any of it I just decided to chill before surgery with a few hours of painting with a Artist from…

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There is a place

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There is a place in my heart, somewhere, I am sure-
where I can still feel, still love, still care.

My world is so empty, unfulfilling, sorrowful,
I cannot remember joy, peace, wanting to wake up.

I search for my little children, the son I lost,
Those who grew up and moved on without me.

I search for a love I tried so hard to believe in,
and never spent a night without a doubt or fear.

Surely, there is a place where my mother, my son,
my life still exists, waits for me as I wait alone.

I look, I try, but the lies, the lack of caring shouts.
Around me, it is like life laughing in my face.

I am your wife, I am your mother, I am your daughter,
You cannot change that any more than I can change you.

There is a place where I will get what I have toiled for
my entire life. That I have suffered and begged for.

When I get there, some of you may be there, and then,
some of you will not. Then, finally, I will have peace.

My world is so empty, unfulfilling, sorrowful,
I cannot remember joy, peace, wanting to wake up.

I search for my little children, the son I lost,
Those who grew up and moved on without me.

I search for a love I tried so hard to believe in,
and never spent a night without a doubt or fear.

Surely, there is a place where my mother, my son,
my life still exists, waits for me as I wait alone.

I look, I try, but the lies, the lack of caring shouts.
Around me, it is like life laughing in my face.

I am your wife, I am your mother, I am your daughter,
You cannot change that any more than I can change you.

There is a place where I will get what I have toiled for
my entire life. That I have suffered and begged for.

When I get there, some of you may be there, and then,
some of you will not. Then, finally, I will have peace.


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underneath below…Haiku/ Tanka

Originally posted on who could know then :

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i have known more pain

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than i can hope to forget,

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yet…i look skyward..
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these eyes collect joy,
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like a jewel thief stealing

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moments where i can.
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when the moonlit skies
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reflect more darkness than light,

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i hide behind clouds.
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this melancholy…
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it lays shallow in my lungs,
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waiting to exhale.
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battered and lonely,

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you found me once on the shore…

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but i crash in waves…
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underneath below

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the undertow i create

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in amniotic

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silence i know all too well,

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a slave to the familiar.
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tell me… stars have life,

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find me… whenever i hide.

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underneath…

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below.
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Swallowed by the City

From the forest
Came a man
Before, had never seen a road.
The darkened river
Solid, without movement
Frightened him.
He is of the past
A world far different
From our own.
He knows the trees
Converses with the rivers and the wind.
Feels the weather in his soul.
Crowded cities alienate his heart.
He wanders with apprehension
Along the streets
Losing all sense of self with each step.
Sweet smell of mountains and moss
Replaced with smoke and smog.
He forgets who he is
In order to survive in the chiseled city world,
Golden sun is replaced with
Cold hard cash.
Until he walks in shoes
Losing all memory of the earth beneath his feet.
The city swallows him whole
Enveloping him in glitz and glamour
Promise of a better life.
He is kept busy with the whirls
Of life
But a closer look reveals
Something missing.
Little holes, empty pockets
A heart aching for more
Than hardened buildings
And the quest for more things.


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The Memory Of Trees – Inspirational Quotations

“For me, trees have always been the most penetrating preachers. I revere them when they live in tribes and families, in forests and groves. And even more I revere them when they stand alone. They are like lonely persons. Not like hermits who have stolen away out of some weakness, but like great, solitary men, like Beethoven and Nietzsche. In their highest boughs the world rustles, their roots rest in infinity; but they do not lose themselves there, they struggle with all the force of their lives for one thing only: to fulfill themselves according to their own laws, to build up their own form, to represent themselves. Nothing is holier, nothing is more exemplary than a beautiful, strong tree. Herman Hesse

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