20 Lines A Day

A Community of Writers and Photographers


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Shiny Things

The newness wore off
like an old penny you put
in your pocket and forgot
about, chasing the next
shiny thing.  You didn’t
mean to lose interest, but
there was so much to see and do,
how could you be expected
to stay in one place, to hold
this moment in your gaze for
any longer than you did?  The time
you had was long enough,
enough to create beautiful
moments, explore cities and
beaches, soak up the excitement
and agony of being alive, until
you weren’t, until the plane
on which you flew was no longer
part of the world the rest of us
call home, and the shiny things no
longer distracted you, for
everything was glimmering and
whole, like you

©SpiritLed 2014


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The Healing Parts

The healing parts are mighty and wild,
careening through the dark mind,
simultaneously passive and angry,
they take you over, consume your soul.

They hunger for affection, else they grow
a life of their own, they thrive on tenderness,
else they join together to conquer
their demons with your pain.

The healing parts want to survive,
as the soul writhing in the night.
They are displaced and dissociated,
and only love returns them home,
validation of their realness,
so they may quench their fires,
no longer reduce you to ashes from the
inside out.

The healing parts are us,
and we, them. We are the parts
we buried deep so long ago, the voice
silenced and the voice raging, the broken, fragile,
lonely, fearful, hurting, hating parts.  We are healing
and we are real.

©SpiritLed 2014


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Heart of the Matter

Just one more day
in the grind, in the bind,
and the voice in your mind
seems to whisper,
“Never let go”

Try as you may,
you can’t rest in one place,
your heart seems to wander
no matter how still your
feet stay

Late, late at night
the process unfolds,
it flows and it grows
through fingers and toes
‘til it reaches the heart
of the matter

The blank page inside you
longs to be written
your heart spills its ink
on the landscape
of life

Through all of your foibles,
your fallacies and farces,
the path in your heart is still
inky and wet

Freshly drawn, slightly smudged,
but still good as new
patiently, quietly nudging you
home

©SpiritLed 2014


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Challenge of Return

To return

Can be a challenge,

Jumping back into

A life you

Left for a little while,

You’ve been changed

Had experiences

While your life was plodding

Along at home without you.

You come back to

All the things you missed,

The challenge

Is reintegrating

Into what was once so familiar,

Reminding of the time

This life started,

When you wished and thought about the

Day when it would turn

From new to normal

Now you realize just how much it had.

You’re glad to be back

Among the ones you missed

To get back into the regular routine

Yet a piece

A part of your soul

Remembers all the travels and

Longs for the day when you can fly again.


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The Feeling of Home

DSCN1685

Home is the place where I walk in the door, recognize the fragrances, smiles at the messes, savor the peace and feeling of security. When my family is with me, What I miss most about home, is simply home, itself.

Of course, coming home alone is a different story. The joy of beloved faces, sloppy kisses from kids and pets, and the “ahh” of taking off the uncomfortable shoes or clothes you’ve endured while you were away, all of these give home that all important feeling of belonging.

What strikes me most about my feelings for ‘home’ is thinking of the homeless. Thinking of not having that place to rest, not being able to go to the kitchen, open the curtains and fix some chai tea. Not flopping down in your favorite recliner, or taking a hot bath. I honestly believe that the best thing about home is simply HAVING ONE.


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sad way

thCAW0NR7V

often in
vulnerable
moments

or any
random
millisecond

in
the
tiniest

stain

scent

syllable

spark

igniting its
p a i n f u l
memory

because

i hold so near
the echo of
e a c h

tear

i

ever

caused

…and regrets
and my searing
m e l a n c h o l y

but
if this
is the

story
of the
world

unfolded

why such
a sad way to
…finally reach

shore

home

find

love

y o u ?
.
.
.

.
We only hurt the ones we love
Why we don’t need a reason
Gonna get all that you deserve
And all that you believe in

Beth Orton


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I shall tend to your feet Pop

The other week-end I gave my Pop (dad) a pedicure. At almost 86, he has trouble bending down to tend to his feet.

I slowly removed his sandals and sat beside him on a small stool. He was worried that I would hurt my back by sitting this way….

Yours nails I cut carefully
and removed old skin
then massaged cream gently
along each of your feet

You thanked me for what you called a
‘laborious task’, to me it gave
me joy
to help see to the feet of my
father who was once a
little boy

My Dad

My Dad

As I massaged the cream
into your skin
I thought of where
your feet had been

These feet that were bare and told to stand in snow in a European Winter.
These feet that walked to the timber pile to chop wood for your step – father, the fire you were not allowed to be warmed by.

These feet that had to walk up the staircase where you were told to eat your meal, alone,  whilst the rest of the family ate downstairs in comfort at the table.

These feet that gave you the strength to escape from Czechoslavakia during the War, to cross mountains, hide on trains, trudge through forests, swim through rivers and nearly have your life ended twice by a gun held at you by the KGB.

These feet that brought you to Australia, to start a new life, to build a house for a family that you knew you would one day have, though you had no carpentry skills.

These feet that ran and played shuttlecock with us, the times that we went camping.

These feet that walked next to me on the day that I was wed.

