Ever wake up with some ridiculous song in your head and no clue why it surfaced? Like maybe from the bottom of the sea while the bubbles danced about above the water?
Yep, dreams can be messed up and confusing, and that’s why I rarely try to analyze them lest real life become equally baffling. I just google the pertinent stuff I remember which I’m pretty sure I couldn’t possibly have made up. Here’s a link to this delightful song from my childhood. I am sharing it along with a warning. It WILL get stuck in your head and you WILL want to sing along. So click at the risk of your own sanity, or to prove me wrong, whichever one works for you.
Now to get that song out of your head, here’s one by Rain Perry. It’s the theme song for “Life Unexpected” which is kind of a sappy tv show with a very far-fetched story line, but also some amazing sob-worthy moments. And obviously a great theme song.
Wanting to escape the cold night air and warm up somewhere – anywhere will do – he gives the heavy oak door a hard shove with his shoulder and steps inside. Restaurant? Bar? What is this place? It doesn’t matter. Quaint old tavern in the middle of a bad dream. He weaves his way through the crowd to the back and heaving a shuddering sigh sits down on the last stool. He rests his damp forehead in his cold hands. Just for a minute he closes his eyes.
He has to think, decide what to do next, find somewhere to spend the night. He is bone tired, broken. Maybe this is what defeat feels like. That nowhere place that cradles you before you fall asleep, the final giving up.
Her warm voice breaks through with a soft question and he shakes his head. Nope, I’m not okay. But if you’ve got coffee, or some hot soup…. His voice trails off when he looks at her face. God, not pity. Anything but that.
Then she smiles, gives her shoulders the faintest of shrugs and he can almost feel her compassion. It’s that powerful. Strong enough to warm him from the inside out. He hardly has time to process these thoughts before he’s cupping his hands around a big white bowl, inhaling the aroma of sweet thick chowder, scalding his tongue with his first impatient spoonful. Starving. For food, for tenderness, for the end.
A blast of cold air hits him in the gut when two men he recognizes all too well push through the door, obviously looking for somebody. For him. How in hell did their search lead them here?
She steps around the counter blocking him from their view, puts her hand over his and tells him to come with her. There’s a room in back where he can hide. Nothing about this makes sense, but he blindly follows her anyway. His life makes no sense. Still he doesn’t want to lose it. Not yet.
Trifecta: Week 110: Between 33 and 333 words using the third definition of the word
QUAINT (adjective) – unusual or different in character or appearance : ODD
– pleasingly or strikingly old-fashioned or unfamiliar
Your mission is to write five haikus — one for each of the five days leading up to this Friday when we will choose some entries and feature them on Freshly Pressed.
Wise words always sound ridiculously more sage and profound when they’re written in the form of Haiku. So here’s my five deeply philosophical attempts to attain WordPress fame. And if Freshly Pressed is not in my future, what the hell.
A shopping list (noun) is a list of items needed to be purchased by a shopper, a grocery list is the most popular type of shopping list– including items that need to be procured on the next visit to the grocery store.
Kintsukuroi is a Japanese noun meaning “to repair with gold”; the art of repairing pottery with gold or silver lacquer and understanding that the piece is more beautiful for having been broken.
Hard to believe the queen of lists missed the shopping list prompt for the promptless. It certainly wasn’t for lack of lists floating around in my life. Just maybe it was all those other things floating around with them that I’m too lazy to grab hold of and run with.
So, two prompts in one – Voila! – a list-y poem about breaks. No, I can’t explain how I came up with that exactly. But that’s the beauty of poetry – the inspiration for it rarely makes sense. And I’m going with the part of the prompt that said to make up my own.
I have plagiarized and hopefully improved upon my own work from a previous poem. I won’t link to it, because it sucked even worse than this one. But I’m having fun! And that’s all that really matters, right? Don’t be critical, you could break my heart.
Things That Break
When dawn breaks,
Morning has broken.
Night falls, but it never breaks.
Give a guy a break and break it to him gently.
Then take a coffee break.
Go ahead and break a leg, break a horse,
Break the connection, break a code.
Break away and break bad habits.
But don’t step on a crack and break your mothers back.
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