Way Station Earth

poetsandstorytellersunited #79: On My Way Posted by Rommy 

What is this life but a way station,
a stopping off point, a waiting room?
If this is the beginning and end
then what in Heaven’s name does it mean?
To be born, to struggle, to have joy, to die.
What about all the people whose lives
are short as a mayfly’s, or long lived and miserable?
And even if a life is long and the best it could be,
is that still all?
Is it all a cosmic joke? An experiment?
A Star Trek holodeck? A dream of God?
Being fertilizer for a tree is not much comfort
when awareness has evaporated on the breeze.

Just asking myself the hard questions. I am not trying to preach cause I just don’t know enough.

The Old gods

Twiglets #234
A twiglet’s aim is to “prompt” a thought. If something comes to mind, write. A polished piece isn’t the goal; creativity is.

My, how the gods have aged,
white haired yet without wisdom.
It is hard to love old gods,
withered and feeble,
doddering with rage and lust.
Zeus pushing his walker
shuffling after Demeter
losing himself in the tall wheat.


Unrequited Love

Poets and Storytellers Weekly Scribblings #76: Writing a Blank Posted by Rommy 

There’s a massive blank space in the universe,  
one billion light years across – of nothing.
As empty as a politician’s usefulness
As blank as a poker-faced gambler
As bare as a treeless plain…
It is a puzzle, an enigma, a perplexity.
How can there be a span of nothing
in the midst of something?
What keeps the something from falling
into the nothing?

And how can a heart be so empty
when you’re surrounded by such
a magnitude of love?

News Story Here

Looking for Love

Quickly Dropping Names “…in some way make use of the names paint companies dream up for their colors.” 

Dead Salmon  FARROW & BALL DEAD SALMON 28

“As a fisherman and a foodie, I always have nice thoughts about DEAD SALMON. I see a salmon resting in my creel or on my plate in a neighborhood restaurant. Clients, on the other hand, often can’t get past the image of a dead fish, so I just don’t tell them the name. But they love the color. It’s like a pink that’s gone gray over time and taken on this wonderful patina. Moody and gorgeous.” -Philip Gorrivan

Her silk dress lay on the floor puddled,
like dirty snow on a plowed highway,
like a dead salmon washed onto the shore.
like a stinking heap of trash left to molder.
She would wake up alone
head heavy, eyes blurred,
fumble into her silk dress
humiliated once again.



Apple of Her Eye

Picking Apples is a painting by MotionAge Designs info Here

Quickly One for Eve and Johnny

She’s a breath of fresh air
on an airless day
Rosemary with her Russet hair
and Blushing Golden cheeks
She stands on tiptoe to pick
the best, the Golden Delicious-ness
of fruit hanging just in reach.
A basket on her arm to carry them
home to bake a pie for Jonathan,
an Epicure/an delight.

Choose Wisely

Poets and Storytellers Between What Is Right and What Seems Easy, Posted by Magaly Guerrero

“Dark times lie ahead of us and there will be a time when we must choose between what is easy and what is right.” ~Albus Dumbledore, in Harry Potter and The Goblet of Fire

It would be so easy to do
nothing, let the chips
fall where they may.
What if nothing makes a difference?
But, I ask, in what way?

Maybe it’s the right thing.
Maybe I owe it to you.
But, if the right thing
hurts the many,
then tell me, what do I do?

Seems there are no easy answers.
Right can be misled opinion.
Doing nothing is choice by default.
Sometimes, it boils down to
What is merciful?
What is just?

The Sting of Death

See the source image
The Angelus by French artist Jean-François Millet

Quickly two prompts in one (One of the BIG Ones and Four Specific Nouns)

Above the dining room buffet
hangs The Angelus by Millet.
The steeple of the Chailly-en-Bière
rings end of work day for the pair,
heads bowed for the call to prayer
and at their feet potatoes in a basket,
though, Dali in his youth saw a casket
and later proved true his suspicion.
Under layers of paint a rough depiction
a small, rough image like a wooden box.
Did Millet’s first attempt show paradox
between their child and the Christ child
in Angelus birth and death reconciled?
 

Story Here