I just stay

Written in response to Sadje’s What do you see #189

I feel the soft drops seep within my skin, my bodies sponge wants to keep my hand extended. Dry is not an option. I know I’m not exempt from the worlds lure. Today I have the tools to know I have to keep my hand sweeping the truth. God has gifted me this solution. I need to stay open to each droplet. I can today keep looking through the booze in the glass seeing the doom on the other side. Each drop penetrates my heart, my creators hands gifts me the unique way of gifting back what I have if I chose to stay with arm stretched out with an open mind. The water might become more than a drip, it’s okay God’s got me. Let the rain fall down it’s all so divine. I just stay

I feel the splash upon my face. Dry drunks don’t make it they say, I need to stay. I have the means to keep my hand extended out. My nourishment is each of there’s experience, strength, and hope. It’s the how to keep my soul from withering. It’s mine if I keep extending my palm for waters need. It’s mine for life if I please. I just stay

I feel my soul awakened with each droplet running down the veins of my hand. I never want to go back to parched dry land. Each cascade is willingness to stay. No need for umbrellas cover, for this is where I don’t get pulled under. I just stay

I feel the soft subtle youth of my skin with the waters stain. I know if I just stay I gain. The moment I think I have it all figured out, my body shrivels up like a prune. Surely doomed I choose to keep my hand outstretched because to each of there’s experience, strength, and hope which is truly instrumental to my hearts wealth. I chose to stay my hand out as far as I can reach for waters puddle is my new escape. I just stay



What is blue, whatever it have you

Is it a color

It is a feeling

Is in an escape

As I ponder the moment my eyes creep from beyond my blanket, and summers new. It has found me. I instantly think will my skies be blue

As I wake with a cup of coffee steaming with Vanilla creamers fragrance arousing my senses to wake. Am I feeling blue today? No actually I feel quite great

As I sit here looking all around the sky as vast as oceans deep indeed it is a beautiful escape for my heart to breathe in the canvas blue. A blue in every hue. It surrounds me day in, and day out. God’s glory drapes the skies, and his artists hands gives moods to the land. Blue is whatever it have you. Truly blue is amazing in more ways than my blue eyes can see, yes whatever it have you and me blue will be

Is it a color

Is is a feeling

Is it an escape, I believe blue is blue and whatever it have you let it be

Challenge: Weekly prompts weekend challenge
Topic: Blue


Mine had no color at all, a tale for all

Okay now again, try it again. I dropped my brush upon the canvas. Waiting with great anticipation, and again nothing. Black and white bled from the brush, and even onto the paper dripping to the floor. There was no color that came from my brush at all. I saw the example of this most colorful illustration, and I clearly understood the instructions. What the heck…where were the colors I see in me. I was beginning to feel I had something truly wrong with me as I looked down, and even my art apron was soaked with the paint that spilled. There was not an ounce of color at all. I wreaked of darknesses call

I was beyond confused, and frustration was now holding tight the paint brush. I will prove to you all I am capable of making something just like that piece that hangs with life’s ambition. I will prove all of you wrong about me. I will scream every color of the rainbow. Didn’t I have favor in anyones eyes that I could indeed make a prize winning art like what was on display. What had become of the color that once resided in me? I was filled to the brim, and it came out of the creases in my smile. I was once so playful, and hope was the fragrance I wore. I must be holding the brush wrong, maybe I was not the artist I was thought to be. Maybe there was no color inside of me was now my reality. Not even a tinge of color at all. What a sad colorless life I was living, was I dead

I put the paints down in search of my color, I wanted back what was once so freely given to me. My canvas was as dark as coal, and I felt death was knocking on my door. As I was rummaging through to find the answer I was throwing empty booze bottles over my right and left shoulders. Bottle after bottle a collection that when I looked slightly over my right shoulder made me shudder. All of that I had consumed. Doomed! It was no wonder I saw no hope, all that hope drowned the day I I wet my soul with the lies of that damn bottle. I nursed it until no end. With each sip…green gone. Drink some more you alcoholic horror. Took the purple too. Who knew?

