|
Doodling my darling,
A damsel I desire, Destined to be my wife. Round eyes and lush lips, Flowing locks and childbearing hips, She’s the one for me. We’ll marry in a church, On a hilltop in the countryside, Surrounded by family. A ring on her slender hand, A bouquet as delicate as her skin, Tossed in the wind. Doodling my darling, A damsel I admire, One day a dream come true.
0 Comments
From the inside out
infrastructure is decaying beneath our feet, under our home, in our faith. Out of sight, out of mind, neglected and corroded, forgotten by distractions, foundations decaying. Overpopulated cities, stretching the capacity, expanding without opening minds and closing hearts. Forget thy neighbor, it’s all about me, more and more toys, more and more technology. Lost art of conversation. Praying for wealth, not love. Praying for a spot on the team, not the team. Decaying on both knees. Empty churches, empty people. Time for a root canal. A folksy piece of art
inspiring a daring dip into a beautiful body of water in what should be Spring, still feeling much like winter. Bright sunshine missing behind a gloomy gray sky, small flakes adrift in the wind, too cold for April, too cold to jump in a lake. Experience is a teacher of life
providing answers to the mistakes, solutions to songs breaking hearts, truths shattering darkness in doubts beating confidence to shamefulness when there’s failure to grasp subject matter through closed eyes and a closed mind. Experience is a good teacher tapping a desk to wake you from a heavy sleep, a burden, Encouraging focus, eyes forward, Preparing for the next test. She sits alone, at a distance,
legs crossed on a wooden bench, hands at rest on her lap, alone, quiet and observant, her surroundings familiar, faces of strangers seen each day, walking to and fro without a word, without a glance or a nod, feeling invisible in a busy park, ignored by eyes staring at phones, hoping for a glance, a smile, a person to share a seat, to discuss weather blooming flowers, the scent of Spring in the air. She knows me as a stranger, sitting in the distance, wearing a business suit, staring at strangers, eyes hidden behind dark glasses, avoiding contact, sitting center on a bench, saving a spot for her with a folded newspaper, arms stretched wide across the bench back, an open invitation to join, to discuss the weather, to see her smile, to hear her voice. Tomorrow’s another day, another date, with a stranger at a distance. Clear the mind in three minutes thinking about the day, tomorrow, this week or the year ahead. Think about the past and reflect on mistakes in three minutes, but also consider happy times. In just three minutes, the mind can wander or focus on the dark space of silence. Three minutes of thinking can create four lines of writing, more or less, based on the distractions encountered.
I don’t care what he said.
Oh great! You don’t care! That’s not what I said, That’s what she heard. She liked what he said, Not what I said. She knows what I said is truth, What he said is a lie. Her defenses are up. He said a lie, he said he’d never. She knows I said the truth. She knows I’ve never lied. He said I don’t love her, He said I’m not always there, He said that I don’t care, He said it to make her anxious, He said things to scare her, He said things to manipulate her, He said things to control her, He said he loves her, He said a lie. A fool will love
Again, again, and again. Not because it’s love, Not because he cares. A fool will love Because she says She’s the one. Yes, dear. No, I’m the one. Yes, dear. No, I’m the one. Yes, dear. |
Robert Stanhope
Writer and photographer. Archives
December 2022
Categories
All
|
RSS Feed