Scribblings by Sarah

Jumping Ship

Author’s note: A more cynical take on the prompt words for my second contribution for the Wordle this week… 😉

Overwhelmed by a world teeming with pretense, I am challenged to keep up with so many ‘individuals’. In this dearth of light, I take the easiest possible route to jump ship.  Ambivalence is my drug, and I take it in bulk. Shock; horror.

By Sarah ©2017

Prompt: The Sunday Whirl, Wordle 322
Words: route, dearth, light, possible, bulk, individual, pretense, drug, jump, challenge, shock, teeming

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Scribblings by Sarah

Drug Of Choice

As I trudge the well-worn route, there is a dearth of light as we briefly pass under the bulk of a huge granite boulder. It has been a challenging hike so far; the constant incline gradually wearing me down. 

I focus on regulating my breathing and carefully place my feet on the footholds of the individual rocks. With a shock, I realise we have reached the summit. 

I jump up onto the 360o viewing platform and let the stress melt away. There is no noise except for the eerie sound of the wind sliding between granite and trees, and the occasional raven cawing. I close my eyes and breathe. My senses are teeming with the bracing mountain air and smell of the bush. I love it up here. I’m on ‘top of the world’. 

As the vast expanse of the Australian Alps stretch out before me, I realise I cannot keep up the pretense with my husband anymore. I turn to him; smile and say, “It is entirely possible, that bushwalking has become my drug too.”

By Sarah ©2017



Author’s note: The Horn, at Mount Buffalo, has sweeping 360 degree views of the Australian Alps and plateaus. It is an exhilarating sensation to swivel and view the magnificent Mount Buffalo National Park spread out before you.

Prompt: The Sunday Whirl, Wordle 321
Words: route, dearth, light, possible, bulk, individual, pretense, drug, jump, challenge, shock, teeming

Free Verse, Poetry by Sarah

Lift 

Caught in the struggle.
I hold no power in this web.
Creating a swirling storm,
My mind has become a mystery;
Keeping me on the fringe of sanity.
I’m starting to list.
My star is fading.
       Oh, to take 
                 charge on this
                                lonely road.

When will it lift?
Please lift.  (Sigh)

By Sarah ©2017


Prompt: The Sunday Whirl, Wordle #320
Words: struggle, power, fringe, mystery, list, star, swirl, road, storm, sigh, lift, charge

Free Verse, Month Of Mini Writing Challenges 2017, Poetry by Sarah

Crossroads

I cannot rest when the moon is full,
its wintery presence keeps me wakeful.

Playful shadows dance across the wall,
Illuminated by pale ghostly light on this,
All Hallows’ eve.

Despite locked door, I quake in my bed,
Shivering, hoping, I’ve remembered the chain.

Is it real or faux fear that chases me this night?
I brace myself for the unknown darkness.

Drawing deep within the covers, I create a pen around myself, 
A distant bell dings, worming into my sanctuary, calling my name.

My conscience rebels because at the bottom of all this,
is just a crossroads between madness and truth.

By Sarah ©2017


Prompt: The Sunday Whirl, Wordle 318;


Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie, First Line Friday – September 29th 2017; and also, Sammi Cox, A Month Of Mini Writing Challenges, Day 30 – final challenge!
Task: Write a spooky poem in 13 lines for Halloween.

Free Verse, Poetry by Sarah, Scribblings by Sarah

My Anxious Brain

My anxious brain plagues me.
Sucking joy from life.
No words of logic can pacify
When it goes off tap and
Swings into panic mode.

There it goes –
The ‘tub-thump’ of my heart.
A spray of adrenalin.
My stomach drops to my knees.
The abject, soul-plummeting terror
Of ruminating thoughts consume me.

I am paralysed with fear.

Oh yes.

Anxiety is a spry being;
Just waiting for opportunity
To take hold once more.

But oh, I wish it would forget.
I wish that it had no memory,
In my being.
I wish to be free from its grasp.

Imagine what that would be like…

By Sarah ©2017

Prompt: The Sunday Whirl, Wordle #317, Words: forget, tap, sucks, swings, spray, plague, imagine, tub, word, no, thump, spry

Free Verse, Poetry by Sarah

Funnel My Love

Offer me your shelter
When I finally wake.
Show me the path
That I oft should take.

When I need a push
Spin me ’round and ’round,
But watch for the surge 
Lest I go to ground.

Sweep me in your arms
Let me feel your power.
I don’t need a map
When things turn sour.

