Desert Summers

the heat, yes

the desert

summer day.

as 'they' say,

you could cook

an egg

on the sidewalk.

hurrying from car

to building,

spending little time

in energy

sapping

sun.

oh, but those

desert nights,

those cool

desert nights.

like this night,

this moonless,

eggless night.

cold Margarita

in hand.

my company,

the saguaro,

the coyote.

i lay back

in my

lounging chair,

looking upward

to the sky...

star studded,

like a diamond

broach, pinned

against

The Universe...

Whatever you call this writing attempt...perhaps poetry of sorts...it is based on our Saturday Centus prompt which, this week, is a photograph of what appears to be an egg cooking on a hot sidewalk.

Gets in the Way

before I die, I want to...

learn how to forgive.

without forgiveness,

little else of deep meaning

is possible...

Who, Where, Why...

Saturday Centus #64. Just when I was in the mood to write the perfect vignette story, hoping that somehow Jenny was going 'out of the box' and maybe allow us 200 words...good luck! This week our prompt is nearly as long as our word restraint of 15. This suggests that 1) Jenny is not a mind reader...at least not mine, and 2) that our teacher is in charge...'do or die'...speaking of death, and not that I care to ponder its morbidity, our prompt goes something like this..."before I die I want to..." Suffice it that a mere 15 words would not begin to cover this subject. I am ok with that inasmuch as I believe I have lived many lives before this one, so, perhaps what I did not get to in this one, just maybe I covered before or will get to later. Point is, it seems, is that doing this or that, going here and there, having such and such is not important...the importance in it all may lie in the emotions...the clarity of that moment, those moments when we have that feeling, those feelings that are beyond words, beyond description...the moment which fuses past, present, future, and the whole of the universe into a precise, unexplainable 'entity...' I have tried to capture such a moment with this photograph. Now I will give a go and try to explain in what are obviously too few words, my desire.

before I die I want to...

know the truth...

who we are...

where did we come from...

why we are here...

Peace and blessings

jc

Short and to the Point

Saturday Centus...and 25 words...oh my...5, 25, 50, 100...I can do this, I can do anything. I may not be getting any younger, but I am getting better...although my creative vision often trumps my abilities to put vision to paper. Somehow though, as usually happens, the vision came to me in an instant...question is can I translate the feel of the moment in so few words? Perhaps with a little ESP working, some of you might feel it, see it, wrap your heads around it...I hope so.

"Anything else hon?"

"No, thanks."

She returned with the check...and an unexpected note...

I'm off at 11...meet me out front...

What the heck, I'm not getting any younger...

Home...Not This Time

Some years had passed since I had left home. I had wanted to visit many times, it was just that...you know...my parents and I had not truly 'gotten along'. I left home under less than desirable circumstances. Back then it felt more like an 'escape' than a simple departure. Over the years I realized that you cannot run away from your past, and cultivated the hope that 'time heals everything'.

I left the interstate, deciding to drive the rest of the way through the countryside and small towns along Rt. 66. The miles ticked away as I passed through familiar places...Venita, White Oak, Bushyhead...the small towns forever etched in my childhood memories...all unchanged. Just past Bushyhead, something however did change. The landscape was unfamiliar. Had the distraction of childhood memories caused me to take a wrong turn? I could see a road sign in the distance. As I got closer I could read it, and the sign read...Hwy. 666...

Lost In Translation

What if Francis Scott Key, a young, aspiring, 34 year old lawyer and amateur poet, had used his cell phone to text his poem, Defence of Ft. McHenry...a poem inspired by the view of a large, 30' x 42' American flag, made by Mary Young Pickersgill and her 13 year old daughter Caroline, and for that moment flying over Ft. McHenry...texting it to his dear wife Mary, as she huddled in their home with their 11 children during the war of 1812?

Well, it would have read something like this..."OsA cn UC by d dawn's erly lyt...OsA dz dat (*) spangled banner yet ~~~, over d l& of d fre n d hom of d brave"...

and...what if he had not be feeling poetically inclined? Well, he might have texted her saying..."Mary cn UC d big (_!_) flag @ d fort?" And if he had done that, then what would folks incorrectly mumble the lyrics to at ball games?

Thank you for bearing with me today and translating my silly attempt at interpreting our Saturday Centus prompt, "O! say can you see". Please check out what will certainly be an interesting and thoughtful collection of writings, poems and such at Jenny Matlock's Saturday Centus.