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The Tracks–Home: Daily Prompt

railroad

http://dailypost.wordpress.com/2014/03/03/prompt-our-house/

The train rushed past my house every 27 minutes or so bringing millions of strangers to and from one of the largest hubs in the world, Penn Station. The noise of the train rocked my street and at times, shattered its foundation. It trembled at odd hours and to me always seemed magical. When the temperatures dropped, you could see small blue flames light up the hot tracks. It seemed this beating heart was always present.

Nothing is more extravagant, noteworthy, historical, romantic, nostalgic, and more like a house with hidden stories, than New York’s railroad system. To me its pulse housed all the “home” I’ve known. It sheltered my hopes for love and life and mystery.

I spent countless hours as a child climbing over the platform to sit as close as possible to the track. Other times I would hide nearby and imagine stories about the businessman walking in a hurry, the Muslim woman carrying a child..the homeless man struggling for warmth on a train car. It was all fascinating to me. Where were they going? Were they happy? Were they at their last stop?

As I got older I would sometimes ride the train to Penn Station or any other stop just to feel the train beneath me. To see the magic of a new neighborhood, to roam the streets..to let the mighty car pull me away from my own lonely thoughts. Some of the greatest memories of my life happened on that train.

Riding with a lover, all dressed to venture the city’s music— to navigate our souls and bodies. ( I can still feel the sting of his facial hair against my skin as we huddled in the corner of the train car). I can see the sneering faces as we laughed over the noise of the rumbling engine. Young lovers can be so disruptive.

His body was as strong and as powerful as the MTA car it seemed.

I secretly wished that ride would never make it to its final destination. The train sheltered us from life’s blunders. From the realities of love and its inevitable losses.

Writing poems on the Metro North train while crossing the Hudson..watching the river beneath me almost crash through my skin from the dingy window. Bringing my daughter on her first subway ride, all bundled up as a wide eyed baby..just looking out in amazement at the world rushing past us.

Yes, that train was home to me. And it still is. When I go back and feel the familiar rocking below me, see the strangers altogether as a family for one short ride–I feel safe. I feel hidden.

I’ve often wandered if my very elusive idea of “home,” will ever find me. By this age, I pictured myself on a rounded porch, overlooking the landscape, huddled in the kitchen over a pot of sauce, writing by the window…watching the leaves and our lives change. Finding peace in my heart. The house smelling like garlic, the warmth of candles, the hissing of a heater, the low toil of family life, mini me stumbling in for meals.. the security of the same strong, handsome face coming down our long driveway.

They are delusions long buried under those tracks by now.

And while those daydreams are simply, well… childish fantasy, the tracks past my early home are very real. They are waiting for me to step on and feel that long lost feeling of hope and love and maybe magic just one more time.

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For Him (Daily Prompt)

Botticelli

 

His power is raw.
He unravels and exposes
me.

Dissects me.
Heals all of me.

His dark eyes startle me.
Stir me. Ache against me.
For me.

In dreams,
He trembles and climbs inside me
again and again
under our bare sky.

And I heal him.
Unravel him. Expose him.
Shield him.

And he stays…stays because
only he hears
the stifled knocking
coming from my heart.

-P

 

http://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_prompt/hes-shes-so-fine/

 

The Withdraw: Daily Writing Prompt

The knocking in my heartw11-john-waterhouse-lamia
asked for one more fix.

His hot mouth.
The trance of pretty words.
Grand fantasies. Hope.

Just one more time.
To feel possessed. Owned. Wanted.
Needed.

Same ending.
Raw. Exposed. Forgotten.

The knocking becomes an echo.

—P

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This work by menaanne.wordpress.com is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 United States License.

http://dailypost.wordpress.com/2013/10/09/daily-prompt-addicting/

The Fall : Daily Prompt -Seasons

The boughs are heavy with forgetting.
Change is a purgatory here,
A slow churning of pride
bleeding small bits of color.

My limbs are heavy with forgetting too.
Dismissing love and a season is an endless theme.

Falling leaves try lose sight of dark eyes,
the soft drizzle tapping our umbrella.

The fireworks over bright oceans and deep in my skin.
—P

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http://dailypost.wordpress.com/2013/10/11/daily-prompt-seasons-2/

Daily Prompt: Pretending

Van Gogh-Girl in White in the Woods
Van Gogh-Girl in White in the Woods

Swim in it
until your soul feels wrinkled.

Swim so much in his mouth that
your body is wrecked.
Enjoy the pretender while he pretends.

He needs and needs. He wants and wants.
Animated cobalt eyes and smiles.
Apparitions have an allure.

Souls mated together.
Delusions of dream homes
Fantasies that you are the last
last. Sounds so good.

Your knight has arrived.

But the pretender cannot pretend for long.

The sudden shift sits in the shadows.
Dizziness becomes
a low hum.

Blue eyes turn ghastly..angry..
His gut-wrenches sobs.. self loathing.
Nothing satisfies the pretender.

So, the pretending ends.
And it always does.

Your mouth and body are shut
in him like a sepulcher.
Closed off like a tomb.
His body wants
a new space to crawl.

It is easy for him to
Forget the hope he spilled on
your bed, in your body..
The words he carved.

He looks for a  key.

He conjures a dust storm, easy exit.
A thick clouded, never-ending hail of pain
to hurl..to push you out.

He sells the bits and pieces of the life,
the puzzle, he was just fitting together.

Bit by bit they go on the shelf–
a shuffled story.

And the pretender is gone.
He called your bluff.

Your  heart feels almost electrocuted.
Not yet numb..the hurling aside

is a deep casting.
The disconnect has sharp edges.

