It was already dark when I left John’s farm. I was lucky that the path was recently smoothed over by some sort of heavy equipment, so my truck made short work of the distance from the farm to the main road.
Paused in the stop, the darkness was already thick…
The title for this story may sound strange to many but that is exactly what happened. The book wrote me, it used me to produce itself and now I sit feeling used, not abused, but definitely used with a hint of good sully.
I want to tell you about this…
Don’t think I didn’t see you
staring at me behind timid clouds;
wondering what I have been busying myself with,
going to and from like an ant
gathering grain in anticipation of hard times.
Asking why I didn’t stop and chat
like we usually do,
me, telling you how beautiful you shine,
and you, smiling and blushing and shining some more, just for me.
Brightening dark corners,
clearing cobwebs of worried thoughts,
assuring me that you’ve been around for a long time
and everything was going to be just fine.
Smiling, I mouth thank you
for the love that you show;
each time you cycle around
big, bright and forever beautiful.
© I. Trudie Palmer
One Love
Under normal circumstances, the sound of raindrops on the roof and splashing against the window pane calms me down. No matter what is going on inside my head, the thoughts trail off into nothingness and I get to enjoy the moments of little to no thought.
But not today. It…
Rummaging the back of my freezer, searching,
for treasures well-hidden,
past frozen bananas and breadfruit slices,
I spy a tin — small, square, mysterious looking,
just the right thing to perk up my morning.
I remember when I tucked it back there,
the hoarder in me declaring,
that the time would come
when the contents will serve for a time machine,
taking me back to moments we shared
a cup of black with bay leaf and all spice.
© I. Trudie Palmer
One Love
Sometimes the remedy to remove the blues that colour our lives, is to get a new palette of Simply Pleasures and paint them over
all of the depression and lost hope
and disappointments
and regrets that compete with the sky and sea for their shade.
We joyfully layer it with
vibrant reds and oranges, brilliant…
Moist and ready for nesting, eager hands checking
fingers exploring
the mysteries that lie beneath the darkness;
only exposing itself to light
to welcome the seed
that incubates, floating in a sea of wet and air.
Stirrings,
life triggered from within,
a force torpedoing towards true light;
bursting forth with power and…
Absolutely adoring this ability to tune the
body to experience great thrills, sending
chills that burn through pain —
delectably.
Enraptured by the feel of a
fine pen on silk paper, flowing and experiencing
growing sensations of pleasure,
holy be our names!
Inscriptions in the heavens,
juxtaposed against a never-ending existence, where time
knows no ticks. It’s just us.
Lovers or lovers of loving, we
merge each time and meet at that place called
Nirvana.
O, is the name of the game we
play, where
quivers of emotions,
running up and down the
spine
tell us that the trip has begun and it’s
Utopia or bust!
Vainglorious and knowing it.
We revel in our
x-rated display of a
yen-filled lust and
zest what coming here offers.
© I. Trudie Palmer
One Love
Dear Friend,
My conscience pinches. So little time have I been spending reading the poems and stories written by fellow writers on Medium.
22 rolled over from 21 in a rush, heralding days that see me trying to maneuver the 9 to 5 with the part-time, while still trying to find quiet time
to pause, reflect and connect —
it ain’t easy.
So I beg your forgiveness for my lack of responses to your messages.
Be assured that as this period closes out, my life will be allowed to return to an easy gait of readin’ and writin’ and lovin’ it.
Here but still missing you,
I. Trudie Palmer
One Love
A grassy cushion close to the gazebo caught my eye, and after inspecting it for fire ant nests and seeing none, I plopped down, making myself comfortable. …
