“LOVE FROM ANOTHER DIMENSION…”

typewriter_legswtypewriter_sample_img_2A very long time ago I wrote what I considered prose or maybe it was poetry; I’m not very good at identifying genres. Be this as it may, I will share with you (over time) my own genre entitled: Thoughts.

OLD SWEATER: Her aged hands hold knitting needles as if in a fencing duel. Skeins of yarn wend their way out of her basket. Click/click/click… Fabric is woven into a meshwork of color. Her stitches conjoin threads for the creation. A whittled form emerges from her needled skill. Her love is its texture.

BURYING: Street faces serve as sentinels for the funeral procession. Darkly clothed mourners stand in sorrow-laden silence. A warm breeze carries religious rites to my wintery soul. Painful emotions kill my heart as the knife they drew from yours. Your tomb awaits and I throw dirt instead of a blanket over you.

“THE RUSH TO LIFE…”

typewriter_legswtypewriter_sample_img_2I’m RUSHING; but, only on the inside. Today I paused and asked myself: “Toward what?”

Obsessed, I wonder… Has Earth picked up speed from some yet-to-be-identified phenomenon hidden in the Cosmos? Or, in the name POWERFUL it’s possible Earth’s sovereigns—and their politics—have forced an imbalance in accepted thinking. 

See! Here I go again! The possibilities are endless in “Rush to the What If’s of Life.”

So I wonder what is NOT rushed in life—laughter, dance, to sing, love, draw, read, create, pray, mature, children, rain, wind, birds, pets, rainbows, cry, assist, wilderness, oceans, trees, mementos, color, to write, night, day, snow, mountains, fish, memories, travel…

All I’ve forgotten on my list are now yours to add to slow “The Rush to Life.”