Sharing Sunday: Addict

Sunday Sharing is here with a captivating,

and dare I say addictive, poem

from Maribeth Batcho

found here on WordPress at Unleashed

Unleashed

I am an addict.

An addict.

I admit it.

ADDICT.

I am addicted.

Addicted.

That is what I am.

ADDICTED.

I want more.

And more.

No use pretending.

I want MORE.

I can’t stop.

Just can’t.

No use in hiding it.

I CAN’T.

I won’t stop.

Just won’t.

No use in lying.

I WON’T.

I am a junkie.

The more I have,

the more I want.

STUFF.

I am a user.

The more I get,

the more I crave.

CANDY.

I am a fanatic

in search of a high,

an escape, some serenity.

A TRIP.

I am dependent

on my next fix.

A place unknown to me

I SEEK.

I am a goer,

a  wait-until-the-last-minute-er

a fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants-er

a What’s-next-er

A VOYAGER.

I have a habit

that I never want to break.

New cultures and peoples and languages,

are  lifeblood.

my FIX.

I am an enthusiast

searching for the next place

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Sharing Sunday: Endless Wound

Sharing Sunday continues

with this piece mourning the tragedy in Orlando

from poet Paula Antonello Moore

found here on WordPress at The Expressible Cafe

The Expressible Café

valeria boltneva stocksnap.jpg

A Flood of COLOUR

A candle lit

A hug squeezed tighter

A prayer said soft

A fearful moment

An aching heart

A torrent of tears

A frozen stand

A mass of people

A group of friends

A far-reaching hold

A loving hand

A willingness, cold

A raging view

A thought said blankly

A stat in books

A bond united

A hope in Love

A fractured debate

A NIGHTMARE, plain.

Paula Antonello Moore, Prose. Copyright: Monday, June 13, 2016

Image: A hand in light by Valeria Boltneva from StockSnap

In honor of the 49 killed , 53+ injured and infinite wounded in heart by yet another gun-related nightmare in Orlando, Florida.  XO

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Sharing Sunday: Daisies

Sharing Sunday kicks off

with this precious piece

from poet and novelist Jane Dougherty

found here on WordPress at Jane Dougherty Writes

Jane Dougherty Writes

For the Secret Keeper’s weekly writing prompt

The prompt words were:

INSPIRE | NIGHT | MIND | NEAR | WANT

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What inspired the mind

That worked the night and moulded space,

Sculpted the cold and made a world?

What power there was in breath,

Heavy with a thousand gases,

Bright with the fizzing lights of fission and fusion,

To produce the ever-swelling ocean,

That rolls to the edge of eternity and beyond.

Was it desire to create a masterwork,

Or was it simply the need to be?

Not enough to be the dark,

The pulsing nothingness of the void,

Not enough to feel the cold, bitter and unchanging,

Not enough to be the only thing.

I, though, hold a daisy in my hand,

Delicately, between forefinger and thumb,

Close enough to see the yellow flecks of dusty pollen

Glinting, sunspecks,

While the dripping globes of last night’s rain

Shine bright…

View original post 46 more words

LONG GONE

 

I see you
in pictures
of a past
barely present
on a wall
already crossed
that we once
sat upon

I see you
in pictures
of a hold
hardly held
in a place
already parted
that we cannot
return to

I see you
in pictures
of a truth
never tested
with a smile
still surviving
from a time
now long gone

All Words and Photographs by Damien B. Donnelly

HUMANITY IS HURTING

 

and the lullaby
left us…

and the stars
that we wished upon
sank with the souls
that had been
set upon

and
humanity is hurting,
is drowning
in tears
and treachery

and
terrorism
becomes the term
that clears us
of all
accountability
civility
responsibility

and
we have lost
the garden
and its graces
and its glory

the paradise
where flowers
unfolded
and creatures
crawled
with carefree
curiosity

but
the seasons
have shifted
and the rivers
have rose
because nature
knew more
than man
could suppose

and
the unity
of humanity
revealed itself
to be
a fallacy

a
frail
fragile
and
fickle
fantasy
now falling,
like tears,
through the rainbow,

the rainbow
we never managed
to get over

and
humanity is hurting,
is drowning
while seeking
asylum

and
the blue birds
are now white doves
rising from the ashes
of our actions
of our inactions
and infractions

leaving us
lost
and lonely
and longing

and
the blue birds
are now black birds
pecking at our passion
and our pride
like some
worldwide
genocide

though
still we hope
still we parade
still we believe
there can be
something
better
brighter
beyond
the bombs
and the
bloodshed

while
humanity is hurting,
is drowning
in places
where once
there were parties

Into this world
we were born
crawling
climbing
carving
combining
creating
competing
controlling
condemning
crucifying

thinking
we were men
of the modern world

trusting
we were brothers
in arms

not armed brothers
thrusting hate
into hearts

but
we bore hate;
breaking bodies
instead of boundaries

but
we forged fear;
slaying people
instead of prejudice.