I’ll forge ahead like
Waves at a beach.
A lesson for me
You just can’t teach.

Funnel my love,
So the dose is small.
For I’ll hold your heart
In suffocating thrall.

By Sarah ©2017

Prompt: The Sunday Whirl, Wordle #316

Scribblings by Sarah, Stories by Sarah

Bent Spoke

The place had an awesome vibe – hop plants peppered the corners; customers balanced on shiny keg stools; glossy wooden countertops supported the many pots and pints being consumed; and the large stainless steel features, including the fermentation vats, were impressive. It was certainly no dive, and I was happy my sister had suggested coming to Bent Spoke Brewery.

I hadn’t been out in Canberra for many years and the city’s sleepy bumpkin atmosphere of the ’90s had disappeared, replaced now, by a funky, vibrant scene. The ‘Brew Pub’ was located in Braddon, just around the corner from where I’d gone to high school. To say the least, the neighbourhood had changed a bit!

“What would you recommend?” I asked my sister, Claudia.

“They’re all pretty good,” she replied, “why not start with a tasting paddle and try a few first, before you buy a pot? It’s really cool, the paddles are made from parts of old bikes!”

I agreed with her recommendation, and went up the bar. It was quirkily decorated with bicycle paraphernalia and I hazarded a guess that the owners may be bicycle enthusiasts. I ordered a ‘Barley Griffin‘ for Claudia and six samples for myself. I cheekily had a sip of her beer before balancing the load, and walking back to our table. 

We sat and drank and chatted for a while. I was thoroughly enjoying my paddle of tasters, all of which were very high quality beers, but one alone, really stood out for me. The Crankshaft

Now, I am a huge IPA (India Pale Ale) fan at the best of times, but this was truly special. It had a floral nose, with hints of citrus and pine; it was medium bodied with a punch of hops and had a solid malt finish. It also had an alcohol content of 6.9%! Talk about cranking all right! 

“I think I’ll get a pot of this one,” I informed my sister, indicating the Crankshaft on the beer menu, with my finger.

“Yeah that one is really amazing, I’ll have one of those too please!” she declared.

I winked at her and sauntered up to the bar, confident in my choice. I returned with two pots of Crankshaft and let the molten amber liquid, tickle my tastebuds and warm my belly. We made mutual noises of appreciation and before we knew it, our glasses were drained and it was Claudia’s shout.

Well, let’s be honest here…you know how this ends – we’re Australian after all! ‘A couple of beers‘ spiralled into three, then four, then, who knows how many! The conversation became choppy and slurred. Memories, in parts, became a little misty. 

But one moment remained clear in my mind. I’d taken a brief spell to use the public conveniences. Unfortunately, these were located externally and only accessible by first, navigating a labyrinth of identical doors and bricked corridors. Getting there was not the issue, so much as finding my way back!

After a trial and error approach at opening several doors (one to a cleaner’s closet, one leading out to an alleyway, and one opening into another restaurant altogether) I saw the bicycle wheel I’d been looking for.

Aha! Success! I thought to myself triumphantly, and headed over to the door.

Now, I’m not exactly sure if I pushed, when I should have pulled; or pulled when I should have pushed; but instead of opening the door, I smacked face first into it! Pain shot through the cartilage of my nose and the wheel made a loud ‘clang’ as metal rattled against metal. The noise resounded around the alcove, until I reached out and steadied the wheel with my hand, at which point I felt warm, red drops falling onto my skin. I realised I had acquired a bloody nose, compliments of the spokes! Holding my hand up, to stop it from gushing, I raced back to the table where my bewildered sister was waiting and wondering:
a) why I’d been gone so long, and
b) how on earth I’d managed to get a blood nose!

Fishing out tissues from her handbag, she handed me a wad, and asked what happened. In a muffled, nasally voice I explained, and she, began to laugh.

“I think you need another beer!” she said, and headed for the bar.

By Sarah ©2017

Prompt: The Sunday Whirl, Wordle #315

Scribblings by Sarah

After The Party

It was a late night; a party of epic proportions and I should have had the sense to stop drinking before I couldn’t see straight! Stepping out into the street, a forcefully strong gust of wind blew stray papers my way. I put my hands up to protect my face, and hesitated, making sure the cab out the front was in fact, the one I’d called. 

As I got into the car, my head began to hammer, hinting at the hangover to come. The ride home was thankfully fast at this pre-dawn hour, with little traffic, and little conversation from the driver. My husband had left the light on for me, however, it wasn’t needed, as the rays of a new day peeked over the horizon. I fumbled with my keys and opened the door. It creaked noisily in its frame heralding my arrival to my sleeping spouse. 

