Chatter bubbles and rumbles, like water. A trickle rising to a gush and then subsiding. I imagine dabbling my toes in the rivulets of voices, Feeling the laughs tickle my feet, The occasional sharp shout splashing up my leg, Unexpectedly, making me gasp. I would like to sit and listen, My seat on the bank, Hearing the conversations, the jokes, the gossip At this mini jamboree, And after a while someone would wave to me, Beckon me over, pour me a drink, And call me friend.
There is something about hearing the chatter of parties in gardens …Linking this to Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt to write a poem or prose of exactly 86 words which includes the word ‘jamboree’.
The shoulders resist the call to fall. Fall to the call of gravity and age. Age is a mean master, but I notice, Notice on you anyway, Way after the rest of the body submits, Submits to the pull and puff of life, Life has not reached your shoulders.
It’s the freckles that give an air of youth, Youth that walked down our road that day, Day I first saw you, through the nets, Nets I dropped when you looked up, Up through your mane of hair, Hair that touched your strong freckled shoulders. Shoulders that still look young – did I mention that?
Melanin turns us daily darker, We lose our newcomer pale, Wear less, Walk slower, Feel the lanquid holiday heat Wrap itself around us, Until we are absorbed into the Melting medley of Coconut scented suncream, See-through sea water, Carafes, cocktails And deliciously lazy siestas.
Abandonment reeks with story. Seeping through the rips and rust, the shattered glass and cracks, more defined than mere craquelure, the what once was remains.
Do we mind it? Take time to read it, hear it? We should. All tales are worth an ear.
Linking this to Carrie’s Sunday Muse Blogspot. Carrie has provided some wonderfully evocative images of abandonment for this week’s inspiration. Go to http://thesundaymuse.blogspot.com/ to see more images, and read all the creative responses.
There was a variation there, so slight you might have missed it. Tom had a fleck of brown in otherwise blue eyes. His twin’s eyes were pure blue. No fleck you see. It was Tom who was unreliable and, not wanting to sound too harsh, pretty useless. You wouldn’t trust him with your life’s savings that’s for sure. He was totally feckless. Whereas his twin was fleckless.
Silly piece of prose linked to Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt, which this week challenges us to write a piece of prose or poetry using the word ‘variation’ and using exactly 67 words.
Ribs of light flutter through the billowing curtains like the carcass of a sea beast, my ceiling its sea bed, my bed a restless deck, sails creased and rumpled. The anchor will not raise, I cannot cast off.
Goggles donned, Swimsuit tugged, Breath held. Here I go.
Just me and the sea.
Stones glimmer, Transparent fish dart, Sea plants wave, And stroke the water.
Our penultimate day. We have enjoyed swimming in the sea again, the first time for a few years. We will tell ourselves we’ll make the effort to go to the beach back in the UK, but it won’t be as enticing as the warm Ionian Sea.
Were you already silently detaching at the Trevi fountains, as we dodged the selfie sticks, or did you begin to crumble as we were herded round the Colosseum, struggling to feel the history? Perhaps I ignored the signs, taking you for granted. Too late, I felt us take our last wobbling steps. I met the searing cobbles, dried petals clouding up on the Campo de Fiori. Your faithful soles and heels reduced to black fragments.
My faithful black sandals gave up the ghost last night. On our walk back to our apartment I suddenly realised they had literally crumbled! We are not in Roma at the moment but I do remember visiting the sights there a few years ago. I had intended to link this to this week’s w3 challenge on The Skeptics Challenge, but I am sadly too late.
The limestone shines beneath our feet with a centuries’ worn gleam that sets my skin tingling – thinking of all those who trod the same path centuries before . The history articles claim the origins of Kassiopi Castle date back to the 6th century – what would the Byzantines make of the trail of sweaty, underdressed foreigners who traipse along its ruins in the 21st century? We stop dutifully at each viewing point, aiming our phone cameras where hundreds of years ago artillery would be covering the steep climb up from the navy Ionian sea. The Venetians ordered the castle’s destruction to prevent enemy use, but local stories record that a fire breathing dragon destroyed it and poisoned all who lived nearby. What a tale to tell the children – behave, or the dragon will come for you!
Azure and navy History tumbles between Scorched by myth and man.