But mirages of ideal
lovers always disappoint him.
They are all replaceable parts.

Now he hunts again. He pretends.
His eager illusion drapes over a drink.

And a new pretty scent fills the air.
The forgetting and remembering.

She feels the strength of his cologne
his white sweater, his hot mouth.

He feels alive again!
Another soul to mate.

Until he needs to crawl out of his skin.
Until she does not gratify.

Soon the shelf
is full of mangled pieces
of lovers who swam

in his crippled soul. Because it quenched their own.

 

http://dailypost.wordpress.com/2014/03/27/prompt-the-great-pretender/

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Fences (Daily Prompt)

Just a short lollipop yellow dress.
But its ribbons and threads
still remember you.

Destiny John William WaterhouseHands trembling over its seams.
The bright white and yellow flowers
against my tan bare shoulders.

Your fingers twirling the short ribbon
telling me to come near–
NO– nearer.

The dress danced over my knees
like my soul  just jumped out of a plane.

The yellow has not faded,
but the dress sleeps folded
on a dusty shelf.

When the barbed wire of your storms
start to climb high in my memory,

I pull out that yellow dress.
And remember how it thrust against
your fingers and words.

That one night
when our fences retreated.

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http://dailypost.wordpress.com/2014/02/08/daily-prompt-neighbors/

Daily Prompt: Love

Love.
Never knowing how long
his body might tremble above me.

Leaving an atlas of himself
for days, weeks… months..years..
The rage of startling separation.
Will he leave me at the shore?

My body would be sick with misty rain.

Seeing his mouth in dreams…
just an apparition?

His soul softens me.
Reawakens me.
Steals me.

Keeps me willing.

And I lay against the buttons on
His blue plaid shirt,
praying my submission
and my gypsy soul make him stay.

–P
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http://dailypost.wordpress.com/2013/11/17/daily-prompt-love-2/

20131117-111410.jpg

Reckless — More Than a Broken Leg: Daily Prompt

http://dailypost.wordpress.com/2014/02/23/daily-prompt-moon-walking/

Is it better to surrender blindly or keep passion at bay. Well, in my opinion, it is probably better and safer to keep it at bay. Kick it to the curb if it’s too much trouble, untie the strings, enjoy freedom, keep it from entering the small little dark room inside. But..Ive never been one to follow advice, even my own. And so, the biggest risk I took was stepping off the plane.

shallott

I let everything that was wound up tightly slowly unravel. Let myself lay like a child next to his blue plaid shirt, believed it all again..I built new dreams. I forgave. Nail by nail we rebuilt a shelter. Swallowed my fears that he would turn off again to me. I took the prize for its face value, with millions or nothing..over wine and candles or tears and rum. I wanted that arm on mine. I wanted his good, bad and ugly.

That last morning before the sun came up..I sat in the low corner of our room, looked out at the snow blanketed driveway..and pictured him walking toward me as an old man. Me waiting his arrival. Yes, I let myself flash-forward. I had never flash forwarded in my life!

Now he will walk down that driveway to someone else, walk in the door one night across from a different pretty face at our table. He will forget the nights he had nothing but my voice. Truth is both my legs were broken.

I was cut out quicker than a prostitute with a cashed check in hand.

Being blinded again by that familiar arm, watching his façade go to pieces..watching all of the routines, the promises, the dreams go in a flash again.. I realized that the ride was all mine.

And so I may be in a cast, but the blind passionate memories are good memories.. And getting off the plane was worth my heart flash forwarding. It meant I had hope.

So risk..it can be a good thing, but prepare the bandages beforehand.

Imitation and Flattery: Daily Writing Prompt

A decoy, an evasion.
The same stroll down the same
stretch of sand.
Carbon- copied phrases. Promises. Ploys.

A different woman’s skin to hook into.

Renewable forgeries, new faces.
The plot. Seeing her smile.
Watching her face change in passion –
To feel her slowly become a believer.
Her eyes soften, her body opens to him.

It is the ruse of lies
and even a trap of tears.
It is his blue eyes
conquering their momentary fix.

But, even the flatterer becomes alone
in the universe.
He is a weathered boat left at dawn,
with nothing but shadows on its pillow.

http://dailypost.wordpress.com/2013/10/14/daily-prompt-homage/

* The prompt was to describe imitation/flattery.

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“Clutter” Daily Prompt

shallotthttp://dailypost.wordpress.com/2013/09/29/daily-prompt-junk/

Soul mates excite you! Love makes things perfect! Social media sells these mottoes to the recluses time and again. Usually it is a blonde with implants selling the epithets to hundreds of adoring “likes.” Move beyond the size D prophets and examine your own soul’s clutter. Artists, writers, song makers, introspective creators for thousands of years, have never pinpointed what love really is, Facebook wont either.

Our souls are all fragile and cluttered. They’ve been weathered by life, hurts , happiness, moments of excitement, jarred with fear, sometimes burned by deep violence. The nurturing of this bundle of energy that gives us any meaning, is probably the most important work you can do in your lifetime. Without doing that work, we cannot love anyone else, we cannot repair ourselves, we cannot trust ourselves.

Whitman exclaims that love awakens the soul. Bukowski likens it to urine in a river. Plath describes it as a death and rebirth. Rilke explains that love is not even possible until two “complete” people run parallel to each other. They are apart but together and never veer off that path. The ability to enjoy solitude is essential, he claims, to loving anything else.

Not only does love  “awaken” or “excite” the soul, but it levels out the extreme emotion we all feel. It stabilizes us, comforts us, therefore enabling us to progress further than we can alone. It helps us heal voids. It is another agent to protect our soul when we don’t do a good job ourselves.

Continue reading “Clutter” Daily Prompt