Haiku Heights-Wish

IN MEMORY OF THE CHILDREN, FAMILIES AND STAFF OF NEWTOWN, CT.

candles

candles (Photo credit: rogerglenn)

Trembling hands, shooting

Children cowering, crying

I pray for time, peace.

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Life, untangling

taut, rope fraying, neon bright

Seen by only one.

*****

I bounce in freedom

Gold coins fall into my hands

Independent me.

*****

Young lovers twisted

shiny, sparkling, delighted

Old age settles in.

Growing Old Together

Growing Old Together (Photo credit: ∞ SaraiRachel ∞)

*****

Sparkling green eyes flirt

my head tossed back with laughter

Looking back in time.

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Plinky Prompt: Favorite Smell

  • Humans have strong scent memory. What’s your favorite smell, and what does it make you think of? See all answers
  • Sniff, Sniff
  • Delicious
    vanilla-scents-perfumes-coconut-oil Pachouli Oil or Vanilla Oil.
    Makes me thing of college, being young, free, listening to music with friends, not having any responsibilities. Flirting, dancing, being a young adult, not a hippie but close enough. We would wear the oil on our wrists and feel cool. It’s so old there is no photo of it here! This was in the seventies, many years ago. But, the memory of it still makes me smile. After that, I moved on to Vanilla, which made me feel like I smelled like sugar cookies all day long and people would comment on that all the time. Once in a while I still wear a vanilla scented oil or perfume and it still makes me happy.

Carry On Tuesday – Life’s like Poetry

Red Apple. Used white paper behind apple and a...

Image via Wikipedia

When Lauren was in high school she had a poster, beige with big, black, bold lettering of the name of the poet, she admired, Yevgeny Yevtushenko, taped to her wall. She could see it from her bed, her favorite poem in the entire world, “Stolen Apples.” To this day, some thirty-five years later it is still one of her favorites. Because life is like poetry she loved the way the poem emphasized that the taste of forbidden fruit, “stolen apples” tasted so much better than the apples she could pick up off the gray pavement or buy in one of the cloudless supermarkets. It was the process, she thought always, not the acquisition that was the exquisite pleasure; the art of rolling around a heaping tablespoon of Nutella chocolate on her tongue sensually instead of a hard bite of Nestle’s Crunch. They were both, of course, chocolate, but so far apart in terms of experiences. One was lingering over the pleasure of the taste sensation and how it wrapped around her senses like a soft, warm red knit scarf in winter lying against her neck. The other, a sharp bite and a mere second’s taste of flavor and it disappeared immediately with no recollection of how it tasted or felt.

She was not judging anyone elses tastes but her own. She always knew what she liked. She liked the “game,” the flirtation, in one word, the “dance.” It was the dance itself that made all the experiences exciting, holding her eyes down a quarter of a second too long could be quite innocent but it also could be an introduction. It could be whatever she wanted to be, that was her power, the power of a look and the power of her youth.

Haiku Heights – DESIRE

Side glance of our eyes

meeting, catching, holding still

Love has no promise

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Hot, sweaty, dripping

cheeks hot, lips parted, ready

Oh! chocolate fondue

Haiku Heights – Infatuation

My eye

Through A Crowded Room

A Slower Blink Of An Eye,

Finding Each Other

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Loving Can Be Wrong

Yet It’s What Our Hearts Long For

Destined To Be Sad

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