Shorties: Number 55

Across the Room

I saw you there with eyes looking down.  Such lovely cheeks and a narrow chin, I found you quite unforgettable. Your full lashes grabbed my attention.  They called to me, drew me in.  Even in the poor lighting, I could see they were not fake. I knew in an instant you were real.  You were a genuine soul. You could not be one insincere.  There are too many counterfeits, reproductions and imitators in this world.  Are your truly what I see and believe?   

With downcast gaze, you pondered the screen of your phone.  Was it your sweetheart sending notes of love?  No, were they amorous verses you read, I would have seen their reflection.  Your countenance gave not the appearance of romance.  It was pensive.  What could knit your brow so?  

Peering at you as I ponder the incalculable, I consider my own face.  Compared to your winsome beauty, I must appear one who would scowl or frown?  I pray I never cause you to wince?  Your eyes lift and lock with mine and I must dart away while a thrill sweeps over me.  Thought I you beautiful before, I now realize the folly of my previous estimation. You are far beyond my ability to compute.  

I steal another glance and you have returned to your phone.  Slowly, gradually, words form in my mind.  Actually, a singular designation lifts above all.  Lovely.  You are lovely.  A beacon of hope to one lost at sea.  A shining goddess, a pillar of charming, alluring heavenliness.  Surely, this is what grabbed me prior to my spirit’s recognition of your presence.  a

Alas, you rise and gather your possessions.  Before you take a step toward the door I feel your warmth retreat from the room.  Yet you extend a parting trinket.  Your eyes meet mine and your lips create a sultry smile.  Oh dear angel, your dulcet spirit, and sweet gift are warmly received.  Such treasures illuminate my tenor and charge my atmosphere.

Ali and Amal

Rubbing sleep from his eyes, Said looked at his mother who was typing on the computer keyboard.  Why was she still awake?  Amal sensed his movements and turned to see who was walking up behind her.  Still turning she heard her son ask, “Momma?”  Smiling, Amal said, “Good morning!  How’d you sleep?”

Complete joy filled Amal.  Her Ali had miraculously returned.  After a series of online messages, Amal learned this person who started following her blog was none other than her childhood love, Ali.  Amal knew her face must radiate the joy in her heart. 

Seeing her son standing there, Amal’s first instinct was to tell him of the miracle that carried her heart to the stratosphere.  However, she dared not say a word.  How would her son and daughter react to know their mother loved someone other than their father?  Said recognized joy in his mother’s tired but joyful eyes but why was she so happy?  Life had been filled with darkness since his father died.  Said stood still as words slowly formed in his mind.  Finally, he asked, “Have you been up all night?”

Smiling Amal said, “Yes, I have.”  She paused, knowing simple curiosity demanded to know the reason.  She continued, “I got busy with things and I got some very important feedback on my blog.  It has made me very happy.” 

Said’s foggy mind processed this information.  Then Amal said, “I’ll start breakfast shortly.  I’ll make your favourite, ok?”  Said nodded and walked to the kitchen and Amal returned to the computer. 

She typed, “My Ali, my son is awake and I must go.  I can’t begin to describe to you how my heart soars in the heavens.” 

Amal sent that message.  She wanted to say she loved him.  With every fiber of her being she wanted to scream how she loved him.  She never stopped loving Ali but it was not appropriate for her to say.  She simply added, “I have missed you so.”

“My Amal, the last hours have passed quickly.  My mind is crazy.  I cannot express everything I feel but I am very happy.  You can talk again tonight, yes?”

“Yes, my Ali.  I can talk again once my kids are in bed.  I will write as soon as I can.” 

Both Ali and Amal went through their work days content to know the ones they loved were safe and close by.  For the first time since Amal wed before her 16^th birthday they could speak to one another as they pleased.  For the first time, they both lived in anticipation of the future. 

Shorties: Number 54

This is an excerpt from my story Shards of Glass.


He was never one to do things half way.  Nick would throw himself into healthy eating and healthy living.  He smiled to himself at the thought of how the kids would react after telling them that he would finally start making better, healthier choices.  He could hear Gwen saying in heaven, “It’s about time.  I told you for years and you always complained about the healthy food I made for you.” 

He sat at the counter between the kitchen and dining room and read through the informational brochures given to him by one of the nurses.  He didn’t think the eating changes would be that difficult.  He’d have to reduce sweets and fats.  He would eat more chicken, salads and fresh vegetables and less steak and potatoes.  The exercise troubled him more than the diet. 

Nick was not a showy type of person.  The thought of going for a walk every day bothered him.  In his mind, everyone would be watching him.  The same thing applied if he joined a gym.  People there would be watching and judging him.  They would see this man in his 50s who is a little overweight and out of shape.  Just the thought of it made him uncomfortable. 

He was a reminded of a comedy sketch by a stand-up comic who joined a gym.  The comic related how he would do a few minutes on the horrible machines but he would cry the whole time.  Some of his personal trainers quit and some turned to drugs and alcohol.  Nick laughed out loud at the thought. 