Can we not support
all that is hopeful?
Can we not understand
all that is different?

We have the right
to hold arms
in the States
they say,
while in France
they’re fighting
on main street
Marseilles

while
over the rainbow
there is the song
of another world
where voices
are raised
in laughter

while
over the rainbow
there is music
in another world
where bodies can dance
at discos undaunted

where
differences
are not deemed
to be deadly

where
belief
is not
a burden
to obliterate

while here,
in this world

we punished
the pagans,
we killed
a christ,
we slaughtered
the jews,
we shot down
the gays,
we blacklisted
the muslims,
we sacrificed
the innocent,
we returned
the refugees

and
we thought
we were men
of the modern world

but
we had no idea
the music
had stopped

and the lullaby
had left us
hurting

W.E: What Evolution?

All Words by Damien B. Donnelly

Audio version available on Soundcloud:

https://soundcloud.com/damien-donnelly-2/humanity-is-hurting

BITTER CHOCOLATE

 

I wanted to write you
a valentine,
Valentine,
now that it’s now longer
Valentines,
now that you’re no longer
my valentine.

I’m sending you
a card,

along with chocolates,

to balance
your bitterness,

like the ones
you never sent.

If you were now
my valentine
I’d eat you
like chocolates,

I’d suck,
seduce
and swallow you
in seconds

to forget you.

If you were still
my valentine
I’d press you,
perfectly,
like a petal
between the pages
of a book,

of a book
I never open
and then wait for you

to perish.

If you were now
my valentine
I’d do my best
to banish you

just as I vanished
from your vision,

just as you left me

famished
for affection.

All Words and Photographs by Damien B. Donnelly

LOVE IN THE CURRENT CLIMATE

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The years are waning
and rivers overflowing,
paths and positions
disappearing
into puddles,
into pools
raging with reflections,
reflections of connections
and rejections,
of what has been
and what’s slipped away;
the debris and decay
as we stop
and stand
and mourn
for all that’s no longer ours,
all that’s been tempted
by the tides touch,
taking pictures
as it passes,
as if the memory
is no longer
canister convenient
to load, to log,
to catalogue
all we wanted
to hold on to
but never thought
important at the time;
the feel,
his taste,
her scent.

And the years
still wane
and the waters
still rise,
taking us deeper
and deeper
from any depth,
from any clutch
to cling to
and the black widows
still throw water
from their balconies
as if draining their hearts,
as if that can save them,
and I catch myself
in those rushing waters
looking up at me
through trickles of time,
a memory now
meandering downstream,
for we are no salmon swimmers,
turning on the ripple
after the stones
been thrown,
after the bloods
been shed,
how much more
can we loose?
and I see myself
in that sinking shadow
caught on the current
of what once was;
back in that taxi
holding his hand
while thinking of another
and wondering,
all the time,
what is love
and where will it take us?

This foolish feeling
that flows recklessly
like this river,
this river I thought
to skate away on
or so she sang,
this all consuming complicity
that floods my heart,
breaking boarders and banks
while I just wanted
to wade for a while
in the warm waters,
to feel its touch tingle
but time is not tender,
tick tock, tick tock
and, in another twist
of the tides,
I see, with my own eyes,
the I who I was
flying through Paris
on the back of that motorbike
that mesmerised me,
holding tight
to the back of that man
that mystified me,
oblivious to how fast
the wheels were turning,
ignorant to how far
time can take us,
to how much
it can take from us,
momentarily
chasing curiosity
and comfort
that lasted no longer
than a single drop
of water
in a river running
forever onwards
and I was never
fast enough
to keep up,
to keep hold,
to draw breath
from a heart
that was always
a stranger to caution
like these floods
that wash over lands
and pour over paths
we’ve taken without hesitation,
breaking the beds
we’ve only newly broken in…

and all the while
the years
keep waning
and the rivers
keep sliding
and the question,
never answered,
never changes;
what is love
and where will it take us next?

Cause I’m back
where I started,
on the same path;
left side, boho chic
where Sartre laughed
and Oscar died
and drinking where
Anais and Miller
lapped up lust
but the heat’s
been turned down
by the rivers rising
and the path’s now paved
in puddles,
Paradise is gone
Miss Mitchell
and 40 is the older 20
and paying for bills
replaced playing at parties
and there are conferences
on climates
and consideration
and conservations
while Paris piles up paper
cause it doesn’t want to change,
as if we ever had a choice,
as if it hasn’t really noticed
the tensions rising
and the people rioting

and
the river,
like the years ,
eroding all that was once familiar

and I wonder
what is left to love
and where do we go from here?

All Words and Photographs by Damien B. Donnelly

Audio available on Soundcloud:

https://soundcloud.com/damien-donnelly-2/love-in-the-current-climate