20 Lines A Day

A Community of Writers and Photographers


Of real things

Eyes fluttered open for a second no more than
then slowly closed, for I did not want the real world
just yet
golden sun penetrated the glass like a velvet glove
reaching out for my face
 it drifted under my eye lids whispering
get up..get up
today is a new day
bed covers abandoned
to rise from my berth to which I was anchored
stumbling towards the sun rubbing brow
was I sleep walking
pushing the latch wide open
my eyes unaccustomed to the light
surely tricks were being played
 before me a majestic eagle
wings unfurled it turned,  blinked, beckoned me
I climbed upon his back gathering my arms softly
around his feathered neck his wings sweeping the ether
today is a new day
we soared high into the morning sky my eagle and I
effortless flight
glossy flaxen sun throwing light on
mountain peaks, craggy rocks
green valleys below
I nestled close, we travelled together
ascending above clouds
that seemed to dance in the wind
like musical notes upon a sheet

we rose into the heavens

we plunged and glided on currents of air
the world undisturbed unsheltered beneath us
my eyes closed I felt his heart beat with my hands
was I sleep walking
my eagle returned, he had shown me his world
with tired wings outstretched I alighted
my eyes spoke my thank you not with words
through the window I climbed
my body warmed by the sun
my cheeks aglow from the breeze
he flew away my eagle
I awoke hugging my feather pillow
was I sleep walking?

A Stab at the (Difficult) Quatern

The crags of mountains stand me still.
So small compared to giant thrill,
a silent concert I compose
as there those mighty mountains pose.

My eyes gaze up, I feel a chill
at crags of mountains standing still.
These carvings reaching to the skies
exact my praise as there they rise.

This landscape, glorious, quiet, calm,
soothes me as David’s famous psalm.
The crags of mountains stand me still,
each peak and each ascending hill.

I do not live where mountains tune
the day and night. Instead, the dune
and one Great Lake my senses fill.
Yet, crags of mountains stand me still.


Missing You

From Stu McPherson’s prompt to write a “Missing You” poem:


I walked those cobbled streets, seemingly another era.
Jewelry stores with shingles hung out front,
men wearing eyepieces, bent over in concentration.
Windows of bäckerei crammed with braided bread,
danishes, pastries, cookies caught my attention.
I took a small table for pungent coffee, a roll and the bonus
of fresh bread baking in back.
The little bed and breakfast made us tumble
over each other.
Our hosts provided every need.
Breakfasts of hard-boiled eggs, fruit, cheese, and bread,
always bread, fortified us for our day’s adventure.
This day in Salzburg we walked in the rain,
that drizzly, shiny sort that doesn’t require umbrellas.
Behind our lodging an ancient church and graveyard.
Our eyes popped at a grave marked MOZART.
History reigned in front of us.
Then, walking back, two girls wearing Michigan State sweatshirts
walked toward us. We had to chat. So far from home, yet home
in this fine far-off place.
It was the little things:
Girls in aprons, pinafores, hair in tight braids, nodding, demure,
pleased because they could make our day pleasant with their serving.
The bookstore where I tried to purchase a children’s book
whose proprietor wouldn’t speak to me until I tried German.
When I did he burst into a fountain of English.
The trains that left exactly on time. Not one was late.
Conductors shooing us onboard, we, struggling with much luggage.
“Mein Got, mein Got,” in frustration. We tried our best, bumbling tourists.
And then the young guide, as we headed out on the “Sound of Music” tour,
“That,” he said, pointing, “is my second favorite mountain.”
We turned to see.
“I love my homeland.”
Homeland. I thought of home. Too many signs, pollution everywhere,
disrespect like fog covering a city.
But here everything gleamed, and people were proud.
We saw the sights and felt the depths.
I miss you, Austria.
I still have that little wooden carved box
where I keep the schillings to remind me.

Headed North Soon

Originally posted on Living and Lovin:


I hear there will be rain all around

I sure hope the clouds part by Sat. night

There will be a beautiful sight to behold

A Full Harvest Moon

So special drinks will be mixed and we will sit around

with friends and unwind.   I hope you

all have a wonderful night and enjoy  the Moon




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