These feet now older
that hold your struggling
legs and body
these feet are not a ‘laborious chore’
to me, my father

These feet have travelled many miles
through great adversity
saw you start a business
accomplish many things
I shall tend to your feet

as I love you
I shall tend again, again
and again

 


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Winter- Her Thoughts

She incubates
it’s winter
and the world
is dim

she conceals
with wool and sheets
of many threads

sheltered.. comforted

she snuggles tightly
escaping winter chills
spiralling outside

beyond her window frame

she wishes she could
quell the snow flakes
that enshrine the green
and brown

blanketed like herself

she listens
the wind roars
between forks of trees

solitude a tranquil time

when winter hits her world


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Hazelhurst

Hazlehurst

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I could never live,

in a red brick house,

with frilly nets,

that pucker and flounce.

 

With rooms so square,

shaped like a box;

oh no! not me,

give me stone and rocks.

 

Victorian aged,

with features so old

flag stone floors,

that strike up the cold.

 

Stone inglenook fires,

glowing embers and coal,

black basalt hearth,

to bear my soles.

 

Mullioned windows,

shutters and sash,

transom light, stained,

carved fine mountain ash.

 

A long sweeping drive,

to a panelled oak door,

proud portico porch,

chequerboard floor.

 

Orchard and lawns,

domed topiary box,

walled kitchen garden,

growing herbs, veg, and stocks.

 

That’s my dream house,

from my sepia past,

how I long to be there,

and remain everlast.

 

© Hazelhurst 04.12.2012

By Alexandra Carr-Malcolm


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Christmas – To be a child again

Written whilst listening to the gentle lull of a piano

Oh how I wish I was a child again

waking in the night full of hope and then

wishing for the gifts that I have put on my list

wanting to run and laugh and be kissed

 

My face would reveal my awe

my face would say thank you and so much more

the joy that is for Christmas Day

the innocence of a child, the smile that I portray

~~~~~~~

The tip toe of a child in the morn

gazing upon the tree decorations that adorn

the twinkle that crosses upon their face

the excitement..the  anticipation of… I cannot wait

 

Christmas is for children to see the happiness it brings

the pleasure and the eagerness ..makes our grown hearts sing

for Christmas is a special time that adults hold in their heart

the love that hugs us from within that can’t be torn apart

 

Grasp the bauble from the tree my little one

do you see the colours as it spins?

scrunch the wrapping paper and watch me melt at your grin

this is the day for you my child… I wish to be young again

 

To have these happy memories though I have  some of my own

I take a backward glance… see me as a child and feel the way you do now

bring your laughter to the house on Christmas Day

so that I can relive this joy… so that I too may feel this way

 

Any child at Christmas, though they may not be your own

have a smile a simplicity that’s a wonder to behold

so share with any child if you can the day that holds this delight

clutch at the happiness that they share…embrace and hold them tight

 

I wish I was a child again

 

Reposted from ramblingsfromamum

Google and 123rf photos


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Our Day trawling around the Furniture Shops

And so I be in a writing mood or should I perhaps say mode

Today we ventured furniture shopping to adorn our humble abode

Alas we found nothing that took our fancy so

We came back empty handed not parting with our dough

~~~~~

All we want is a simple buffet not the buffet that means food

A cabinet for kitchen we hunted for and we determinedly perused

Some were made of Australian oak, some were laminate

We baulked at prices, workmanship, it was more than we could take

~~~~~

So we are empty handed not a buffet to our name

And we shall hunt again next week and hopefully strike our claim

For how hard is to shop for one, tis harder you than you think

At least now home and feet put up I can have a bloody drink!

Reposted from ramblingsfromamum

 


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Snow Is Falling

a old photo of our yard when snow dumps here today we shall get some they say but tomorrow it will MELT AWAY :)

AN old photo of our yard when snow dumps.   Here today we shall get some they say but tomorrow it will MELT AWAY :)

 

 

For here today they are calling for some snow.  You know it won’t make me happy as I adore my sunshine filled days.  I do however loves running out to grab a shot before one foot prints or paw print disturbs the scene.
Only wish the Deer and Moose had been having their morning drink from our stream when I ran out to snap the photo.


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December – Christmas in Australia

December is a coming it’s just around the bend

For some it will be snow flakes for us it’s heat and sun

We have turkey, chicken & our ham

We have our prawns or our seafood

We have our pudding with the custard

Or fresh in season berries which are so so deliciously good

Sometimes it will be BBQ

With the meats under cover they cook

Sometimes they’re thrown in oven

When doors are opened for one more look

Yes Christmas in Australia can be 104 degrees

We swelter with air con pumped up high

Our land is girthed by seas

And if it does get hotter we can but simply sigh

There won’t be snow flakes falling

Or bodies rugged up tight

There won’t be a hot toddy

Or a cold and chilly night

We share our love under heat and sun

And moan about the weather

How silly to serve hot meats we say

But at least we’re all together

There won’t be snow or chilly winds

But sun to blaze upon us

We tuck into our Christmas fare

With laughs, with love & stress

Is Christmas any different though?

We celebrate the same

We just have different temperatures

Of which we may complain

The Season of goodwill to man

Of that we have been told

To share our love & giving

With the young & with the old

So enjoy the day for what it is

Wherever you may be

The day of being with your friends

And your treasured family

For the day is shared all ov’ the world

Whether heat or snow or cold

A day of sharing, love & laughs

A day to remember as we grow old

 

 

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