Autumn

I was shivering walking home in the dark and now alone. Whatever was I thinking? Going out with him to celebrate some damn stupid Halloween Festival!

I had imagined sipping hot cider with a cinnamon stick and seeing scarecrows made up into different figures, like the ones back home on the town common. Every year there is a new theme and the folk's at home really get into the spirit of it all. With paper jack o lanterns strung in the tree branches and hot cider and candy apples. 

But there she was..the girl with the russet hair. Autumn was her name. 

She blew in like a leaf, caught up in the swirl of cool air and apple shampoo. Threw her arms around him and cackled under the silver moon; "I'm so sorry," she said, "I knew I would find you here. Would have tried calling back, but the battery went dead in my cell. Do you remember, this is the first place you took me to on our first date?"

He looked at me as if to say he was sorry, but the words never came and then she led him into the crowd, not even acknowledging my presence. I stood there frozen, the swirls of laughter trailing behind them with apple shampoo still lingering in the air. 

I heard they married soon after. Friends told me it would never last. And it never did. 

That was many years ago, a long time to remember. But every year I come and place decorations on their headstones.

And then I walk home, alone, with the smell of Autumn crisp in the air and the dark of night, concealing my jack o lantern grin.

Copyright 8-2-11

January

January,

You sent shivers down my spine,

Your icy fingertips, lashed across my cheeks

as I caught my breath in your high pitched screams.

I recoiled at your frozen tears

and muffled your cries, by the crackling fireside.

And in the heat of my desire,

I spurned your icy indifference.

The Meadow

The grass is high in the meadows

Song birds sing on the fly

a shadow passes over

and I thought I felt you nearby

The leaves rustle and shimmer

in the soft breeze of your voice

a storm cloud passes overhead

and softly rains where I stood

The field is washed in blankets of yellow

greens and reds I see too

The sky is blue and it's purple

like wildfire - I'm am consumed

And  I stand here in this meadow

The beauty of nature at hand

listening to the sounds of my heartbeat

while dreaming of you, over there

Copyright 5-31-11

The Looking Glass

Steadfast, the looking glass,

what creature have you captured

peering back at you, 

what  magic will appear,

when I gaze into his world.

The image slowly changes

the shadow of its truths,

a vision  sometimes recognized,

the folly found in youth.

Behind the rippled glass

silver tarnished hues,

framed in my memories,

a younger looking you.

Reflections of an old mans life

captured in your glass,

the emotions of his heart,

my memories of his past. 

The image slowly changing

the creature looking there,

to come full circle,

caught within its' glare.

photo ; Tom Hussey ,copyrighted. (with signature consent)

One of 8 photo's Tom  did for a commercial for Norvartis Pharma promotion, for Alzheimer patients.

copyrights 12-31-10

When Sleep Comes To Me

Dreaming..

I close my eyes in peaceful rest,

My thoughts lingering 

Within my breast.

In early morning

To these I dress,

Were you real 
I sometimes jest. 

Will you take me with you tonight,

On another dreamers flight.

Upon a pillow I lay my head,

Close my eyes
Let the dreams begin.

 copyright 9-1-10

Beauty For Lana

Your beauty, lies

Not on the surface of your skin,                                                           

But reflects on those 

From within.

A shining metaphor for those to see

What your beauty means to me.

Your loving eyes, 

Your  rose milk skin,

That smile wide, 

And subtle grin.

The soft curl of your hair,

The way you clasp your bosom dear,

A Beauty for the portrait there.

But I have known such sweeter fair;

For your beauty lies deep within, 

It cannot be captured with a lens,

Nor imprisoned in a frame,

To adorn a shelf or 

Flight of stairs.

That,  is just an image dear.

Your beauty

Comes from deep within;

A soft kiss of all thats good,

A warm embrace to ease our pain,

A tender word of heartfelt care,

A smile that lights our dark despair.

These are your attributes my dear.

Your grace and beauty,

Your gentle way,

A light that shines  on each day.

