She sat shivering under the thin cape beneath the glow of the gas light, tears trailing down her cheeks. She felt no one cared whether she lived or died, or for that matter, even existed. As she looked around the corner, she saw a well dressed man approaching her. A chill of fear went through her as he approached. He reached down and placed a handful of currency in her tattered glove. “The bells of St. Brigit’s are calling tonight.” he quietly spoke. “What does that mean?” she spoke to herself. She stood up, wiped her tears and realized someone did care. She just wondered who it was.
Archive for fiction/poetry
My love, It seems I have known you forever.
I smile as I imagine that I can read your thoughts.
Who else could pick that special jewelry,
Your favorite color or dessert,
The outfit you would pick from your closet,
to catch a second glances at an important party?
Would it be daffodils or autumn leaves,
Soaring mountains or the roar of waves,
that made your heart leap in joy?
There is but one thing I am desperate for,
My love, that you have kept secret.
So please give me, finally-man of my dreams,
a glimpse inside your inner soul.
Blue skies surround me
Clouds drift on the horizon
Drifting away at last
Every day is different
Fresh and exciting.
Gladly, I look for
Hovering bees and bugs
Ice melted at last.
Just one warm day
Keeps me hoping
Long after cold returns
Night times stars
Overhead-your head and mine.
Perhaps I treasure nature
Questioning it’s rhythms
Reining in its surprises
Turning from chill to warmth
Until I come upon the first
Violet, a sure sign of spring.
Wonder if other over it as much
X-citined as I am
You may know-tell me
What You Could Be
I look at him, same age as you,
when death snatched you out of the blue.
He’s just 15, but teachers say,
that he will make it big one day.
I touch your photo, hold it too,
each time I pass, your place, your room.
It looks just like it did that day
when Hell took you and life away.
I see him grow, a brilliant smile,
when he creates, he dreams, compiles.
The things I wish that you could see.
I wonder, Babe, what you could be?
It’s just so wrong that you aren’t here.
I see your face, your eyes, your fear.
Still, no one knows, but you and me,
The truth about what you could be.
I pray the day will not be long,
When something might take up the wrong.
And somehow just, please let me see.
The beauty of what you could be.
pink ripples drift above
autumn has come at last
the last asters bloom
I felt this prompt was one i could respond to, even in my current state of mind.
Who I am is very simple, a mom, a lover of nature, a writer of thoughts and feelings.
I have always loved children. I would playing with thee children I babysat for at no charge, just so their mom’s could work in the garden, go to the store or just sit down with a book for a minute.
I have been a mom since I was 19 years old. I had six wonderful healthy kids, before one was taken suddenly with no warning. I will always feel lack of prompt medical attention from 911 killed him. bur that is another story. I now have 6 grandkids and one on the way. Since I became ill because of the stress of loosing my son, I haven’t gotten to be the kind of “fun” grandmother I imagined, but I manage to do quite a bit anyway.
I grew up in a semi-rural area. My grandparents farm was next door. From the time I was a toddler, i could say the names of plants, tell “weeds” from planted crops, and enjoyed gardening. Throughout my often difficult life, nature studies and gardening have brought peace to my often troubled soul.
Fro the time I was in second grade, when I needed to find a way to express my feelings, I would pick up that pencil and paper and left my thoughts flow. Through the frustrations of teen years, to the challenges of single motherhood, to the beauty of our great nation,I
have recorded my thoughts and feelings through stories, poetry and prose.
I majored in Public History in college and was able to complete a wonderful record of my families genealogy. Because my grandparents lived into their 90′s, we were able to identify most of the old photos family members had stored i boxes long ago. These have become a family treasure that I have been privileged to share.
My imaginary tag line will always be”-beebeesworld-lover of life and learning”.
By the way, Beebee is what my grand kids call me.
“I must be dreaming!” I said to myself as I walked around the corner of the old brick building and saw the aging phone booth.
“I haven’t seen one of those in years!” Cell phones had pretty much sent phone booths the way of the dinosaur.
Even though I never had the cause to use them much, they did hold a sweet ring of nostalgia.
I walked up to the phone booth, running my finger over the fading red paint on the surrounding box. I smiled as I saw the push button dial, even with the buttons, it seemed quaint.
“What? 50 cents?” I sighed. I looked up to see the modern building and knew I was in the present time after all.
A little old man in a green top hat,
stopped by my house with a tip and a tap.
I heard the whip of a strong north wind,
and whispered, look over there my friend!
As I sat on the step, I stopped and looked over,
and there, I spied a four leafed clover.
I imagined his face, this jolly old elf.
And looked at the clover, quite proud of my self!