Even a thick, stone wall can have an opening letting light through like a window with a rock-hard frame. Outside our window two cars stopped. The front car was undamaged. The front bumper of the rear car, however, hung almost to the ground which made the accident look worse than it was.
Standing on the grass a sixteen-year-old girl watched an older woman, the driver of the front car, examine the damages. Her brother stood by her side ready to act if there was anything he needed to do, but there wasn’t much he could do.
A third car arrived. A second woman stepped out and the two adults talked. The second woman gave the first her insurance information and then she walked to her daughter. One could sense the daughter’s tears hiding behind her eyes and deepening frown. I imagine she wanted to know what was so wrong with her that she could have unintentionally and unexpectedly damaged her family.
Her mother’s arms opened and wrapped themselves around her daughter. Now we all have these openings, if we want to use them, but sometimes, perhaps because the fairy tales we tell ourselves aren’t real, we do not think we do. Anyway, without demanding an explanation, the mother emptied the tears hiding in her daughter’s heart through the opening of her own.
At times I cannot find my dreams
Or fear what they might be:
Hidden habits I don’t want
With burdens blinding me?
With them my heart stays anyway.
My mind’s not far behind
Though searching for some better dreams
If better I might find.
Linked to dVerse Quadrille hosted by De Jackson here, aka WhimsyGizmo, with prompt word “dream”.
Photos: “My Heart is Where My Dreams Are” above and “Other Heart-Dream Locations” below by the author linked to K’lee and Dale’s Cosmic Photo Challenge with theme “where is your heart?” The first photo is also my answer to Jane Dougherty’s challenge to show the surroundings where we write.
I’m exploring medieval lyrics. I think the above might be called “trova romantica” with form and style related to the troubadours. I’m trying to use the Portuguese Redondilha maior meter, a seven syllable line with the last syllable accented, but I might be missing something.
The Spring issue (Vol 97, No 2) of The Lyric Magazine, “the oldest magazine in North America devoted to traditional poetry”, arrived in the mail. It contains my poem, “Chutes and Ladders”. I am grateful to the editor, Jean Mellichamp Milliken, for selecting it.
This final pose is what I’m waiting for.
The stillness I can give, I can receive.
A song to oceans takes me to their shores
Where waves of freedom soothe me to believe.
While reason’s tracks and shadows yearn for more
The heart will tell me what I should achieve.
Today is one more opportunity
To breathe in gifts the winds bring from the sea.
Chaotic disenchanting hearts are casting storms on me.
Their spells tease lightning through my mind, still I won’t understand.
I’m drenched throughout with righteousness, but anger rains in vain.
I breathe, sit tall then wait, project to help this weather change.
Written for dVerse Meeting the Bar using a form of common meter called a “fourteener”. It has fourteen syllables in each line with seven of them accented. This example does not have end-rhyme although the last two lines ending in “rain” and “change” almost rhyme.