Bon Voyage

Damn these stupid magnetic wrist bands! I should've known better than to trust my equilibrium to some product advertised on late night TV.  I should have just gone to the doctor and asked for the freakin' sea sickness pills before we left on this God forsaken cruise, but, no, I had to be all natural! No chemicals packed in my luggage! I was going to rid myself of toxins, eat healthy, exercise, meditate. The other passengers would whisper, "Who is that stunning woman? She seems to glow with positive energy!" as I walked the decks of the ship in my 100 percent cotton clothing.

Now, however, I'm glowing with the day old pea soupy green color from 3 days of sea sickness. I've rid my body not only of toxins but of every bite of food that I've managed to gag down, as it's all come retching right back up. I have had plenty of time to meditate as I lean my throbbing head over the ship's rail for my post-prandial hork. I've meditated on how much I despise the other passengers on this cruise who are happily throwing back fruity, overpriced umbrella drinks and taking photos of each other with their arms around the overworked crew. I've meditated on what method I will use to murder my ex-friend who recommended these less than useless wrist magnets.

I've also meditated on the distinct possibility that when we reach our first port, I will abscond rather than reboard. I will become an ex-pat, an islander. I will stand on the shore and watch the ships arrive and depart but never go with them. Right now, it sounds a lot better than another day of barfing!

submitted for Thursday Short Story Slam, Week 9, at Bluebell Books

Don't Forget Your Light

Don't Forget Your Light" by Sudlice at Deviant Art

Bare walls
Bare floors
Barely even here
Another place
Another name
Another empty year
Wasted time
Wasted tries
Wasted every night
Can't outrun
Can't stay here
Don't forget your light.

submitted for Midnight Snack, 1, at Poets United

Weeds

image from Magpie Tales 81

We're weeds; we fight to grow in barren soil

We steal from those nurtured, tended with care

who know not what it's like to have to toil

who never have to struggle for their share

We're weeds, the ones that no one wants to see

We thrive in places others dare not try

Becoming strong because we have to be

for there are many who would see us die

We're weeds; we dare not speak about our shame

We wear it under costumes gaudy, loud

Our shoulders slouch from bearing all the blame

When will be the day when we stand proud?

If we had been named roses at our birth

perhaps we wouldn't need to prove our worth

submitted for Magpie Tales 81

and for One Single Impression, Prompt 184, Weed

Do You Dream?

scene from Phantom of the Opera, 1925

Do you dream in technicolor?
Do you close your eyes and wait for
the show, giddy with
anticipation?
Do you dive into your bed
grab handfuls of covers like popcorn
into your greedy hands?
Sink down into lush
mind mush
watching it all on the black screen
of night?
Do you dream in black and white?
Do you fight the fall into silent film
non-existence
your movements exaggerated but going
nowhere
screaming
with no sound?
Do you know the face
of your phantom?
Would you love him to free him
from the catacombs of
your nightmares?

submitted for dVerse Poets Pub, Poetics, Shhh...Silent Films