I now know everyone did except for me, putting down the bottle in complete surrender was the only way I had even a chance of color coming back to me. I had the desperation of a dying woman, and I was ready to take the steps necessary so one day sometimes quickly sometimes slowly I could paint something as spirited with colors vast as the painting my instructor asked me to make so many a year ago

Sometime has passed since I have picked up the brush, and I was working so hard on one day at time letting go and letting God. I was finding this solution to live free of the bottle that once encumbered me. I was now living, and loving this whole new way of life I found with a my God, and simple yet hard 12 step program. I could see this progress of self, and this life that once felt like deadly venom took over was now do I dare say being filled with hope. Yes that is what I will share. That was my story of experience, strength, and hope. The colors I see coming back into me, I don’t look the same. I don’t look like I did the first day I walked in the rooms. Nor do I look like my mug shot. I am coming back around to solid ground, I think I am ready with the strength I find with my God to paint again. I believe from the depths of my soul that my painting now will not lack a single color. It will be a magnificent masterpiece of my father’s hand, and the transformation from death to life. Hope will drip off the table, and all over my art apron. Jesus indeed take my very broken wings, colorless and lifeless. He gave me flight of color that would blind the blind. Look at me now, look at me then. My canvas is still being made, and I think it will never be finished. Just as when I wake His mercies are new every morning. Hope is a huge part of His story! Hope is my new mission, and this story does not have “the end” as long as I keep my spiritual house clean I can continue to glean hope

Black and white horrid with deaths knock 9 plus years ago
Back at the coloring, my grandson and I. These are the gifts I get one day at a time making a conscious decision to turn my will, and my life over to God! I am His! Color me hope, color me free


Just me, and my shadows truth/Photo Challenge #426

Photo by Marco Bianchetti on Unsplash

All I see is the shadow of a little girl, all though the skin I am in is my adult. I can’t face it day in

All I see is tears pooling down my cheeks, to weak to share. Would they even care

All I see is this little girl scared to death as she crosses the road, memories in toll. Mom screaming “no please don’t do it”. Me curled in a little ball, sobbing uncontrollably for what is about to be my daddy’s end

I am too scared to face my own shadow. I just keeping walking thinking the memories will pass with each swift step. Just me in stringy hair, wanting all the noise to stop. My heart is skipping beats, but my feet are now running. My reflection is only that of my little 3rd grade self. Heeeellllpppp

I am panting, now sprinting from memories pain. The air around me feels like a cage. Stop the insane. Stop him mom, don’t allow him to take his life. He is only thirty, and I nine. My mom his wife. Why oh why? Stop the boiling in my veins from words I’m putting together as horrified moments end

That was it, she screamed louder than anyone I had ever heard “NO”! It was a nightmare, but it was my nightmare true. I ran out, and the phone cord dangled from the table. My mom was not there she ran as fast as my shadow, and left me there all alone staring at the phone bouncing in sorrow. No more tomorrow daddy

I am all alone, I put all the jargon together in my head. My daddy pulled the trigger, and now he is dead. No hope, so lost. At the cost of leaving me alone with my shadow as a little girl, and not wanting to change into its adult as years pass

I can’t chase that shadow anymore, and even give it a moments stare. The pain runs caverns deep. All I would do is weep. Look at it Lisa, what do you see? A five foot two inch girl, in heels. I am not that little girl anymore with stringy hair. I must except the shadow I walk with. It is me, I can’t reside in fear. I am here dealing with the truth, just me and my shadow. It no longer looms. Back to school the next day, and back to reality today I must remain. Sane


What do you see- 52 – 19 October’20: I would have it look no other way

Image credit; Pisauikan@ Pixabay

Every crease on my face has a story the furrows of an old lady that has worked since the age of 9

The wrinkles are that of a once youthful young woman that gave birth to 10 beautiful babies

