20 Lines A Day

A Community of Writers and Photographers


Sound of No Sound

Lost in thought, her mind
wanders to a younger day, when she
expertly walked the tightrope over joy and
pain, a misstep here and there, but
never completely losing herself in that
cauldron of self-awareness bubbling
below

Pain – it was not feared then, but
admired, on the weathered faces of
the elders, noting their wisdom and
grace, the simple way they brushed
her hair from her face, and kissed
her forehead, assuring her with their own
worry that there was none for her

But now she wonders where that
elder-wisdom has gone, and will it ever
find her, or if it’s even hers to long for,
the kiss of peace long ago washed from
her furrowed brow.

When did she stop trusting herself?
Was it the first time she rolled over in her
lover’s bed only to find he wasn’t there?
When she felt the sharp sensation of betrayal
from one she considered a friend?
When the sting of loss pierced her heart so
deeply she thought she would drown in the tears
she never cried?

In the stillness that is left she listens,
listens for anything that will convince her
she’s alive, and in that empty place, darkness
reverberates like a thousand universes swirling
around their suns, like the hum of angel wings,
like the breath of creation in her ears

Like all those who came before her
Like all who will ever come

The sound of no sound
bringing life, bringing light
resting in the goodness that rests
inside the stillness of her mind,
where she is whole

©SpiritLed 2014


3 Comments

Glass

Three years ago, I lost my mom.

She had been fading for years, but we still talked,

we laughed and loved.

 

It seems like since then loss and loneliness

have been so much of my life.

I feel like I am drowning.

 

After loosing my child, hope, faith,

and that special closeness with my family,

I feel I will never capture the joy in life again.

 

I can only beg you, young people,

to take that joy, when you find it,

and treat it as thought it was glass, because it is.


Kipling’s: Ignoring Eternal Truths

The Gods of the Copybook Heading

 AS I pass through my incarnations in every age and race, I make my proper prostrations to the Gods of the Market-Place.

Peering through reverent fingers I watch them flourish and fall,
And the Gods of the Copybook Headings, I notice, outlast them all. We were living in trees when they met us. They showed us each in turn.

That Water would certainly wet us, as Fire would certainly burn:
But we found them lacking in Uplift, Vision and Breath of Mind,
So we left them to teach the Gorillas while we followed the March of Mankind. We moved as the Spirit listed. They never altered their pace,

Being neither cloud nor wind-borne like the Gods of the Market-Place;
But they always caught up with our progress, and presently word would come
That a tribe had been wiped off its icefield, or the lights had gone out in Rome. With the Hopes that our World is built on they were utterly out of touch.

They denied that the Moon was Stilton; they denied she was even Dutch.
They denied that Wishes were Horses; they denied that a Pig had Wings.
So we worshipped the Gods of the Market Who promised these beautiful things. When the Cambrian measures were forming, They promised perpetual peace.

They swore, if we gave them our weapons, that the wars of the tribes would cease.
But when we disarmed They sold us and delivered us bound to our foe,
And the Gods of the Copybook Headings said: “Stick to the Devil you know.” On the first Feminian Sandstones we were promised the Fuller Life

(Which started by loving our neighbour and ended by loving his wife)
Till our women had no more children and the men lost reason and faith,
And the Gods of the Copybook Heading said: “The Wages of Sin is Death.” In the Carboniferous Epoch we were promised abundance for all,

By robbing selected Peter to pay for collective Paul;
But, though we had plenty of money, there was nothing our money could buy,
And the Gods of the Copybook Heading said: “If you don’t work you die.” Then the Gods of the Market tumbled, and their smooth-tongued wizards withdrew,

And the hearts of the meanest were humbled and began to believe it was true
That All is not God that Glitters, and Two and Two make Four-
And the Gods of the Copybook Headings limped up to explain it once more. As it will be in the future, it was at the birth of Man-

There are only four things certain since Social Progress began:-
That the Dog returns to his Vomit and the Sow returns to her Mire, And the burnt Fool’s bandaged finger goes wabbling back to the Fire;

And that after this is accomplished, and the brave new world begins When all men are paid for existing and no man must pay for his sins,

As surely as Water will wet us, as surely as Fire will burn,
The Gods of the Copybook Headings with terror and slaughter return! Rudyard Kipling

 


1 Comment

What You Could Be

What You Could Be

I look at him, same age as you,

when death snatched you out of the blue.

He’s just 15, but teachers say,

that he will make it big one day.

I touch your photo, hold it too,

each time I pass, your place, your room.

It looks just like it did that day

when Hell took you and life away.

I see him grow, a brilliant smile,

when he creates, he dreams, compiles.

The things I wish that you could see.

