20 Lines A Day

A Community of Writers and Photographers


Tidal Wave

Woman in water

There is the path that cleanses all
inequity, yet I just sit here
staring into space, epitomizing this
headache that started even before
I was fully awake, setting sail to
pity parties in my bathtub ocean,
confined by solid walls, no tide
to refresh impurities, a fish tank
in the background the only
indication of moving water,
stirring spirit

©SpiritLed 2014


5 Comments

found love

It burns in my heart

my vision of her never yielding

wants being unsure

thoughts for her never shielding

brought back to life

a new love I’ve found

 


1 Comment

The new timzauto

Taken about two weeks ago…..it’s been a long road….but the bumps aren’t quite as bad…


1 Comment

the seed

climbing up through obstruction

 

avoiding our destruction

 

it’s you I long to see

 

awed by deduction

 

for you is it me

 

questions keep emerging

 

refusing me rest or sleep

 

fighting the troubled opinion

 

struggling not to weep

 

entering harmony , it disappears as we need

 

all along we’re sowing

 

a bright and delicate seed

 

Never Ever (EP)

Never Ever (EP) (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

 

 

 

 

 

 


7 Comments

tiptoe

th

Amid this winter’s grey mist grip
our April mocks her Spring impression.
Rush hour red lights stop and start,
frustrated and my happened glance at

a waif like girl no more than nine,
she’s mouthing words of imagined rhyme.
I watch her whispering monologues
as she tiptoes boulders in the park.

Pure innocence her soft protection
from cruel worlds I suffer much too well.
I mouthed my thank you to the waif
and she tiptoed boulders until dark.


3 Comments

s.a.d.ness

crocus abd bees 2012 001

Sunless skies, endless
grey clouded over grey crusted
snow, creating havoc for crocus shoots
struggling to make their stand.

Winter, a slow
death by its thousand windy cuts
and imperceptable emotional fade, now
so few words shared between them.

All purple and
orange in full bloom swathed across
front yard lawns stirring expectations, and
memories of their languid summer days.

Teal sky
days that start warm ending warmer,
their uninterrupted steady sun and their
sleeveless shirts and moist sweaty skin.

Sun, her kiss
once assured his unsteady heart. So many
purple and orange reasons to be hopeful but
March, always the cruel reminder.

written March 2013
revised FOR April 2013 :- /


2 Comments

hush

thCA32H02H

He would trace the jagged map of cracks
smeared plaster wall aside his bed,
his ashen memory of their life imagined
‘How, how did it ever come to this?’

The signs were there trust and naive heart
believing every little late night lie,
the bills a bed and their sick calico Jane
‘Reasons? I don’t owe you anything!’

Now his grieving heart blindly traces cracks
blinds drawn closed on the summer day,
the life imagined all his dreams gone hush
‘How, how did it ever come to this?’

written April 2013


1 Comment

Shadow Walkabout

Luke’s exhaustion consumed his last blink as he slipped beneath the watery depths of sleep.  His demons however did not retreat, chasing him relentless.  Their footprints forming trails of steam behind him, or were they his.  Gone too quick for anyone to follow, lost so that he never shares his burdens.  He has to rest and the only shade he can see is provided by a shadow with no discernible source.  In his fatigue his senses are dulled and his awareness is clouded, so he fails to realise that he stands under a shadow, cast by no one or from nothing.

Suddenly a girl, no more than 8 years old, appears by his side.  Her face is glowing; she is vibrant, energetic and quizzically turning her head as she stares at him.  She seems confused with Luke’s stance. “Why do you stand in the sun, when shade is at hand?” she asks, sweeping her hand in a gentle movement towards a Coolabah tree.  “You look hot, would you like a drink?”

Luke’s dried lips crack as he opens mouth.  He has dare not speak for as long as he can remember, out of fear that his lips would dissipate in the wind.  “Where did you come from?” his voice rasps.

She just smiles, and then skips away deeper into the desert.  The shadow pursues her vainly into the darkness of the forgotten.  Luke thinks of yelling out to her again, but raising his hand to hail her is painful enough.  Confused he isn’t sure what is real.  The thought however is too hard to contemplate at the moment, so he turns, crunching the barren soils beneath his feet as he drags his feet slowly to the tree.  Where did this tree come from he wonders, but in a land with no landmarks and no recollection of how he got here, there is little time to be concerned with such trivial matters.

He reaches the edge of the shade and mutters to no one in particular “Goodbye” before stepping over the threshold.  He wakes before he feels the cool relief of the shade.  Lying face down in reality, to face the battles of life that refuse to submit even in surreal lands.


1 Comment

Free Fall, by Susan Dean Wessells

Thirty years
(and counting).
I am falling still.

Sometimes the sky
is achingly blue,
and the memory of clouds
brushes white against azure.

At others,
cumulonimbus
create the bouncy castle
in which I jump
and play.

Then are those gray days,
rent with lightning,
drenched with rain,
when misery enfolds me
and I long for solid ground
on which to make
soft landing.

Susan Dean Wessells

Susan Dean Wessells has been writing poetry since ethe age of eight. Her life has been rich with varied experiences which nourish her writing. In 2007 she realized a lifelong dream of being a contestant on the Jeopardy! game show. She is currently writing a novel about vampire nuns.


7 Comments

A Tale of Two Losses

ImageI have lost a child, a teen with his life and future ahead of him.
It broke me-my body, soul and spirit.
And then there was you-mom.
When my son, I lost what I dreamed of,
With you, I lost the chance to really know you.
You were private, you kept things to yourself.
You had just began to tell me the things
that made you who you were-
I keep thinking that if you had told me, sooner,
it would have saved me so much pain.
Never-I loathe that word. Never again.
Today I put flowers on two graves -yours and his.
I am sickened by what my life has become.
It has never been as I dreamed,
And often been nearly unbearable.
It seems others take loss and go on with life.
I don’t understand it and never will.
How can others go on with what made life a joy?
When I am  forced to exist without what made me live at all.

 


2 Comments

I hide within a quilt…

I hide within a quilt

gazing at the ceiling

pondering over things

and finally, getting tortured

by my conflicting thoughts-

the night goes on

and I  succumb to sleep

with no dreams.


A Small Dream

I haven’t written anything substantial for so long.. seems to me as if the worm that used to make me write is now dead; still I am trying feebly to write something, even if it is bizarre.

A small dream

of doing something,

anything,

just to get off bed,

have a nice bathe,

wear some decent clothes

and set out to see the world-

its a small dream

I dream of everyday

staying, sulking on the bed.

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