Every line signifies wisdom, and perseverance through the storms of life. I am a wife, and mother first

The pucker around my lips reveal a smile, I am blessed with the gift of health. Wealth is not measured by the amount of money in your pockets. It is all about family

Every fold in my face is the memories I hold more precious than gold, priceless love

The layers around my eyes have seen joy, heartache, grief, and loss. The seams have held tears, but I try not to let anyone see. They don’t need to bare my years of crinkles, no one needs spy

Every wrinkle makes me the old woman I am today. I am better for every connecting line. For my life was created for them not me. Even the deep rooted crow’s feet are years of me taking the back seat

This is my face, and I would have it look no other way


Fandango’s Flash Fiction Challenge #88: I’m just a door man at an old ratty motel

I’m just a door man at an old ratty hotel in an impoverished part of Chicago. Whoever thought to give me the job of delivering this box must be crazy.

I sit here with this cumbersome cardboard box on my lap, yes it will pay more than my day at the Old Renaissance Motel, yet I wonder if it’s really worth it. What might be in it? It isn’t all that heavy. I just keep thinking I didn’t ask enough questions. I feel as if I am a criminal doing something wrong. All this hopping from subway to subway to. What is an old man to do?

This is my second of 4 subways to get to my drop off point. I have these strict instructions, and I am not to deviate from them at all. I feel as if I am part of the Mafia my God all be damned if I end up in cuffs.

I can’t but wonder what is in the box. I don’t want to shake it, as then to maybe break it. I am feeling leery of what I might have gotten myself into. My stomach is suffering with anxieties pangs. Most likely gonna end up with an ulcer at my ripe age doing these kind of things. I am also growing hungry with each transfer I make.

Finally the stop, and I was in an even sketchier part of town then where I work. This was a place they say if you don’t need to go there, don’t go! I had no idea this was the final stop until I saw the sign. This just can’t be good.

I patiently waited to exit with the awkward box in hand, and began my walk. I was to go straight per my instructions. I walk passed people passed out on the street, stepping over feet. The box was hindering my view. The last tall green garbage-can which was tagged with hot pink it said. Okay that should be easy enough.

There it was, and I was on time. So looking far as my ancient eyes could see, I see a small boy holding what looks like a ladies hand. Figuring it is his mother, I proceed to walk on. Out of breath I reach the place written on the paper. I set the box down.

The boy dressed in just a long t-shirt with no pants, and no shoes gave me the brightest toothless smile. “Wow sir” he said. It had to be maybe 40 degrees if that. The lady had tears in her eyes. She struggled to speak. The boy ripped open the box. Throwing to the ground a coat, shirt, jeans, socks, boxer shorts, and the coolest tennis shoes this ol’ man had ever seen. “Oh boy this is awesome,” he said! Standing up he reached his arms around my waist looking up at my face. He squeezed me so tight. He then proceeded to let go, and place all his new clothes back in the box.

They proceeded to walk off with him in push of that box down the street with his bare feet. That was it, all in days work. I just had the most rewarding experience I had in my lifetime. Worth every penny was that toothless grin. Even though his mother never spoke, I saw the tears well in her eyes. I saw her weary head lower in sower for what she could not provide. My high lifted spirit led me back to Subway Route #331. My heart was undone in the wealth I felt from that little boy filled with joy! He was set with winters best, in that box he pushed down the road.


Tale Weaver/Fairy Tale – #297 – The Witches Garden – 15th October

This week we shall venture into a Fairy Story around the theme of The Witches Garden.

