THE CALLOUSED HANDS OF EXPERIENCE
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By; Andantino Tirarsela:
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Fare il gradasso
Fare il figo:
Dardelle arie
Strafigasi
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Erotomania
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a longing for creative inspiration
encouragement from
a disappointment
the story goes
a celebrity wished for
inspiration
so he pretended to be a commoner
he meet a woman
who was self described as common
they became friends and
he invited her to a concert
he said he had backstage tickets and
she could bring a friend
they went to the concert hall
there they'd meet he new freind
he called her and told her
he'd be there later
something came up
and he'd show up later
well an hour into the show
he hadn't appeared after intermission
they had given up thinking he'd appear
and then the singer
started to intro his protege'
and when he did the guy walked
out behind his freind and grabbed her hand and took her on stage.
He sang a harmonic song looking her directly in her eye's.
The past rises
grey and pink
amid rasping gravel
barnacled to chasms
sunken and sodden
clawing at hasty feet
that skate manically
and hurl bodies cruciform
onto mocking concrete.
The marred morn pauses
for a nanosecond
to ponder the maelstrom
of mangled flesh
and sirens.
Into the morning light I rise,
a reluctant soldier clad in skin,
hair a tangle map of sleepless nights,
the ghost of yesterday weighs within.
Eyebrows, half-plucked reminders
of a time when self-care felt like a dance,
now a chore - a forgotten ritual,
each brushstroke of make-up, a heavy sigh.
I force a smile, an actress in my own play,
lucky if the sun finds me awake for eight.
My socks don't match,
like the thoughts in my head,
a quiet rebellion against order that I long for.
Jeans collecting dust,
just like dreams left behind,
once a fabric of colour,
now a relic of effort spent,
as I make my way through the chaos of my mind,
a patchwork quilt of what was and what is in time.
Still, amidst the mess,
a flicker comes out;
resilience stitched at every frayed edge about.
I learn to breathe,
to give pride to the fight,
finding strength in the cracks,
embracing the light.
Made by gentle hands of yesteryear
Here in my heart lies a patchwork of scraps
alongside a love, once whole and beautiful
Here in my soul pastiche melodies of songs
that spoke of flower fields and loving you.
Reveal to me the patchwork of your mind
and I will build you a tapestry of dreams
to live on, my child
Come to where its happening,
lead the way with your fantasy dear one
and I will be your story ...
In the end, it is you, I and the pen
so don't fret don't worry, its all good
Dance away to the other side
I'll be better than reality,
let me see what you painted
on that frayed canvass of yours.
I am sure that its all good,
and I am certain, I will like it.
Patches of snow are left behind
A patchwork, in the lawn to find
Zig zagging flights, songs can be heard
Different directions, from each bird
They are now, talking about spring
In bright sunlight, the blue skies bring
Flowers wait to show their faces
Soon, their smiles will be all places
Joining the birds in a spring show
As warmth designs the melting snow
So much movement has caught my eye
Winter, it's time to say goodbye
Heidi Sands
4/9/24
8 syllables
(C)opyright
Live is but a patchwork quilt
Stitched together by Providence
Fate and life's events
It gets larger if you're lucky
Collecting new patches to add every day
A mixed bag of varied textures
Both smooth and rough
Different colours tones and shades
You can't know where life will take you next
But if you had the chance
You'd choose yellow
Instead of blue
Patches of love
Patches of distaste
Poverty or wealth
Sickness or health
Hard times good times
Pain and pleasure
Dreams and aspirations
Good times and bad
Happy or sad
Where ever life takes you
You'll not know until tomorrow
You point your arrow and
Hope it reaches your target
The quilt fades over time and frays threadbare
you just carry on at a slower pace
And threading the needle gets harder to thread
When your lights go dim
The quilt is a story of a journey
Like a biographical novel
Our history
A life once lived
A PATCHWORK CASTLE – a story of the wax factor
They told me we would walk the stars,
If I took a piece of you, and a piece of me,
And a piece of him here, and a piece of him there,
And a piece of she.
They told me that the world would heal,
If you shared your mind, and I brought my feel,
And he gave his wealth, and she shared her zeal.
A patched art of tapestry!
They told me that the sky would light with hope,
If he keeps his candle lit, pass it on to him,
And to him and her. You see, my candle glows
From the loss of wax that falls, wax that choked my flame!
Then the result, a serenity of light, bright,
And the product wonderful, full of color and delight,
The paths cleaner and clearer, the sky more radiant and sheer,
The world a better haven, a place of love and cheer.
And I believe, my small pallet of a gravel,
And your patch of sand, and her drop of sweat,
Built this castle of greatness, patched with indifference
For beauty of diversity, and we love to live in this.
A lock of sweat-matted hair over one eye,
she shakes a red knuckled fist at a naked child,
wailing upon a cold floor.
Mary drying feet with her hair.
Mary at the temple calling.
A street corner Mary full of sperm,
full of a grace,
She is invisible to rabid dogs and drunks.
Old or young,
fat Mary on roller skates,
sweet Mary sucking candy,
badly handled, nameless Mary's.
Sweet Mother,
the sweet lure of jail baiters winking.
The bold-faced laughter
of the -you, free-thinking.
Today the sky is a Robin egg blue,
robed in virginal light.
In a Chick-fil-a, a family is praying
over their sandwiches.
I make the sign of the cross.
I mean, why not?
The white clouds streak across the sky
creating letters to be read
Messages light up in my head
watching others on blue, drift by
The gray ones are lined with sunlight
so powerful, they seem to be
Until erased by wind to flee,
colorful patchwork welcomes night
Heidi Sands
11/19/21
If one has a patchwork mind in his bonnet,
and the patches are not well
stitched and sewn together,
thoughts , opinions and ideas
leak out easily through the seams
and what is heard in the end
is funny screams
Color me a Maple tree
Autumn storm dressed it naked
Patchwork of gold and copper
Robust crooked roots
01.10.2020
Sun :) - A-L Andresen :)
Copyright © All Rights Reserved
Writing Challenge - Dodoitsu
Sponsored by: Constance La France
2nd place in the contest
The ruby colored tree, large and tall
Stands with all the green ones that stall
It seems to be ready for fall
The first to be brightest of all
By far here ahead of the rest
Showing off its colors at best
Soon the others will change as be
Panoramic color to see
This tree, will be memory found
From what’s now mixed patchwork around
Heidi Sands
9/17/20
memories may heal
but some cut so very deep ~
stitches must remain
By
David Kavanagh
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