I wonder, Babe, what you could be?

It’s just so wrong that you aren’t here.

I see your face, your eyes, your fear.

Still, no one knows, but you and me,

The truth about what you could be.

I pray the day will not be long,

When something might take up the wrong.

And somehow just, please let me see.

The beauty of what you could be.


Life without…

in solitude her footsteps slow; in robe of pink
through empty rooms,  she wanders
no laughter or voice that echo in her days and nights

life strange and silent,  meals for one
with simply why,  as she reaches for the
cupboard door as she did the day before

views once shared by two hands held
her arms now crossed she sees the morning rise
the quiet moon,  with only her eyes

no one to share

do her children know the loneliness
she faces in the minutes,  hours,  the days ahead
with wrinkled trembling hand she reaches

for the phone upon the wall
and stops ~ with a piercing felt within
they have their lives to live

clutching his jumper to her breast
breathes the smell of him;  slowly with care
folding delicately,  it’s placed upon the shelf

with memories

a life now lived without him by her side
what is life to be now ~ what does she do
a broken heart that family cannot heal

words and hugs are not enough

thoughts of where she was born flood back
piercing her heart ~ there is
no home to return to,  there or here

so many years where he knew what needed to be done
paved the way with his decisions, she is lost
she knows not how to cope

he will return he will be once more by her side
she sleeps with fingertips that
trace his pillow where he lay his head

and dreams of his protection

and as her silent teardrops fall,  she sits next
to the empty chair and talks as if he were still
beside her ~ her hand reaching in the air,  in hope

that he will return

©JTacken Sep 2013


2 Comments

Stillness

I stayed until the clouds
came into your eyes.
Your body still too warm
to convince me it was
only a shell.

Although a chill has yet
to set into bones,
a placidity enveloped
around your body more securely
than my arms ever could.

It is earth shattering;
it is a broken rib
sticking its shards into my lungs.

If I believed in heaven,
perhaps I could accept
you fled to a better place.
If I believed in a god
perhaps I could find
comfort knowing your were
at peace.

As it is,
I know only that you’re gone.

There was a time
I wanted to name all the trees
after your kindness.
Count the leaves on my
stretched fingers to remind
you of how many days you
showed me love.

You healed scars
strapped across my spine
and allowed blackened feet
to balance on railroad tracks.
I was invincible
in the reflection
of your eyes.

Now I stand alone beside
breakable body.
My finely woven plots
riddled with holes.
I drown in the
sudden stillness.

~Nika Ann Rasco

See more at Chasing Rabbits : http://nikarasco.wordpress.com/

 


Daily Prompt: Keep Out/ Hoping My Child Will Not Dig Deep Into My Blog

Originally posted on Living and Lovin:

You asked if there were someone we would not want to read our blog and immediately I thought of my son.

Yes I do not mind if he looks at all the pretty photographs and all of your posts I have re-blogged.

Why I want him to KEEP OUT is I do not want him to know how much pain I used to be in.  See it is key that he gets to see

how very happy I am today.

Happiness spreads Joy and  Sadness spreads Pain.

We are both to BE HAPPY for the rest of our days.

So Keep Out

Mike

BE HAPPY!

View original


2 Comments

Unnatural Fireworks

IMG_0184

The noisy booms from the sky, streaks of color lighting the clouds,

Yes, it’s the fourth of July, but Mother natures rules this year.

The tiny creek is a raging river, littered with trees, bird feeders, toys.

Our grave driveway is underneath the water that blocks the road.

My dad worked at the Tennessee Valley Authority when I was a kid.

Their job was to try to manage flood control. Where there were floods,

We went to photograph, special phone numbers told river levels.

We filled out charts in the days when a main frame took up a room-did one thing.

It’s in my blood. Two of my sons son and two friends sloshed up the road.

The water running down what used to be roads, way to deep to be safe.

Taking videos, pictures, laughing, giving up on umbrellas, soaked to the skin.

Though we laughed, it was muted, somber. We knew why the yards of mud came.

Our mountain city is obsessed with getting rich people from other places to come here.

Strip the vegetation so they can “see” from houses we couldn’t dream of.

We shout to no one, “GO HOME!” CLEAN UP THIS MESS!” But they keep coming.

The collapsed retaining wall and 8 feet of lost land are somehow “our” problem.

I know how the native Americans felt. For “white folks” we’ve been here a long time.

The 1780 US Census lists us in this county, by 1840, we were on this road.

We have lived in this house 5 generations and now my kids can’t afford to live her.

Something is really wrong with this. It used to be a quiet farming community.

I can’t help it, I am mad. I know good people have come here too.

