Tag: NovPAD
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Wordle #327
Empty Frames it’s a puzzle, she thinks, as she twists her hair into a stream of rings, she paces, stands, then sits trim and prim, her thoughts a perturbing amble. She wishes she knew who, and why — her view was stolen and only the frames remain. for Sunday Whirl
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Day 26 NovPAD
The Woman at Burra Bazar Ghat There’s a distant beauty about her, and she shines like a glass of water. Sparkles like early morning. And she sets her wares to sell, brasses and copper bowls, stacks them close as eavesdropping ears. I’m reminded of her whenever the sun shines across water. Day 26:…
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Day 24 NovPAD
I’ll Remember That … she was distracted, retracted, lamentable, repeatable, a child, a woman, tall, with feet too small, a well-worn chair, careless, moody, the curse of an early riser, wished on a star, followed her heart, she was focused, unfocused, wore old jeans and tennis shoes, tangled horizons, forever distracted. And she never found…
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Day 23 NovPAD
Weathering It’s all just weather, all those whispering looks, those clay-sucked boots, those truths rendered out of weak worms and metaphor rabbit holes, all those empty houses, banging doors, and cawing crows when heaven laughs. And why am I so old so soon … Time blows across my heart, but it’s all just weather, all…
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Day 22 NovPAD
Thursday is Still Laundry Day For me there’s nothing more innocent than the smell of turkey roasting. Instantly … I’m 10 again. Maybe 12. The kitchen windows drip condensation, the dining room table is set with Mum’s special china and the blue opaque glasses. The dining room smells woody — green botanicals on the middle…
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Day 21 NovPAD
I. Deconstructing News It was not one of those glorious mornings where you sit on the terrace. A coffee. A view. A garden. Not a compact breakfast on a fine filigree table, ’cause newspapers blazed with war and decline, withdrawal and poverty and hunger, and I wondered how the world had fallen into such disarray,…
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Day 20 NovPAD
There’s the Rub I’ve learnt that truth defies definition. It vacillates, shifts, trims, sometimes truth is a sail, a forgetfulness of the heart. If you sing lullabies to your conscience, you’ll not apt to sleep. I’ve learnt that living is friction, and there’s the rub. Poetic Asides Day 20 prompt, write a “what I…
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Day 19 NovPAD
The Happy and Sad Side of Things I’ve never been to Nicaragua but I’ve seen photos — those red tile roofs and narrow streets and church fronts and spires and bells that I suppose ring on the hour like our church bells do, and ivy-laced trees and stone arched bridges over near-dry creeks that swell…
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Day 18: NovPAD
Headless Yesterday, I tried to repair a gnome. A cat, with a small gesture of its tail, knocked its head straight off, knocked the cuteness off its shoulders, and I’m useless with small scale, and besides, a gnome without a head is not much use at all. Day 18: write a good for nothing…
It's Still Life 