Luring, its cast as it catches you right in your upper lip. You bit down hard. Mesmerizing, not surprising, as the darkness reels you in

Your skin dampens with brisk air, your hair on your arms harden making them heavy as you draw nearer the garden. Popsicle toes, and your nose rose red. You can feel the dead

Ghostly you keep walking yet you can’t feel your feet, floating closer to the witches gate. Echoes of groans, and moans so loud in your ear. Muffling them it grows ringing stinging your lobes

All you want to do is run the other way, but you can’t turn from it. You’re caught, it is alarming how it seems almost beautiful yet so terrifying at the same time

You hear the gate lock behind you, you’re in. Laughter all encompassing. No words come from your mouth as it moves in speech. Your body frozen, as you try in lift of your limbs. You have no idea what is happening, your brain can’t even form a thought

You are now caught in what is the the gloom of the witches garden. You knew better to even walk that route, but the delusion so great for what lied behind the garden gate. Bewitched it is now past too late

Crimson’s Creative Challenge #101

Behind the moss, and stone built wall through a cut out in the rock was a hidden secret room. I believe to this day it was all mine to find.

Not a single person on this earth knows what lies behind that stone in that of my own secret dwelling place. I have a blanket, and pillows I brought from home. In make of my dwelling place comfy from the cold earth floor.

I can lie in billows of my reality on those pillows for hours upon hours knowing no one can find me. I am free from what is allowed to happen to me outside the protection of that stone wall. It is my panic room, my safe haven, my place of rest. No one can see the tear stains upon my chest. The puddles of mud from years of crying. I get to stand up wipe off my face, and pretend for another day I will make it.

I will make it back to my hide, and no seek room. My place in the middle of no where behind the moss, and stone built wall through the cut out in my sacred place. That is where for hours I get to let out all my pain, scream and no one hears. This has been my secret hiding place for years and years and years.


What do you see #51? An hourglass of time…

Image credit; Adrien King @ Unsplash

An hourglass of time, you would think it divine. How fast the sand sifted its way to the bottom of the glass. Swirling with memories of last. Picture books in my head. Turning the pages, ages ago. Older, taller, wrinkly, all in the blink of an eye. Time passes us by.

Recollection in a collection of layers. Tears, laughter, grief, sorrow, each pebble a marker for something passed. Alas all my expectations never met. Sitting there I am reaching, but my hand can’t quite touch the tales of time. I guess it is meant to be left behind. Someone else from above is in reach for it too, let it be for they now have the chance to turn over the hourglass of their own making. It is theres for the taking.

Let them begin just as I did, a memory of a lifetime in the hourglass of time. Yes I will attest it has been divine.


Twiglet #198

cherry red sky

Oh she was a beaut! 69’ Dodge Charger. She was a little rough around the edges, but so am I. It was not a tough sell.

There she sat the car I dreamed of since I was 16, and I had saved every penny earned to buy her.

As I put “my” key into her ignition, and pushed the gas pedal full throttle, she was now my model. Cherry Lane was going to be her name, and she was going in for a new body image. Cherry Red Sky was the color I had already picked. It didn’t matter she was not mint. Cherry Lane was mine. She was oh so divine, and we would go miles together in this lifetime.

Cherry Lane, and I…


Tale Weaver – #296 – Stranger – 8th October

For Michael at MLMM:

Yeah I am no stranger to this. Who the heck names a dog George anyways? It is too damn cold to be out here. “George come here George”. I plead under shivering teeth.

This is ridiculous I tell the kids it’s your dog, you will care for him. Yet who is the one out in the 12 degree weather calling for him. Who will be the bad guy in this, me!

I never wanted a dog in the first place they are so much damn work. We barely get the thing potty trained, and now he has gone, and run off. Animals are stupid!

Half past 4 o’clock it is going to be getting dark soon. I am about ready to turn around. Yeah I am no stranger to this. I don’t even see a set of footprints resembling paws. I tell ya I am going to put my foot down the next time a topic of any sort of animal is breeched in my house. I don’t see the kids all eagerly dressed in their winters best out doing everything they can in search of their dog. “George”. I called out so loud, I heard a tree branch crack behind me from the crisp breeze whisping the trees. My knees were cold, my feet felt damp.

I will give it one more hour down this path, one more hour to see if that dumb mutt might come running amuck. Really who names their dog George? Yeah I am no stranger to this! I am pist! An hour more…maybe a little more. “George”!!!!