20 Lines A Day

A Community of Writers and Photographers


5 Comments

Floating

The water has always given me peace. It’s been the greatest place for me to go to have instant gratification. Happiness. Regardless of it being a pool or an ocean, the joy I find from being in the water has helped me get through so many difficult times in my life.

I want to move.

I want to live somewhere where I can see it, the deep expanse of the ocean, the wave breaks and the foam. I want to be able to run on a sandy beach and straight into the water once I feel too hot.

Maybe, perhaps, once I finally leave here, this sorrowful place in my head, I will find my ocean.

My place of peace.

My happiness.


3 Comments

Pass Me A Smile

Today it rained and then it fogged,

I couldn’t see and so I blogged.

I told a story of a time where men,

spoke of their problems and were gentlemen.

This time is gone and now I see,

that all that’s left can’t surely be.

What happened to the days in which,

doors were held open and no lies were stitched.

I have a dream and let it be said

when I rest my head and go to bed.

Life is simple and can be cruel

don’t let it drag you like a mule.

Smile and laugh and make good decisions,

and soon you will see you dreams come to fruition.

© Christina Laureano 2014


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


The Briar & Seeing Your Roots

It is just a random thought that has crept into my head this Saturday morning. A pipe (briar), bare feet, dirty faces and rural folk have combined to remind me of part of my heritage. Fascinating, harsh yet comforting.

Me…The early 1950’s living in a rental in a poor part of town. Even my parents, born into harshness, knew they had to move from that neighborhood.

My Dad’s grandparents. Hillbillies. Hard edged. Rural folks.

My GGGrandmother sporting a pipe sitting on a simple porch.

Some of my Dad’s clan left behind, 1940’s

Yes, I sometimes smoke a briar. Usually, when deep in the woods or on the water. Not by any desire to emulate the past, I took up the pipe because the tobaccos smelled nice. Here, I strive for a smile, that seemed to elude past family members.

Life: a decent middle class neighborhood…typical kid and shenanigans…ordinary, if mediocre student…college…a career and decent life style…really a very comfortable life, which I earned…but all this materialistic, fast paced, techno life cannot, must not overshadow my roots.

Farmers. Rural to the core. Somewhat violent. Primitive. Hard. My parents escaped it lest more harm pushed them over the edge. And, all their efforts to build a better life aside, the residual truth remained. The early years etched markings upon them. Reflexively they passed on the pain, leaving similar markings upon me.

Did they see the pattern? Were they at all concerned at passing on the harshness? I don’t know. I just know, I forgive them. And, I hope that perhaps those old folks smoking a briar above reflected at some point on what they had wrought. In the meantime, I will smoke my briar with a smile.

 

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