50 Word Stories: Perspectives

“The view’s spectacular.”
“You’ve got your eyes shut.”
“Doesn’t mean I can’t see.”
“You keep telling yourself that.”
“Well, what can you see?”
“Some kids fiddling about near our car, the supermarket, and Mrs. Brown’s stupid, fat cat. I think it’s killed a sparrow.”
“I can see everything.”
“You win.”

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50 Word Stories: Barely There

Less than a vision yet more than a dream, she fluttered like a moth before the moon. Indistinct, her lips mouthed my name, or so I imagined. She was almost gone, almost not, a cobweb in the breeze, a beautiful enigma just waiting to be unraveled. In death, barely there.

Visions Of Music Lost

A vision in white,
She twirled and whirled,
A mist in motion.
Who she danced for,
Who could say,
But as I peered through the hall windows,
Dirty, running with rain,
I fell in love with the music she portrayed.
I could not hear the violins,
The pianos, nor even the swelling base,
But I felt it.
Oh, how I felt it.
She danced as though her heart might break,
As though the world might end,
Then picked up her bag and walked away.
The music went with her.
I listen for it still.

I Called Her Willow


 Slender limbed
 And gloss of snow,
 Golden eyed,
 Her skirts swept low.
 Upon the bank
 Her tears did stream,
 But full of joy,
 My perfect dream.
 As waving tendrils
 In lightest breeze,
 Her hair did stir;
 Brought to my knees.
 That gentle girl,
 She bowed to me,
 A swaying beauty,
 My willow tree.
 
 
 
 
 

My Vision


 A vision in magenta
 With gloves of velvet touch,
 She swept across the dance floor
 To steal my imagination.
 A thing of dreams made real
 With locks of brunette curlicue,
 She enraptured me.
 If ever perfection was personified,
 It was in she.
 When she asked if I would escort her,
 I thought it a prank.
 Her winsome smile showed a lighter touch,
 And I knew her true.
 I was hers.
 We danced, and twirled, and spun,
 As the orchestra played, I know not what.
 We dance there still in our hearts,
 And we shall forever more.
 
 
 

Ornate Curls of Life

This was inspired by some wise words by my good friend MichelleMarie. Please check out her always inspirational blog.
 
 



 To see life
 As only you can,
 Not predefined,
 Not part of the plan,
 But full of style,
 Curlicued swirls,
 An ocean of feeling,
 A field of whorls.
 To look past the rigid;
 To look past the fixed,
 And feel the colour,
 Sense how all is mixed.
 These are the portraits
 Of my poetry,
 Written with feeling,
 And not just for me.
 Ornate curls
 Of life, I was told.
 That’s what it is
 To strive to be bold.
 
 
 

Nightwings



 
 Amidst a roiling cobalt sky
 A feather, white, did catch my eye,
 Tumbling down from greatest height,
 So unexpected, softest sight.
 Against the dark of pure midnight,
 I spied a something decked in light,
 And though this all was in the past,
 I’ll remember till my day the last.
 For though I caught just briefest gleam,
 I then knew angels were no dream.
 Nightwings, I did call that sight,
 As just one glimpse set heart alight.
 But blink I did and heart did break
 For winged angel did forsake.
 She left me near that church alone
 A million miles from my real home.
 —-
 Wander still near oldest church
 In cemetery dark, lined silver birch,
 I shall until I see again
 My nightwings though I know not when.