I dumped my handbag, stripped off my makeup and clothes and jumped in the shower. The rivers of warm water eased my now pounding head and I made a mental list for the day ahead:

1. Water
2. Aspirin
3. Sleep

Thank goodness for Sundays!

By Sarah ©2017




Prompt: The Sunday Whirl, Wordle 314

Free Verse, Poetry by Sarah, Scribblings by Sarah

Statues


It’s a sad fact – there seems no rights left.
Evil lies; march against stability.
Orange flames burn, torching lives.
As the hood is pulled back on ourselves,
We can be statues no more.

By Sarah ©2017

Prompt: Sunday Whirl, Wordle 313



Wordle and image credit Brenda Warren

Free Verse, Poetry by Sarah

Keyhole

I fell for his grin;
It was a touch naive.
At the time I believed
it was a fata organa.

I was malleable.
He saw his opportunity.
Imbibing me with lust,
like a local dog.

The trammels of hindsight,
A keyhole.

By Sarah ©2017

* fata organa – noun. a flash of real emotion glimpsed in someone sitting across the room, idly locked in the middle of some group conversation, their eyes glinting with vulnerability or quiet anticipation or cosmic boredom

Prompt: Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie, Wordle #169
Words used: hindsight, trammel, keyhole, malleable, opportunity, imbibe, fell, grin, local, naive, touch, fate organa

Free Verse, Poetry by Sarah

Second Chance

I couldn’t feign love any longer.
Your malformed heart
Had started to infect mine.

Nothing remained
Except the labyrinthine void
Between us.

It was time I left before
The dead-reckoning of our course 
Smashed us both upon the rocks.

I had been a girl with grit back then
– to get out when I did.
Even if my gait had been slow;
Unnatural; a clumsy waltz. 

As I relearned the steps,
I looked around with caution.
Until where once I was torn,
I had been stitched up whole again.

I press my hand to your chest
And feel your heart beating.
I promise you it forever
Be embedded in mine.

By Sarah ©2017

*Labyrinthine – adjective. complicated, torturous, resembling a labyrinth

^ Dead-reckoning – noun. In navigation, dead reckoning is the process of calculating one’s current position by using a previously determined position, or fix, and advancing that position based upon known or estimated speeds over elapsed time and course.

Prompt: Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie, Saturday’s Mix – 12 August 2017, flashback ; Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie, Wordle #168
Words used: feign, gait, dead-reckoning, torn, press, left, labyrinthine, look, embed(ded), malformed, gritty (grit), (un)natural

Free Verse, Poetry by Sarah, Scribblings by Sarah

The Flatmate

She was a girl with many layers.
Accustomed to finery.
Reactive when things didn’t go her way.
(She always blamed her hormones).

Any hidden gains; a figment of your imagination.
For connecting with her true self,
Always ended in a gnossienne.
Don’t mistake her imitation for flattery.

She prefers to indulge her naughty side,
And leave you feeling impuissant.
It was a relief when she finally moved out.
Even if she did take half my stuff…

By Sarah ©2017

* gnossienne (noun.) – a moment of awareness that someone you’ve known for years still has a private and mysterious inner life, and somewhere in the hallways of their personality is a door locked from the inside.
^ puissant (adjective.) – powerful, mighty, potent. Antonym – impussiant (unable to take effective action; powerless)

Prompt: Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie, Wordle #167
Words used: layers, finery, reactive, gnossienne, figment, hormones, hidden, gain, imitation, naughty, feeling, (im)puissant

Free Verse, Poetry by Sarah

Deep In The Willowwacks

Deep in the willowwacks*,
the hooded people encircle
eccentric stones.

Entangled in the foolish.
Fulfilling figments of need and
jumping like myrmidons^.

The blade glints
as it slices the flesh
of the chocolate haired girl.

And in the morning
only whispers remain.

By Sarah ©2017


* Willowwacks – A wooded or uninhabited area
^ Myrmidon – a person who executes without question or scruple a master’s commands.

Prompt: Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie, Wordle #166
Daily Post Daily Prompt: circleinhabit

Words used: willowwacks, foolish, circle, hooded, figments, eccentric, need, entangled, myrmidon, chocolate, glint, jump

Scribblings by Sarah, Stories by Sarah

The Haircut

Feeling nervous, I sidled into the room. Apart from one other patron, it was vacant. I tried to read the posters on the wall to pass the time, but found I couldn’t.

