A second 100-word story came to mind, almost as-is and pushing to be born, so I post it here today as a companion piece to yesterday’s story...or to stand on its own. I’ll re-post Dawn’s lovely photo so you can see where the inspiration originated.

©Tales_From_the_Motherland©Tales_From_the_Motherland

She’s come undone.
All the carefully packed
    sections of her life worked loose,
    edges unraveling
    as if pulled by a malicious hand,
    spilling out their contents
    into random heaps,
    top layers caught by winds of chance
    and blown away
Nothing can put them back
    and she thinks perhaps
    she shouldn’t try,
    should simply lie down
    beneath them all and
    inhale deeply.
Too simple; the coward’s way
    and so she dashes uselessly
    here and there
    attempting to gather the pieces of her life,
    
not seeing the beautiful pattern that they make,

    sitting in despair 
    in the rubble
    (as she deems it.)

Fictioneer: n. 1. A person who participates in a weekly challenge to write a 100-word story in response to a photo prompt.

2. A person who tells stories that may or may not be based in reality.

3. A person addicted to writing once a week, 100-word stories. No cure is known.

I’m back on the traveling road today through the weekend, but I couldn’t pass up Dawn’s beautiful photo, even though I may do something less than beautiful with it.  Forgive me if I don’t get to your story and thanks for reading and commenting on mine.  Yes, it’s fiction.  :-)  A second story insisted on being written as well, but I’ll post that tomorrow, so if you’re interested, feel free to drop in and let me know which you prefer.

©Tales_From_the_Motherland©Tales_From_the_Motherland

 Compartments

I’m

.

.

falling

.

.

a p a r t.

 

Too much to do, too little time to do it.
Things I don’t know how to do, things I don’t want to do.

Sometimes I’m on the outside looking in, hitting the glass, trying to get people to see me. They’re making fun of me, talking about me.

I feel worthless.
I feel great.
Work’s great.
Work’s screwed up.

I’m screwed up.

Everything should be in its own compartment but it won’t stay there! It bleeds into other parts of my life, makes a mess, makes me a mess.

What do I do now?

Someone help.

 

Please?

Signal to Travel…for dVerse

Posted: September 16, 2014 in Poetry, Travel
Tags: , , ,
Traffic signal clicks:
     green...yellow...red, 
     green...yellow...red.
     No other traffic in that cool dawn 
     to pay heed,
     just the four of us 
     in our Ford station wagon,
     heading for adventure.

My brother said we saw a lot 
     but not for long.
Dad had mileage planned and where we’d stop each night,
     (no thanks then to MapQuest/Garmin,
     just an accountant’s brain and urge for order.)

Sometimes Dad drove all night,
     Mom asleep on a cot until her turn,
     the two of us crossways,
     feet under the cot,
     sleeping soundly despite the lack of seat belts,
     still alive now to tell the stories and view the slides
          that were the photos of the day.

Living in Nebraska placed us 
     equidistant from all destinations,
     so we drove throughout the
     contiguous United States:

red rock in fantastic formations,
oceans’ (both) crashing waves,
(more destinations beyond those horizons),
yawning canyons and peaks that tore the sky,
plains where there was once only grass,
deserts where cacti were the grass.

Still today, the silently changing traffic light beckons, 
sending seductive subliminal messages
    from places yet unseen.

Urban ocean…a haiku

Posted: September 16, 2014 in Poetry
Tags: , , , ,
Trapped in crowd ocean
Battered by crashing people waves
Curlew’s distant cry

Our older daughter was visiting recently and I went with her into the city (Chicago) for a haircut.  Always on the lookout for photos, I was thrilled when I spotted a wall that looked like the 60’s and was already in black and white.  I played around slightly with the editing and love how they turned out.  Groovy, man!  And like if you take photos with, you know, something that’s like not a regular camera, beat feet to Sally’s and be part of the scene.  Don’t be bummed out by missing it. It’s outta sight!

I’m so dizzy, my head is spinnin’
Like a whirlpool, it never ends

“Dizzy”, Tommy Roe

photo 1(117)

 

photo 2(118)

photo 3(88)

These are oddball photos for varying reasons, but all are, I think, fun. The first is of the rather huge truck in front of our car (I wasn’t driving), during rush hour in Chicago, in a downpour and of course, endless traffic.

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Makes my feet hurt just thinking about getting a foot massage from a pine tree!!  Maybe they’re just needling us.  :-)

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