This, is the image you reflect,

When Beauty touched those she met.


copyright 2-24-11

Linings

 I found a rainbow in the storm,

The silver lining in a cloud,

And rainfall nurtures 

Though she wept,

Warmed by prism colored mist.

Shades she painted in full view,

Her fingerprint of colored hues.

copyright 2-28-11

The Cheshire Cat

           

                                            (source: http://kikariz.deviantart.com/art/Cheshire-Cat-187702551...)

The cheshire cat you know him well !

A devilish grin he wears,

For behind that dimpled wrinkled chin-

Is a CAT you best beware!

Basking in his smugness,

A twinkle in his eye,

Speaks volumes of what hes thinking

He cannot even hide.

Best beware this cheshire cat

Should he saddle up to you,

I would not take a second glance,

His look could be for you !

For what has he done to wear that grin..

What sly tricks be up his sleeve ?

For that cheshire cat be looking,

And hes looking strait at me !

Damn that cheshire cat !

Damn his soul to hell,

For it isnt in his knowing,

He does not know me.... well .

How evil is this mystery cat

To cross my path today ?

I must admit in knowing,

His name, I cannot say...

For the gleam I may be seeing is

Not always his alone,

I sometimes too remember,

A twinkling of my own.

Meow...


Copyright 6-30-10  Jackie Summers

Ode To A Spanish Oak

She, solitary in the night

weeping in the mist,

framed in luminosity 

each mossed fingertip.

a kiss upon my lip

a teardrop on my cheek

This mossy oak of evening

while I gaze upon the stars,

you line the lanes of Georgia

and you tug at my heart.

a kiss upon my lip

a teardrop on my cheek

A southern hospitality

you beckon me to stay,

yet the mossy oak of evening

is not the same in day.

And I, must slip* away.

A kiss upon my lip

a teardrop on my cheek

Jackie Summers

7-22-11

slip*- a creamy mixture of clay & water,typically a pigment used for decorating earthenware.

Yesteryear

 I fell in love with its yesteryear charm.                                                                 

You could tell it evoked a warmth,

a certain security of family that once lived 

behind the black shutters.

And I hoped I could bring back the same vitality of life

that echoed to me in the sunlit rooms.

   So I purchased that emotion, happy to feel that I belonged.

I filled it with furnishings that I acquired throughout the years

and the house came back to life. 

You would have thought the furnishings were purchased with the home.

The marriage of those furnishings within their respective rooms,

dressed to mirror each other.

   And I was proud.

I wanted to share my charming home with those I loved.

Thus I invited family to share in my blessings and bring love

back again to those once empty rooms.

  We enjoyed our first Christmas with loved ones , gathering as many family that we could. Decorations carefully adorning the spirit of the season upon the mantels of its walls.

Oh how glorious it was to hear those rooms alive with the chatter of friends .

   And with spring and summer , I lovingly planted garden beds

adding to the exterior of  the homes cottage charm, inviting you in.  

   Then Halloween arrived, and ghoulish as they were,

they came and brought laughter for the old home's spirits that remained.

Memories I shall never forget.

But there was no comfort outside these walls.

No feeling of security or charm could I find.

Only an emptiness. A nothing, it saddened me.

   Neighborhoods and their homeowners riddling me with their

unfriendliness and contempt , when only love and kindness should be sown.

Creating an atmosphere of hostility ... imprisoning me.

   This beautiful charming home no longer resonating the same pleasures I first found behind the old black shuttered windows,

   the eyes to the outside world.

Your home should be a reflection of your soul.

Inviting and welcoming, for that I was certain.

But beyond those walls, forces you cannot percieve or control.

  Abandoning all hope , I felt the loneliness for what I never saw.

For the first time, I too echoed the emptiness of those old charming rooms, before they were disguised in their refinements and laughter.

Robbing me , stripping me of any vitality I first brought with me.

   And it left me wondering of the ghosts that remained.