A smell permeated the area around me. To my horror, I realised it was eminating from me! Attempting to salvage my dignity, I sagged my shoulders, retreated to the corner and conceded the visit was necessary after all.

“Well don’t you have the prettiest Celadon eyes!” the young girl exclaimed as she grabbed me and guided me into the smaller room adjoining the waiting area.

Before I could reply, she commenced clipping with a startling trenchancy^; casting away my locks as though they were no more than offal.

I’d worked hard to grow my hair that long! I thought to myself sulkily.

In surprisingly short time, she was done and I looked at myself in the mirror. My coat was like spun gold; silky and shiny. I turned this way and that, admiring my new do.

As my owner entered the room to collect me, I stood up to greet her, completely unabashed*. 

By Sarah ©2017

Author’s note: This is my mum’s dog Ollie. He has unusual pale green eyes and a gorgeous golden coat, as well as a neat party trick of being able to ‘stand up’ and rest on his bottom! I have often wondered what he thinks as he gets dragged off for grooming once every three weeks, and this was my take on it using the wordle to help me.

* abash (verb) to destroy the self-confidence, poise, or self-possession of; disconcert; make ashamed or embarrassed
^ trenchancy (adjective) incisive or keen, as language or a person; caustic; cutting; vigorous; effective; energetic

Prompt: Minelovemisery’s Menagerie, Wordle #165
Words used: shine, clip, abash, read, salvage, Celadon, permeate, sag, nervous, vacant, offal, trenchancy 

Haibun, Poetry by Sarah

Demise

A vague sadness passed over me, as the choice presented itself again. I swilled the amber liquid in my glass, and wished, in an offhand way, that it was nepenthe; the sweet medicine of the soul. But my sallow skin, and the reappearance of terrible pangs, reminded me otherwise. Nonetheless, I savoured this, my fourth glass of the bitter, Neolithic drug. I had climbed too far, too soon and now it was either abdicate or perish…and I had chosen for my spectacular finale, both.

never to admit
defeat; choosing refuge in
eternal silence
 


By Sarah ©2017 



*nepenthe (noun) – A drug or drink, or the plant yielding it, mentioned by ancient writers as having the power to bring forgetfulness of sorrow or trouble. anything inducing a pleasurable sensation of forgetfulness, especially of sorrow or trouble

^abdicate(verb) – to renounce or relinquish a throne, right, power, claim, responsibility, or the like, especially in a formal manner 

Prompt: Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie, Wordle #164; Daily Post Daily Prompt, Word: savour
Words used: climb, vague, sadness, perish, pangs, nepenthe, neolithic, four, offhand, reappear, sallow, abdicate 

Scribblings by Sarah, Stories by Sarah

Nascent Itch

I was halfway up the Mt Maunganui trail, when I felt the nascent* itch. The bird song distracted me for a short while, however, I soon felt it again. That scratchy, crawling feeling running up and down the back of my neck. I guided my fingers over the left hand side of my neck, feeling small bumps with my fingertips. Just mosquito bites, I chided myself.

But in my mind and my gut, there was no illusion. I knew what these were! I’d had them before in Tasmania, September 2008. Bed bugs.

By the time I had explored the summit and made my way back down the mountain, bites had flared up everywhere. Aside from the ones on my neck, there were now bites on my jawline, pinkie and ring fingers, wrists and forearms. This was the clincher. I had to take action. No more denial.

A quick visit to the pharmacy confirmed my self-diagnosis. The alarmed expression on the pharmacist’s face, warranted that I took her recommendations seriously. Armed with a cassette of antihistamines and a tube of hydrocortisone cream, it was time to deal with the hostel.

I returned to the accommodation, and approached the lovely Bohemian girl working reception. I discreetly explained the situation, revealed the evidence on my skin and we promptly marched up to my room to investigate and find the culprits.

The girl was extremely apologetic and I could see she felt terrible. And I understood it was not her fault. In fact, around 70% of people who have been bitten by bed bugs have no reaction – hence the reason they can spread so easily and remain undetected! It isn’t until a hyper-sensitive such as myself gets bitten, that staff become aware there is an issue and eradication measures can be taken. Bed bugs can also survive without feeding for 30 days. They really are wily little critters. For all my patience and understanding though, I wanted to topple these bastards and ensure they killed every last one of them!