For all the greedy developers, mostly bankrupt before to long, I have one message,”Go the heck home, glare down on your “lessers”, ruin their land, build mansions, ruin the land,

and don’t forget to take pictures of w=what life was like before you ruined it for them.


1 Comment

Dream Chaser

I think about death a lot.

About my son, my mom, my neighbor.

I think about how easy it would be

to not deal with all this crap any more.

As I sit , trying to catch up on emails,

my heart starts to pound, I feel sick, shaking.

I wonder if the death angel has come for me.

It scares me more than I thought it would.

It lasted a long time, sweating, panting.

I miss my son and mom and others.

I wonder where I’d be if I hadn’t stayed here.

I wonder why I had to stay here when my son left.

And I see the dream chaser I made

For my grand kids today and think, “Maybe I know.”

 


1 Comment

YOU WERE THERE

YOU WERE THERE

I want to share one of my favorite songs “You Were There.” My song is for both my parents. I was very close with my parents all of my life and watching them decline has been a painful process. My father died last May. My mother has severe dementia and cannot really speak. But she still recognizes me and smiles with joy whenever I am near. Clicking the blue link plays my song:

YOU WERE THERE-5/7/13 Copyright 2011 by Judy Unger

Below are links to stories on my other blog:

YOU WERE THERE – PART 1

YOU WERE THERE – PART 2

YOU WERE THERE – PART 3

I’ll let my lyrics and pictures tell my story.

 To Mom I was so loved Breakfast w. Mom Mother's Love With my parents and younger Judy & her Dad looking at her

YOU WERE THERE

Copyright 2011 by Judy Unger

All my life, every day

You were there when I’d need you

All the time, I just knew; you’d be there

and you’d see me through

I’ve always known, I’m not alone . . .

You were so strong

You’d pick me up when I’d fall down

So I can see all the strength you gave me

Although I try, it’s hard to say goodbye

to someone who’s loved me all of my life

And when I’m sad, because you’re not there

I’ll still see your love everywhere

Everything that I did you’d applaud

You were right there watching me

as I grew, sharing joy and my heartache, too

I always knew, that I had you . . .

Now I’m so strong

I picked you up when you fell down

I’ve learned to see just how strong I could be

Although I try, it’s hard to say goodbye

to someone who’s loved me all of my life

And when I’m sad, because you’re not there

I’ll still see your love everywhere

When you are gone I’ll say a prayer;

and I’ll remember how you were there

Mom 2  My mother had a good day

WIth mom & dad 1 Grief 3 IN THE GARDEN 2 IN THE GARDEN

© 2013 by Judy Unger, http://www.myjourneysinsight.com and 20 Lines A Day. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Judy Unger with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.


4 Comments

Beyond Cinderella

Illustration for Charles Perrault's Cinderella...

Illustration for Charles Perrault’s Cinderella from Histoires ou Contes du Temps passé: Les Contes de ma Mère l’Oye(1697). Gustave Doré’s illustrations appear in an 1867 edition entitled Les Contes de Perrault. Second of three engravings (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

As she whispers to herself,

her shouts become shadows,

and heartbeats chime thirteen;

the pain in her chest is not surpassed,

by the memory of just before midnight.

Why did she stay? When all about said,

run, flee, escape, (or) you’ll rue the day.

Holding a bouquet of disdain,

she will mourn the bride,

and hide the pain.

 

© Beyond Cinderella 01.02.13

by Alexandra Carr-Malcolm


2 Comments

The Song

 

Charlotte Gainsbourg  AnOther

 

From a recent prompt – to write a piece on the above picture.

 

 

You left me
towards the door you
walked
no smile no remorse

canvas bag
a gift from me
in the lining hidden
a ring long forgotten
a gift from you
thrown across the floor
it rolled

door slammed
I watched it
roll till it stopped

the records
yours
the ones you will
return for
they are round
like the ring
but hold no
memories

I sit
reading
titles through tears
that drop silently onto
plastic covers
the ring motionless

makes no sound
as these records
never will
they will be silent
there will be no dance
no dip of love
just the stylus
scratching

like you
in my heart


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.

 


Peace………..coming slowly

Originally posted on Living and Lovin:

100_4128

 

As a new year begins for me alongside this stream I feel like the time is coming to share a few personal things with you.

No not that personal  well then again maybe.

You know insight, a reason for still being here.  I thought I could hide behind a few pretty pictures but a few have seen through my exterior and are behind me hiding but also know in time my story will come to light.  I am really writing a few books, I have the words all in my head now to make them come out the way you who write do.  Guess that is my fear that in telling a story  the reason for it gets lost in the wrong words as I am not a writer maybe more a story-teller, again hiding the real heartbreak.

So 35 years ago I was a month away from having my…

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