20 Lines A Day

A Community of Writers and Photographers



vampiric breath rising up

history arrives


history arrives

multiple index entries

flesh life no longer


flesh life no longer

devoid of metal stone wood




memic fashion center stage

all for naught or else




From mountain side
it is easy to see
the turning of the earth.
The wind pushing clouds
creating shadows,
dark and light only
moments apart.
Up here the trees sway
slow dances in the wind.

I watch you,
perched on a rock
beside bubbling spring.
Completely comfortable
in your nakedness;
at peace with the way
skin stretches over bone.

I wonder if there will
ever be a time
when I, too, can let my
hair fall upon bare shoulders,
when awkwardness vanishes
in the folds of soft flesh
stretched toward blue sky,
when I can sit securely
on my own branch without fear.

The river runs thick this year,
higher and faster than I
have ever seen it.
Like you,
it no longer holds
its breath, but I
can’t remember how to exhale.

January Moon

You erupted the sky that night,
turned the black an ocean blue.
You halo your light wide,
invoking strange regressions
I thought were long forgotten.

I expected rebirth,
a quake to the foundation,
but was greeted with the memory
of the color I swam toward
when I fell from the boat.
Disoriented and desperate,
I swam deeper until I was hooked
by the waist and pulled
gasping to surface.

It was the first time
I was lost.
The first time I stretched
in the wrong direction,
only to be dragged
unwilling back to sanity.

In the morning the bedroom window
is covered with a thin layer of dew,
the cold condensed into liquid
that clouds and drips across thin panes,
blocking out the sunrise.


some memory’s are better than others

Do You Remember the First Time?

Do You Remember the First Time? (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

With everything I can’t remember , a random memory will( it seems) rear it’s being at the exact time as I didn’t need to remember it… is it getting older…Hmmmm I’m not so sure…I’m thinking we lose certain memory’s to maintain balance ..with that said (just my opinion)…I read some of my old posts (I was in a very dark place for a while) but I never really remembered some of them …really weird …, I have also been dreaming some things from the past , dredging up old pain …. I don’t know why….I wish it would stop tho….any way I’m done rambling for now …Have a good night all…peace

1 Comment


Glazed and into the kiln

is the way it used to be

or sunbaked,

the heroes and hunters

circled the vase.

These days, it’s ashtrays and flowerpots

painted mimosa

to give praise

to the passing days

of summer camp

Where these were shaped

to bring home

to mom and dad.


Clay, hold your tears in

or else you’ll be too

moist for the wheel.

Clay, don’t be too strong or ten digits

won’t be able to dig in

and give you purpose.

Clay, be ready, there are still things left

for you to hold onto

until the students

and pros

dig you up.


Some things last forever!


[ Video credit to the owner  ]

Some things don’t last forever,but some things do.

Like a good song, or a good book,

or a good memory you can take out and unfold

in your darkest times, pressing down

on the corners and peering in close,

hoping you still recognize the person you see there.



shallow nights…

My nights are shallow , need to make that leap

I fight all night , but still can’t sleep

Next thing I know my mind is screaming

Feels so real , but I think I’m dreaming

When I think my dreams come unsurpassed

I’m dreaming again , about my past

Thoughts of things , wont go away

Buried til I sleep , then they play

I wake to hair and pillow all wet

Then my dreams they all reset

Thanks for reading …Remember Please like , comment and share..Thanks timzauto


I called you this morning….

I called, but there was no one home. Left a message after the tone.

I waited for what seemed like hours then called again to your empty house,

repeated the message and called again. No one answered. Where was my friend?

I tried to eat, I tried to sleep and from the phone there was no peep.

They sit with me, but don’t understand; it’s not enough to hold my hand.

It’s not enough without you here. It’s not enough to shed a tear.

Tears are cheap and I have none for without you my life is done.

I’ve become an insomniac just waiting for you to come back.

It’s not your fault – I know you can’t, no matter how many times I chant,

no matter how many times I lift the phone and leave the message after the tone.

I do it now just to hear your voice. I do it now because I have no choice.


Let Me Be Free

Imaginary Jesus

Capturing her lonely soul

A passionate glance towards the forgotten

A life of which is past

A turbulent mind painfully hidden in the shadows of a smile

A tortured smile

As the demons dance

And chant within the abyss

An abyss which is her being

Beckoning Jesus

Leading her to a path

A path that is comforting

While the angels sing to the memories of peaceful encounters

Twisting the satanic uproar

Engulfing her mind in a frenzied carousel

A whirlwind of broken dreams

And shattered hopes

As she drops her head in sorrow

And the tears well in her eyes

Painfully needing the forgotten

Aching for what is past

Casts her mind to the forgotten

Her smile will never last


Her mind

A confused, bitter affair

The mirror

She stands before

The truth reveals

An evil glare

It sees right through her avid pain

Her eyes reflecting hurt

Her heart;  weary and lame

Questioning her motives

Why? What is there to gain?


Her hands; bound

Her eyes; blind

The circumstances comfortable

But therefore unkind



used with permission from freedigitalphotos.net

The surface of her soul
The pounding of her heart
The twinkling of the moonlight
Gave way to every spark
Of fire that was started
Beyond the depths of time
She felt her spirit wither
And her eyes close softly tight
As she contemplated life
And faded with the night


….when the computer crashes

Liberated plunge, devoid of any plan,

soaring on wisps of air in pleasing free fall scrolls,

as if escalating the odds against

increases the chance of elusive triumph.


throbbing with delight and

a little fear.

Trepidation’s heart beats,

and fashions simple routes to bolster

Fancy’s dream.

Whilst Mutinous Psyche

moves to deliver

the putrefaction of expectations and

to envelop my tissue paper germs of probability until

Disaster strikes

and, without back up,

Memory fails,

Heart falters,

Stories die.


The Moving Finger


I have an idea.

I forget to write it down.

Thought evaporates.


With a nod to Edward Fitzgerald’s translation of the poem The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayam.

The Moving Finger writes; and, having writ,
Moves on: nor all thy Piety nor Wit
Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line,
Nor all thy Tears wash out a Word of it.


1 Comment

A Memory…..


Beside me, lay your head upon the grass, and gaze into the sky above

Watching the soft, white,  clouds drift silently past.

Feel the cool, earth below, as the tips of grass tease your skin.

A gentle breeze caresses sweat glistened skin, leaving an electric charge.

Whispers gently shared,  lovers promises, tomorrows keepsake.







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