| Author | Message | ||
| Laurie Byro
Intermediate Member Username: lauriette Post Number: 1024 Registered: 11-2003 |
Firemen’s Flowers Minutes whirred and time hummed. We sat on the deck while you strummed lullabies to turtles. When I joined them, I could hear the rumble of a train pulling out of Marrakesh. I plucked lily-pads, wove flowers in my hair, strung cords around my neck. I got hurt in a different time zone. A three pronged hook gnawed my leg. While Judy got sweeter, I cleaned the cut, practiced these tunes by heart. You fretted on a fresh scar, worried about Tetanus and silence. Fireflies played to the tempo of the music from the fair. In Wonderland, chrysanthemums sprang high into the air. These hot days are endless. We row past the lopsided house with the hand-made Eiffel Tower, tiny white flowers cascading off metal. Their lips look like the stephanotis I tucked into my father’s tux, the groom and his men drenched in white. The fireflies in the field glow until I catch one. Idiot Wind makes me cry; I sit on a blanket and weep. Two men hold my hand and cluck. “there, there.” I play chicken to get to the other’s side, say it’s my leg that aches. Fireworks explode into ash, fireflies land next to me to slumber in soot. Tomorrow will be a work day. The seeds that I plant on my husband’s head will grow horns, need sun and rain, a careful mixture of nature and neglect. | ||
| Gary Blankenship
Advanced Member Username: garyb Post Number: 4117 Registered: 07-2001 |
Laurie, I like the rhyme (which I did not notice - sigh), but they are only at the ends. The middle. Whatever I said before, forget, belay. I was wrong. These seem so real, yet we wonder how much they are? Thanks. Gary Drop in read the new MindFire, 2005's first Go in through http://www.mindfirerenew.com/ to get to the issue in a click or two. | ||
| Laurie Byro
Advanced Member Username: lauriette Post Number: 1026 Registered: 11-2003 |
ok gary thanks tired, goodnight laurie | ||
| M
Board Administrator Username: mjm Post Number: 3169 Registered: 11-1998 |
A good revision here, Laurie. Loved the line breaks on this one. And we know how much everyone has to pay attention to M's obsession with line breaks! *just teasing* Good work, m'dear! | ||
| SplinterGroup
Advanced Member Username: splinter Post Number: 834 Registered: 11-2003 |
I am sure it is inappropriate but this piece reminds me of my "hippie" days and I like it for just that reason ---well besides the expertise shown in composing it as well. | ||
| Laurie Byro
Advanced Member Username: lauriette Post Number: 1028 Registered: 11-2003 |
M, wow I'm imprssed with MYSELF now except haha I made another change, shall I post or do you trust me on the line breakage issue with Laur? and Splinter Thanks appreciate it, not inappropriate at all. The CSN makes us ALL feel that way. The Marrakesh Express still puts me in a great mood. laurie | ||
| Laurie Byro
Advanced Member Username: lauriette Post Number: 1034 Registered: 11-2003 |
Firemen’s Flowers Minutes whirred and time hummed. We sat on the deck while you strummed lullabies to turtles. When I joined them, I could hear the rumble of a train pulling out of Marrakesh. I plucked lily-pads, wove flowers in my hair, strung cords around my neck. I got hurt in a different time zone. A three pronged hook gnawed my leg. While Judy got sweeter, I cleaned the cut, practiced these tunes by heart. You fretted on a fresh scar, worried about Tetanus and silence. Fireflies play to the tempo of the music from the fair. In Wonderland, chrysanthemums spring high into the air. These hot days are endless. We row past the lopsided house with the hand-made Eiffel Tower, tiny white flowers cascading off metal. Their lips look like the stephanotis I tucked into my father’s tux, the groom and his men drenched in white. The fireflies in the field glow until I catch one. Idiot Wind makes me cry; I sit on a blanket and weep. Two men hold my hand and cluck. I play chicken to get to the other’s side; lie, say it’s my leg that aches. Fireworks explode into ash, fireflies land next to me to slumber in soot. Tomorrow will be a work day. The seeds that I plant on my husband’s head will grow horns, need sun and rain, a careful mixture of nature and neglect. |