Teardrops

Fog

Christmas Cheer

Merry Christmas Everyone!
Christmas will be here sooner than you know it. If you're shopping for presents my condolences. It's hard enough with this slumping economy just to make ends meet, but well worth the smile of children everywhere to have something under the tree. This year I will not have a tree. I gave all Christmas decorations away prior to my ill conceived plans to move to California. (Still deciding what I'm doing next. If I had been more strategic in my move I could have saved a lot of money and hassles.. Ah well, we live and learn, and move on.)
 My children are now all adults, so this year I will be giving to Toy's for Tots. I am sure we can all find a few more dollars for just one more present to give to a charity of your choice.

One of the things I took away with me from my time in California, and will stick with me forever, was the amount of homeless people everywhere. Back home here in Massachusetts where I live, outside of Boston, we do not see many homeless people. I am sure though in every big city you come across a few, if not groups. I have always been aware of the homeless but seldom came across them. There was a period in my life though, due to some tragic unfortunate events, I once found myself homeless. I managed to survive it by living in a campground. It was early spring with snow on the ground. I started out in two tents, one for my belongings, the other to sleep in. I must say it was quite the adventure. I was still working up until the time I was canned, and still had enough money saved at the time to graduate to a small camper, I bought off a seasonal camper that no longer enjoyed camping.

The reason I bring this up at all is for the many people who are struggling today. It was bad enough to find themselves homeless due to the horrific weather we have been experiencing, and my heart goes out to those who have lost homes from the tornadoes and floods here on the East Coast and elsewhere. If the weather was not a contributing factor, then those who were victimized by the failing economy and our governments lack of response. I don't need to go into the politics, I am sure we all know someone who has been affected by this. Lets hope that as this year closes, and with a new election coming up, The Gold Diggers of Washington can start working for the people as government was meant to do.

So in closing, if you never have seen the homeless, believe me, they are out there and growing larger every day. Not all choose to be homeless, and the growing number of them are children. So please, I know it may be hard, but next time you're out shopping for those Special Christmas Gifts, wont you find just a few more dollars for that child who thinks that Santa won't find him,  because he has had to move....

If this tugs at your heart, that was my intention.

Merry Christmas Every One
Jackie <3

On Being Interviewed

Have you ever been interviewed ?  

I know what your thinking..of course you say; Why just 4 in the last week! I grudgingly wrote more applications than I ever thought possible. There was the one for bank teller job, the one where they were looking for a managers position in a retailing company, and the one that needed a clerk assistant at the town hall, and the very last, a bartender position. (I figured what the hell on the last.)

But I think the toughest interview I have ever had, was the one I have given myself every day for the last 30 years. I sit back and close my eyes and think; what are my qualifications? As a human being what do I possess that makes living so important. What tags or labels do I wear that makes me standout from the crowd? Do I call myself a writer, a poet, a wonder women? Why everyday is an interview of sorts. Friends behind the scenes sharing bits of information and wanting your response. Not that you would ever notice, but that is like an interview now, is it not? Your opinion as if it mattered, seems insignificant, perhaps even trivial, but behind the scenes great things are going on in their brains; forming and assessing your responses. Qualifiers...did you pass? After all quality control on closer inspection will show your probably on borrowed time. Don't work overtime on this one..After all if you do get canned by your friends, you can always moan how overrated it is to have more than just a few real close ones. Yea you know them, the ones you know that have a way of telling the truth even when they are biased. And you know  they have another set of friends you've heard mention of.  I have never met them, but names and descriptions of their interactions within their separate group often get discussed. Like a private closed board meeting, where the manager of your particular group needs time to discuss your skills as a human being . 

Thus I ask myself...what are my qualifications, what do I bring to the round table? 

