Veiled Angels

https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2017/07/18/photo-challenge-174/

Prompt by NEKNEERAJ:

Use image as inspiration for a poem or short story.  Alternatively, if you are an artist or photographer, use this as an opportunity to showcase your own work.  Click link above for more info regarding prompt.

reylia.deviantart.com

~~~

Mesmerized, caught up

Within winds of Time Eternal

‘Mid notes—the melody no man has written

Psalm, prayer printed in choir’s thumbed hymnal—

Where veiled angels have walked

Millenniums, left footprints in

Mauve-gold sand of God’s song,

That those He calls can ne’er be lost.

©Jael Sook, 2017 All rights reserved.

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Polly, from Forgotten River

https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2017/07/17/wordle-164/

Climb; Vague; Sadness; Perish; Pangs; Nepenthe (n.)) A drug or drink, or the plant yielding it, mentioned by ancient writers as having the power to bring forgetfulness of sorrow or trouble. anything inducing a pleasurable sensation of forgetfulness, especially of sorrow or trouble.); Neolithic; Four; Offhand; Reappear; Sallow;  Abdicate (v)) to renounce or relinquish a throne, right, power, claim, responsibility, or the like, especially in a formal manner ).  Use at least 10 of the words to create a story or poem.  The words can appear in an alternate form.  Use the words in any order that you like.  Tag: Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie and Wordle.

It was no doubt the nepenthe

Polly ‘secretly’ swilled at 10, 2,

And Four, in her warm Dr Pepper*,

That had turned her rose milk

Complexion sallow; made her

Soft mind go vague, prompting

Murmured offhand non sequiturs.

She had all but abdicated Life;

Climbed backward into hull of

Heart full-broken by less suave

Swain, who swept what small

Sense she might have possessed

Into barn loft’s fallen hay….

Now ‘n again, you’ll see her

Reappear—near-ghostly figure

Of abject sadness—penning

Pitiable lines when pangs of

What she can’t-quite-remember

Assail her with longings to bury

Guilt (murky), and perish beside

Forgotten River…where neolithic

Stones sometimes still glitter.

©Jael Sook, 2017 All rights reserved.

*In the 1920’s and ’30’s Dr Pepper advertised its soft drink by that name, with a slogan to “drink Dr Pepper at 10, 2 and 4 o’clock…”

Image credit: Pixabay

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Toppling Cultures

https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2017/07/10/wordle-163/

Bird, Cassette, Trail, Bohemian, Warrant, Nascence (adj.)) Beginning to exist, develop.), Chide, Illusory, Everywhere, Topple, Clinch, Insouciant (free from worry, concern, anxiety)

Times of neo-conventional bohemian

Insouciance…followers wear illusory

Utopian philosophy that nothing

Should ever be clinched too tightly—

Not apparel, morals, long-borne beliefs, nor

Tie-dyed relationships as whims should fancy,

Varied and colorful as tropical birds.

They leave their scent trails everywhere

Jasmine, musk, nouveau-health’s cuisine;

Fresh nascence of what they warrant is

True-original…as it ripens to sweetish-sick

Incense of dying…strains of song

Lingering from broken cassettes.

The old guard, how they lecture, chide;

Preach from self-ordained pulpits of

Polished pride—against frangible

Culture doomed to topple; as if any—

Bizarre beaded or buttoned down;

Mere men with, without, recorded

Merit—will somehow get out of

Self’s destruction alive.

©Jael Sook, 2017 All rights reserved.

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Poet’s Journey

Mocked brutally by mother

Whose heart and womb were

Not connected maternally,

Poet flees storm of familial scorn

To see the world—drink from its

Cream—in hopes of strengthening

Malnourished soul, filling what

Birth cursed, heart’s limitless need.

But the world was no garden

Cornucopia, nor oasis, spiritual teat.

So, drawing from artistic DNA,

She painted her face, smiled behind

Exotic mask of enigma—

Head-snappingly lovely to behold.

Alas, such beauty demands a toll,

Ugly secret none will tell…male hunters

Sought her ‘mid smoke-whiskey nights,

Prized pelt they’d proudly display.

One bleary dawn, she gathered hem

Of sea-silky gown and fled again.

Far from false rapacious society,

She hides away…digs past her own

Skin; deep into sacred center where

The words and wealth, and what is

Holy—wrought before Time, in dust of

God’s stars—resides exactly as He wrote

It… her real story, no fairy tale.

©Jael Sook, 2017 All rights reserved.

https://sundaywhirl.wordpress.com/2017/07/15/wordle-308/

Image credit: Pixabay

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Cold Side of Hell

There’s an hour

Which falls open

At some point past

Midnight…

Blacker than all

Definitions, dim color

Nothing poetic as

“Shadow”…

Its blackness is deeper

Relentlessly harsh as unyielding

Stone wall; waning moon wears

A caul…

Perhaps unacknowledged

Unspoken, night reflects great

Abyss; the opposite, cold side

Of hell…

Bleak darkness, mind’s

Corridor cellar steps creaking

The Undead returning to

Torment…

Rumination on wrongs which

Have left unseen scars, and

Vengeful retorts tongue would

Taste like liqueur

Spitting barbs between

Words deftly swirled with

Sweet cream…

Unlit hours rife—unleashed spiraling

Madness—spark fear of glimpsed evil (a

Near-recognized changeling); demand

I slink by, shun all mirrors— For, this

Chill ember cannot be my soul

Redeemed…

Lord, send quickly wash of sleep,

Pure balm of Holy Spirit’s rest.

©Jael Sook, 2017 All rights reserved.

Image credit: Pixabay

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To My Hearth Returned (#writephoto)

Thursday photo prompt – Messenger #writephoto

From Sue Vincent:  Use the image below as inspiration to create a post on your own blog… poetry, prose, humour… light or dark, whatever you choose, by noon (GMT)  Wednesday 19th July and link back to Sue’s post with a pingback. Please make sure that the pingback works and if not, copy and paste your link into the comments section of Sue’s post. Don’t forget to use the #writephoto hashtag in your title so your posts can be found.

Image:  Sue Vincent

Tender harbinger,

You winged across an ocean,

Untiring, faithful in your mission

To deliver me sorrow, news of

Heart’s worst loss… The world

Stopped turning—still, soundless—

Even my weeping, mute river.

You blotted tears with onyx pinions,

Sat near, promised to stay awhile…

As hours lengthened—dusk’s blue-gray

Chamois, to inky ebon-indigo—

I feared grief’s fatigue had

Unhinged mind from logic.

Avian voice had altered, become much

Familiar—precise pitch, timbre, tempo.

From youth I knew its reassurance,

Embrace—despite dreams, distant reality.

Wide warm wings wrapped ’round

Me, close—I startled, pulled back to

Peer deep into black pearl eyes;

Watched them change to sea glass hue,

Holding pensive sapphire’d miles—

And then I knew.

Finally in death, risen as raven-feathered

Phoenix, you’d chosen for your return, my hearth.

©Jael Sook, 2017 All rights reserved.

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No Summers Left

https://sundaywhirl.wordpress.com/2017/05/27/wordle-301/

The cold snapped, overlapping summer’s season,

Seeped frigid blue into my limbs, made stiff—

Even as it crimped the garden grass

Where futile floral efforts lay brittle.

Chilled mist cracked voice each time

I breathed, breaking hymns to God in half;

As I skipped stones across the lake—

Now a mirror of ice which proved me old,

With no more summers left.

©Jael Sook, 2017 All rights reserved.

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