Unvarnished Truth

poets and storytellers Friday Writings #32: The Right Song at the Right Time

“Sometimes what is in front of you and what you are seeing isn’t really so. It can, in fact, be quite deceptive.” ―Ella Frank, Blind Obsession

Summertime and the livin’ was easy
playing all day, homework far behind
my daddy was handsome, mama good lookin’
idyllic days they were…  just a lie
So, hush, little baby, baby, don’t you cry

Shirley’s uncle was a devil in disguise
Crazy Selma in the attic, dirty laundry must hide
the deacon’s wife bruised again, always fallin’,
So, hush, little baby, baby, don’t you cry
baby, don’t you cry

process notes: It is hard to have your childhood illusions shattered. At that time, life was easy for me and so I thought everyone had it easy. In my day, people kept secrets and ugly things away from the kids, sheltered them. But when I got older, and the secrets came to light it was shattering and left distrust planted in my heart.

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Turn, Turn, Turn

The Twiglets “A twiglet’s aim is to “prompt” a thought” Turning Page 

Time is ink flowing
from pen’s nib as we author
story’s narrative

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Rebel

Poets and Storytellers Friday Writings #31: Genuine Ink Posted by Magaly Guerrero 

In life
in ink
rebel
be a rebel
think it through
two-sides have everything
even a piece of paper.
Turn it over
fold it
make it into a fan
to cool the discussion
You are right
I am right
but somewhere
we must find
a compromise
that doesn’t
compromise the truth.

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Little Darling

Songshine Sounds Flashback Track Friday #70 with MISTER BUMP UK

Everything fades with time
like the bright red curtains
in the window now bleached
to a dull, dingy rose
by harsh afternoon sun,
here it comes.

Even the memory of you
is dry-rotted fragile, droopy.
I can’t remember your voice,
your touch. Your kiss. Your scent.
My body has wholly
forgotten you.

And here comes the sun,
here comes the sun,
Sun, sun, sun, here it comes
Sun, sun, sun, here it comes
And I say it’s alright.

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Nothing Left to Say

Prompt by K. Hartless’ Petite Pen Ekphrasis – Ron Hicks’ artwork

Words are a luxury
and I am a spendthrift
except for this moment
tight-throated and numb
I marvel at my poverty.


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Fog

twiglets “steel sky” A twiglet’s aim is to “prompt” a thought.

We had a thunder storm last night and a steel sky this morning that swirled down the mountains and steamed up from the ground in a gauzy veil that erased the world to shades of grey solitude.  I felt a song or maybe a nursery rhyme coming on…

Steel drums are rum
bling
the sky is falling down
the mist rushes up
the mist rushes down
the misty mist is tum
bling, a maelstrom fum
bling
around and around and around…

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A Christmas Memory

Poets and Storytellers United Posted by Rosemary Nissen-Wade 
Your mission for today, should you choose to accept it, is to be inspired by a favourite book or books – to describe it/them, and/or the effect on you; or to retell the story; or to invent a sequel, a prequel or an alternate ending; or to attempt something in that style; or to let it lead you in some other new direction of your own.

This gem of a book made me feel that life is wonderful despite its imperfections, or maybe because of its imperfections. It is made up of three short stories: A Christmas Memory, One Christmas, and The Thanksgiving Visitor are little slices of Truman Capote’s young life growing up in Alabama with relatives of his mother’s. Each story reveals the pain and hurt of a young boy who must have felt abandoned but is also a love story about his sweet, innocent, wise, childlike cousin Sook.

In A Christmas Memory we meet Sook, Truman’s distance cousin and best friend though he was seven and she sixty-something. She called him, Buddy “in memory of a boy who was formerly her best friend. The other Buddy died in the 1880’s, when she was still a young child. She is still a young child.” Every November she and Buddy make fruitcakes. They give a few to friends but the bulk go to people they never met, or maybe met once or who “just struck our fancy”, like President Roosevelt or a married couple, missionaries to Borneo or “Abner Packer, the driver of the six o’clock bus.”  Truman writes of Sook so sweetly and lovingly that you wish with all your heart you’d had a Sook in your own young life. 

In One Christmas Truman travels by bus to spend Christmas in New Orleans with his father. He cried and proclaimed that he didn’t want to go. He didn’t know his father very well, had not traveled from his home in Alabama, had never gone to sleep without Sook running her fingers through his hair and just how would he be able to go to sleep without Sook to kiss him goodnight? But go he does, and the result is a bittersweet portrait of a father/son relationship that never had a chance.

And finally, in The Thanksgiving Visitor, Truman tells about an older boy who is a bully, liar and thief, that makes his and others’ lives miserable. Sook teaches Buddy a valuable lesson in goodness of the soul, cruelty, revenge, and looking beyond others action to see what is inside. She explains, “There’s just one thing I want to say, Buddy. Two wrongs never make a right and there is only one unpardonable sin – deliberate cruelty.” Which isn’t really just one thing but that’s okay.

Childhood memories
Hurts, slights, beauty, awareness
Heart of becoming

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Weightless

Mindlovesmisery Photo Challenge #416

The water reflects
images of leaf and limbs
light enough to float

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Quiet, Sun!

Twiglets “quiet sun”

In that great cauldron of a sky
the sun boils and burbles
like a thick porridge.
I think of Goldilocks
dipping her spoon into its dense
sludgy matter, taking too quick
a bite and proclaiming “Too hot!”
or maybe Oliver Twist’s piteous
“Please, sir, I want some more.”
Sol being indifference just shrugs
“Beggars can’t be choosers.”
And he and Goldie go away,
hand in hand,
to lament their bad luck.

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I See…

a jumble of wildflowers
across meadows and bowers
blooms atop green stems covered
with butterflies that hover

spotlighted under sunbeams
in vibrant flutters they teem
then I awake and it seems
my vision was just a dream.

Prompt at Twiglets – a thought on “dream bin”

The butterflies we may never see again in Britain – BBC News
A report by Butterfly Conservation warns that 24 of 58 species may soon disappear from our shores. Five more species are threatened with dying out than when the charity last compiled a Red List, 11 years ago.

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