After inspecting the bed sheets, valance, pillows, mattress etc, without success, I was beginning to doubt myself; concerned I was mistaken. However, as she pulled the bed away from the wall, the multitude of bugs that were present, made our skin crawl.

Feeling far from insouciant with the agreed upon room upgrade, we proceeded to check my new bed for the night as well. It was clean but I must confess I slept with the lights on anyway and woke every few hours to check over my skin.

Needless to say, I have been left feeling quite traumatised by the experience. Dealing with the aftermath of pustules, welts and ever present itching and pain, I will certainly be more careful where I lay my head in future! 

P.S You can check out some gross photos of the bites here

By Sarah ©2017

*Nascence (adjective) – beginning to exist, developing
^Insouciant (noun) – free from worry, concern, anxiety

Prompt: Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie, Wordle #163
Words used: bird, cassette, trail, Bohemian, warrant, nascence, chide, illusory, everywhere, topple, clinch, insouciant

Scribblings by Sarah, Stories by Sarah

Moral Compass


I positioned my ear plugs, pulled down my eye mask and sighed contentedly as I snuggled into my pillow. What a great day! I had thoroughly enjoyed the day trip to Waiheke Island, sampling fine food and wine, but now I was tired and sure looking forward to some sleep.  

I began regulating my breathing and coercing my mind into quiet. And that’s when I heard it. The asomatous* sound coming through the foam.

Ignore it, I told myself, go to sleep!

But I couldn’t. I ripped out the earplugs and tuned in. The sound permeated the paper thin walls. At first, it was just a dull hum of voices, indistinguishable and unintelligible. However, like a crescendo, soon the volume and ferver of their dialogue had reached far above the acceptable levels for 11:30pm.  I could now make out an accent…German. There was music, glasses clinking, and food packaging rustling. Maybe there was a serious cabal^ taking place in the room next door?

The rituals that had preceded my efforts at sleep, were now completely redundant. I could barely stand to lie there listening to each item of foreign conversation. The booming, errant laughter was grating my last nerve and as 12am, 12:30am, and 1am rolled past, there was no respite from their noise. 

When I could stand it no longer, driven by fremdschämen#,  I jumped out of bed and pounded on the door. 

“Hey!” I said, using my best teacher voice, “Can you please keep it down!? I’ve been trying to sleep for three hours now. It’s 1:30am and that’s enough!”

The absolute authority in my voice must have been crystal clear, as a meek, “Yes, sure. Sorry.” came as the reply.

Somewhat placated, I returned to bed. The opaque light glowed around the edges of the doorframe and I began the descent into merciful sleep.

Until 2:30am. When it started again.

I groaned into my pillow, thumping the bedcovers in frustration.

What the hell was wrong with these people? I fumed. I replaced my ear plugs and turned on my iPod. But I could still hear them, even through the two filters. 

Finally at 3:45am, all fell silent and blissful sleep arrived. Not for long however, as I had an early bus to catch.

Now some might call it a blip on my moral compass, but when my alarm went off at 5am I made sure as hell, I created as much noise as possible whilst getting ready. 

By Sarah ©2017



* asomatous (adjective) – having no material body

^cabal (noun)- a small group of secret plotters, as against a government or person in authority. the plots and schemes of such a group; intrigue. a clique, as in artistic, literary, or theatrical circles

# fremdschämen (verb) To feel ashamed about something someone else has done

Prompt: Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie, Wordle #162
Words used: absolute, precede, blip, cabal, paper, asomatous, hum, stand, above, item, opaque, fremdschämen

Scribblings by Sarah, Stories by Sarah

 Just Desserts 

I stared at the single gladiola adorning the table of the restaurant. The wilted petals belied their brightly coloured hues. I felt sympathy, as I had a sense I looked somewhat the same. My makeup, applied 10 hours ago, still held its colour but had that smudged, worn look. As did my clothing. I noticed with a grimace, I had a small red stain on my shirt. How long had that been there? Boy, what a day! I needed this. I told myself.

I sat up in my chair, straightening my posture, so as to attract the attention of the slovenly wait staff, who seem more interested in socialising than serving. No doubt sharing some galimatias^ they would gossip about at the end of their shift.

I shook my hand in the air, waving and trying to meet the tall, willowy one’s eye. With visible sufferance, she finally wandered over.

“Are you ready to order?” she asked, with all the radiance of a spent light globe.

Ignoring her attitude, I placed my order, “Yes please I’ll just have dessert – the chocolate brownie, lemon meringue pie and the Italian donuts. Oh, and a coffee too. Thanks.”