I am a daughter, wife, mother, a sister, cousin and friend. I am Domestic Engineer: nurse, housekeeper, groundskeeper, carpenter, painter, mechanics assistant. I am the towel of spilled tears, the smile in face of adversity, the last final word. And I think ... that the wearing of so many hats is not something I want to do my whole life. Sometimes jobs are just not what they are cracked up to be. I don't remember being interviewed for some of them, nor did I possess certain qualifications for them. I suppose the old saying, " Its a hands on experience" has a certain truth to it. No qualifications necessary. You'll love the job! After all it is the job your mother, grandmother, great grandmother all had. You could say then.. Its a  family business that has been passed down to generations, and lucky you for qualifying.

Today - I am the human resource coordinator. I get to decide for myself where I fit in. What does it pay? What are the perks? Do I get a vacation?  Will I have to jump in with both feet, or is there a break in period?

Or will the higher powers that be, say to me, You've done a great job! It's time to relax and wait for your retirement benefits...it wont be long. Just one more question you need to ask yourself..( being the resources and driving force behind this interview ) What do you want to be- when you grow up ?

A Shitty Story

This story came to mind after thinking about what motivates people to write a story about other's. And then as usual my mind wandered, and I thought, CRAP! Feed them CRAP! Now its just another shitty story, but imagine writing about shit, so this is "my" Shitty little Story.

My neighbors are all shit-heads! Yep every smelly one of em. The crap that rolls off their tongues is like listening to maggots eating at their garbage souls. I'm half expecting to see a fly, fly out of their mouths every time they open up. But that's not nearly as bad as the vomit they spew. Just got to remind myself to step back and watch it hit their shoes. And trash pickup is on Wednesday, so maybe someday - someday ..

So in my passive reply to all their crap, I have learned to get even. Well it wasn't really my intention,  it was my dog's. How I love that dog! She never could just take a dump in the grass. Nope, she needs to walk it out. Too much down time indoors, (cuz well shit here stinks) so walking is the excercise to get her creative juices flowing..And there have been times where her artistic skills have won her no applause. 

Like the time she decided to shit while the Villan'ess of the neighborhood was sitting on her front porch eating her cake and sipping on coffee laced with hate. Don't ya know, that crazy wonderful dog of mine decides to be artistic no more than 5 feet from her walk. And Explodes this great big puddle of steamy brown liquid, with music you could sing along with. It would have put Pollack to shame! Of course there is an ordinance to picking up after your pets excrement, but...well how do you pick that up? And thus while the streets here are not paved in gold; are they painted! Brown patches of stain in front of every shit-heads home. Kinda reminds me of when the Nazis marked anyone who they wanted taken away. And so it goes...

We all know the saying ''Shit Rolls Downhill."  This town is no exception. When my shitty neighbors decided they couldn't rile me with their odiferous offerings from vomit and venom, they decided to involve town officials. Now this all started because I needed to have the property surveyed, and some animals  just like to trespass beyond their borders. Like wild animals always on the hunt for prey, they didn't take kindly to being fenced in. 

So I met with the game wardens of this wonderful town of SHITVILLE, and asked who in WHOVILLE did they think they were coming from? In all courts of Civil Shitdom, disputes between wolves and lesser land owners' there comes a time when the landowner has a right to preserve their own land. To say the wolves lost is an understatement.. They not only lost, they snared themselves. More interesting to me however were the game wardens, telling me to use the old fashion method of beating them down in a bloody battle of man eating flesh. And so it goes...Only in SHITVILLE.

But this is a way of life in Shitville. Uneducated tenants that elect the same officials time after time, because well...inbreeding  makes for a closer community. We did have an outsider come in to run the town once. He was not considered popular either, and managed to very nicely leave a very befitting legacy. One I find deserving  for the town's folk who live here. The biggest mountain of a garbage dump ever. For the next twenty years the town is under obligation to accept trash from outside communities, and so it goes...

Shit certainly flows down hill...

Well that's the end for now.. I just needed to wipe my ass a bit. Oh yeah, I wrote this while sitting on the toilet. (I feel much better) And so it goes....