He made the decision to start off walking very early in the morning while it was still dark.  Nick was certain he could finish and no one would see him.  He drove to the local Sports Authority and bought a pair of walking shoes and some workout clothes.  Before climbing into bed, he set the alarm for an hour prior to his normal waking time.  When the alarm went off, it was as if he had to walk down a long corridor to reach a level of consciousness that allowed him to understand what the noise was.  His mind screamed, “No!”  He rolled over and stared at the clock.  He wanted to go back to sleep.  Instead he said, “Day one.”

The Bird of Hope

Sorrow fills me
I see such pain
To live and be
Without a stain
 
Without a life
With our eyes blind
Against the knife
Never to find
 
The hope I crave
Away from death
My soul to save
A lifesaving breath
 
Let the bombs fall
Let bullets fly
And break the wall
I’ll tell you why
 
During the blast
She flies away
Madness be cast
And rules the day
 
Carnage rolls on
Mankind doth weep
Yonder the dawn
Take hold and keep
 
Above the din
Hope reigns supreme
Always has been
The light to gleam
 
Take hold the gift
Clasp in your hand
Let spirits lift
There, life is grand
 
© January 2018
Duane Windell Phillips
 
Though she may flee when man’s destructiveness reigns, the bird of hope always returns and sings sweet melodies.  In spite of the darkness in this ember on which we live, there remain hope, faith and love. 

Man: A Game of Roulette

Playing the odds of Russian roulette.  Guaranteed loss as the days stretch on.  Combatants take careful aim and pray the other will miss as they stack a house of cards.  Hiding behind the parapet, enforcing the armor, steeling their nerve to rise and see no man’s land.  There is no flag to wave.  Another spin begins. 

Remember a thing called love?  Do you recall the sentiment that fills the souls of the naïve?  That curious emotion that exists only in the heart of mothers praying for their boys.  The ones who pray to heaven for miraculous protection of the forever child bonded to her core.  God cannot answer the prayers of all can He? 

Bullets fly and bombs blast.  Metal and fire are perfected to kill. Man, having attended school to perfect his barbarity, pulls up from within the means to obliterate one another in a cataclysm of madness.  Another spin and the game continues. 

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Living like nothing more than paper cut outs,  like tin men wandering the empty corridors of life, we seek escape from the hallow echos in our chests.  Programmed and executed, we pour through eons of fragments of inherited memories. All a haunting and dim reflection of forgotten promises.  Are you truly there?  

Why is this distance fixed?  Why does thirst continue, drop by drop, toward madness in an ever spinning whirlpool of discontent?  Why does hunger gnaw away at the souls of those who simply want fulfillment?  Nibbling, bite by bite in search of  morsels that sustain rather than catalyze discontent.  

With eyes so dim, could I recognize true life if it greeted me?  Should it approach me as a long lost, dear friend, would I not recoil with innate fear of yet another attack?  Can I not help but see another Trojan horse sent to infiltrate my soft underbelly?  This Pavlovian response long engrained in my character, I live but to subsist behind barriers, obstacles and impediments.  How ironic and maddening the continual roadblocks which cause my feet to stumble. 

Do you seek me?  Rumors sprinkle like rain of love that changes.  Will tenderness and warmth ever be granted to the barren?  To those who live life dead, could the rumored horizon of an ever rising sun be found?  Sweet charity and sympathy to be born anew in the breast of the dead. Be it fantasy or madness, we stagger toward hope. Magnetized and pulled, we drift on but inside our walled in souls, we are forbidden to dock.  

Endlessly, we wander, dawdle and bob.  Like tin men snipped from discarded sheets, we want to know why creation fashioned this shape.  Ever onward we slide.  Ever forward we follow the multitudinously worn path.  Always we trudge, until we collapse and tread no more.  

Vespertine

Those lovely walks vespertine

Side by side, your hand in mine
Lean on me, I’ll not proscribe
I’ll meet your lips and we’ll imbibe
 
© January 2018
Duane Windell Phillips

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Shadowing false gods

Welcomed within

Enticed by pretty eyes

Wholly burnt by sin

 

You are lost, duped soul

You thought you knew

Are brined to the full

Only blame is you

 

Simply lift up your eyes

And break the spell

Turn away from lies

Vacate your hell

Reposte

Every move you parry
And I feel so wary
Please begin to let me in
My purpose ancillary
 
I never see your heart
You only show a part
Don’t you know it hurts me so
Disengaging counterpart
 
Your openness a feint
And candidness did taint
Now let me be, so weary
So I leave, unconstraint

© January 2018

Duane Windell Phillips

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A thought not given

A new way of livin’

Until we see the light

Don’t give in to fright

 

Stay the course

Lead the way

Ride the horse

Have your say

 

A mind that is prone

To go it alone

May change fill your soul

Let it be whole

 

© January 2018

Duane Windell Phillips