Her eyes widened. She seemed on the verge of saying something, however immured* her thoughts, instead turning to take the order to the kitchen.

I watched the chef through the cut-out in the wall. I did like these open-style, industrial-type kitchens. You could see what was happening and make sure no untoward hygiene practices were taking place. I looked on with satisfaction, as he took the knife and cut a huge wedge of the pie. The peaks of meringue were like waves atop the glorious yellow tart. He placed it on a plate and commenced piping double whipped cream around its base. It was like a mountain from heaven.

Next was the chocolate brownie. He pulled it straight out of the oven and mesmerised, I observed him slide the slightly oozing chocolate block onto a separate plate. He gripped a traditional ice cream scoop and dished up three lashings of vanilla bean ice cream on the side. I was starting to drool.

Out of the deep fryer, I watched him whisk out three tiny, doughy balls. He rolled them in cinnamon, drizzled caramel sauce and nuts over the top, garnishing the donuts with a single strawberry.

He dinged on the bell and the waitress returned, balancing the three small dishes on her arms. She sat them down in front of me.

The saliva in my mouth was viscous and ready to receive.

I could not wait for the cloudburst of euphoria that would accompany each bite, wiping the misery of today into the hereafter.

Then I realised.

I’d forgotten my insulin.

By Sarah ©2017



* immure (verb.) to enclose within walls. to shut in; seclude or confine. to imprison. to build into or entomb in a wall.

^Galimatias (noun.) A secret that must be kept on pain of death.

Prompt: Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie, Wordle #161. Daily Post Daily Prompt, interest, sympathy, traditional. Use at least 10 of the words to create a story or poem. The words can appear in an alternate form.

Words used: insulin, posture, shake, suffer, cloudburst, immure*, hereafter, slovenly, radiate, gladiola, restaurant, galimatias^

Scribblings by Sarah, Stories by Sarah

Sweet Tooth

 

It was a mundane existence really – keeping everything so neat and tidy all the damn time. There was not even a speck of dust on the vents for heaven’s sake. And for what? I needed to grow a spine and just refuse to adhere to such fastidious rules. There were better ways to spend my time!

Then, out of the corner of my eye, I spied it. A cheeky candy wrapper poking out from under the bed.

How on earth did that get there? I pondered.

I nudged the bed aside to retrieve the offending candy wrapper and that’s when I saw the partial fingerprint. 

Tentatively, I picked it up and walked backwards, toward the edge of my cell.

Triumphantly I held aloft the prize, knowing there was only one person in D block with half a finger. Staring brazenly at the inmate opposite me, I said with a smile, “Looks like I’m not the only person in here lacking la gaudiere*, hey Stubs? Now I promise I won’t tell. But it will cost you the rest of that packet”…

By Sarah ©2017



Prompt: Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie, Wordle #160. Use at least 10 of the words to create a story or poem.

Words used: mundane, neat, vent, spine, wrapper, la gaudiere, nudge (nudged), partial, tentative, backwards, oppose (opposite), smile

* La gaudiere (noun.) glint of goodness inside people, which you can only find by sloshing them back and forth in your mind until everything dark and gray and common falls away, leaving behind a constellation at the bottom of the pan—a rare element trapped in exposed bedrock, washed there by a storm somewhere upstream.

Free Verse, Poetry by Sarah, Scribblings by Sarah

The Muse


One bite of your neck, was more than I deserved; my muse.

You were so open, with words so smooth; my muse.

You eased the tension from my body, like it were a playhouse; my muse.

Even Neptune himself, could not have been treated any more a king; my muse.

Your semaphorism* a constant tease, a hook, a drug; my muse.

A paradoxical stalemate of wanting, but never having you; my muse.

But in reality, you are a thief; my muse.

I have been stolen, and am lost in you.

By Sarah ©2017

Prompt: Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie – Wordle #159
Words: 

1. Bite
2. Smooth
3. Open
4. Deserve
5. Paradox
6. Semaphorism (n.)) a conversational hint that you have something personal to say on the subject but don’t go any further—an emphatic nod, a half-told anecdote, an enigmatic ‘I know the feeling’—which you place into conversations like those little flags that warn diggers of something buried underground: maybe a cable that secretly powers your house, maybe a fiberoptic link to some foreign country.)
7. Tension
8. Playhouse
9. Neptune
10. Stalemate
11. Muse
12. Thieves
Use at least 10 of the words to create a story or poem