When Boys Lie- and my response

It takes years to learn that when a man says something, that's all they are really saying. But because we are women, we think there is an underlying story. So we fantasize of the things we think we would like to hear. Men have no hidden messages. Their brains are too convoluted with trying to keep their testosterone at levels below their elbows. Thats hard for them to do...Don't ever read into what a man is telling you. It's not their style.

The Harpist

Rains of acid 

burn asunder,

for hallowed ground

her spirit wandered.

Cries of anguish

on deafened ears,

wails of sadness

from a muses lyre.

Moonless nights

draped her darkest hours,

and weeps to free her

from her loves desire.

The Shallows

I stand on the shore, one toe testing the water.

It is cold in the shallows. Small foamy waves, reaching like fingers

wanting to invite me in. Come play they call.

I look to the horizon, where water runs deep.

If only I could see the mysteries of life beneath the crashing waves.

The tide is coming in, I feel the sand move beneath my feet.

"Do not stand too long in one spot," I tell myself. 

I do not like the cold water. It has now risen to my knees, and I feel like I will lose my balance if I stand here much longer. My feet are now entrapped by the moving sands.

I urge myself forward, waist deep, the water seems a bit warmer now.

No longer being pulled by the stronger undertows and insidious sand, I can now tread the waters. Soft swells, as in a symphony I float, marveling in the highs and lows.

I have managed to escape the riptides and am now standing once again, waist deep on a sandbar. The shore a slight speck of land being eaten by loud crashing, foaming waves. The sandbar has become a refuge for limbs now tired, and I rest awhile, contemplating the mysteries still out on the horizon.

I have stood here too long. The tide must be changing, once again the waters have become cold. I take the plunge, ride with the swells, and in having enjoyed the ride, become swallowed in the vastness, a speck myself  no bigger than a grain of sand, and lost to a whirlpool of deep mystery. 

The Bridge

It's all water under the bridge she thought. And with that, she suddenly began wishing she had a life jacket, as the thoughts came pouring in like buckets from a monsoon. Always the ebb and then the tide to once again take her thoughts across oceans of intangible recollections. She was drowning, and no matter how hard she tried to get a grasp on reality, no one was on the horizon to throw her that lifeline.  She new it was sink or swim, but then what? To where? Confusion had her mind in a vice..Squeezing, wringing the salty tears to form puddles at her feet. No mateys, they all jumped ship months ago. No captain to guide her ship, no sexton showing the stars. Her life was just hanging in the balance, in a dark night, in a sea of puddled tears.  She had to get it together. 

She wanted to forgive him, She wanted to believe in the fairy tale. If she could only force the tears back, put the stars back in the heavens and build a bridge that they could meet in the middle. But she didn't know how. Then she remembered.

To build a bridge you need a solid footing, and rip rap to accept the crashing waves. She was going to have to be the architect of her own life. She no longer needed a captain to steer her boat, she was her own captain now. And the stars would shine again, for she would let her heart be its own sextant, she was going to follow her own North star. And then she laughed, and she laughed so hard she didn't feel the waves crashing around her feet, then she tasted the salty sea air, looked up to the heavens for the last time, and was  swept away by the tides of her new found realization...She needed that bridge!

The Locket

I snipped a tress of golden hair                         

And framed it near a picture dear,

Engraved upon the case the date,

And strung a chain around it's fate..

This tarnished love - a prison makes..

The case now worn,

The date misplaced,

A faded image, 

A golden lock,

The missing link.

 

The Bouquet

   

                                           She was petal soft,

                                           and slender stem of green,

                                           Rooted in the earth 

                                           beside a flowing stream,

                                           Blushing Bride and Queens Lace, 

                                           all blowing in the breeze...

                                           A Willow softly weeping,

                                           a soldiers call to arms,

                                           All joined in the courtship

                                           to the girl who picked them all.

                                           Her basket overflowing

                                           made posies for the masses,

                                           and along the banks of Kingdoms,

                                           a trampled field of grasses.




Copyright- Jackie Summers