Summer

Drowning bodies sigh wearily
Through interminable hours.
Empty, heavy thoughts
Echo time’s fragile fissures,
As dripping forms
Steal silently towards                                                                                                                                            Inaccessible slumber.
Clawing, pink and stained
The shadows of the day
Pierces the shrouded veil
As, like liquid chocolate
Night continues to pour forth                                                                                                                            And melting midnight lullabies
Sweetly scorch,
As the still breeze silently stalls
And tender, weary eyes stare
Restlessly awaiting…
Sweet RELEASE.

Blame It On Jamie Lee Curtis

Silver in the Barn

Why I would imagine that the color of my hair would hold an iota of interest to you, dear reader, cannot be explained other than to say I learned the hard way that it’s a subject that can ignite opinion, solicited or not.

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I was serving as parliamentarian for a civic organization a few years ago and during a meeting, one of the members, henna-tressed, suddenly blurted out “What are you doing to your hair?”

“Nothing, really. I’ve just decided to stop coloring it.”

Stunned silence. Or as the hipsters say, “Crickets.” Just like that I was able to stop the proceedings of our monthly meeting. What power.

The president of the group, a woman in her mid-70s with expensively highlighted blonde hair, then offered this little gem: “But Barbara! You’re much too young to go gray!”

Tell that to the melanin levels in my hair follicles, please.

And as I looked out at the women around…

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Sitting quietly at my desk, gently fondling my coffee mug, as the wayward steam floating softly before my eyes like a thin mist penetrates deepest thought. Stirring beliefs that seemed no longer my own, escaping my consciousness, broodingly gazing blankly beyond the reedy mist and grubby windowpane, to a sliver of sliver of moon peeping through the blue velvet blackness, as stars arrange themselves in orderly discord, waiting for…the fire to ignite and blaze past the shimmering mist.

Sometimes things seem hard

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Her mind drifted to a time that could have been, if only. “If only, if only, if only…” filled her world, her thoughts and consequently her dreams. She felt possessed by the fate “if only,” her life revolving about wrong decisions. Or, could it really be that no matter which decision she made, it would ultimately lead to disaster?

Could this time be different? Maybe this time, but that’s what she always thought.