Wordle #484

Would the stories in pictures on the wall touch upon the black secrets of Harroway Hall? I think not. But I’m sure random flies and their narrow view at small parties would probably elicit very hushed yet profound tales of those gathered. I would throw money down that I was correct. But first, fresh country air was calling.

Hold my jacket, James,” realizing it would be getting warmer. “Hopefully, she is better at following my lead this morning after yesterday’s disastrous ride.

“Yes, sir. The wire you made me tape onto the whip should provide you the results you want.

Put On

Inspired by Reena’s Exploration Challenge #150 – Illusions

in our private world
free to be

but in public
we disguise ourselves

masks worn
don’t reflect actuality

hidden behind facades
in plain sight

reality is best served
with illusions

people don’t have patience
for the truth

or we don’t have the time
to speak it

to callous beings
wearing their own screen

Reblog – I Can’t Unsee It Now by Angelique Rose

Angelique’s piece is a wonderful analogy of how the gazillion individuals lives resembles the gazillion books out there. Enjoy!

Never Silence the Madness

I looked out into the world

And I saw it




We are all main characters in our own books




I couldn’t unsee what I had seen

All of us walking around with pages and chapters




With bookmarks to save the important parts




With spines and bindings


Or stained with living




I can’t unsee it now




The way our lives play out

Like the chapters in a book

Like stories to be told




With love and heartbreak

With turmoil

And body aches




I saw the words written on everyones face

“He had a rough past, and now he’s struggling to reach his future”

“Her heart has just been broken, but she fought on for her daughter”

“He said goodbye to his dad not knowing it would…

View original post 113 more words

What These Eyes Have Seen

“A three-week trip to India was a real shock to me. This country left a double impression in my soul. On the one hand, this is a magical fairy tale, motley and bright, and on the other, beggarly neighborhoods, areas and entire cities, on the streets of which hundreds of thousands of homeless people live. Looking at the faces of these people, I decided to make a series of portraits in order to shed true light on how the majority of the population of India lives. Most of the people I shot never saw a camera in their life, and what was their surprise when they saw their portrait on the displays. Such sincere delight, I have not met for a long time … Their faces are illuminated by a smile, eyes glowing with happiness, all this and much more should serve as an example for modern society. After all, no matter what, people living in poverty are still able to enjoy the little things … “– tells traveler photographer Roberto Pazzi (Roberto Pazzi).

she lived a hard life
weathered and yet beautiful
soul etched in her skin

Frank Watson

Author note: These are six short poems compiled into two linked threads of three poems each, in free verse.

thin as light 

holding her
thin as light
as she looks
the other way 

there is nothing to do
as the world spins
and we lie there
in the softness of a rug 

until the final shade
has sipped the moments of light
into a soft-touch fade
within the arms of night  

midnight gardens 

in the world
beneath the moon
where secrets
shall never leave
the doors we close 

we follow the path
where spirits play
until we see
neither wrong nor right 

unable to leave
until the morning lines
have drawn the world
once more in the mist
of breaking light


Frank Watson was born in Venice, California and now lives in New York. He enjoys literature, art, landscaping, jazz, and international travel. Publications include The Dollhouse Mirror, Seas to Mulberries, and One Hundred Leaves. In the Dark, Soft Earth was just published in April. His work has appeared in various literary journals and anthologies. Twitter, Instagram, Facebook, and TikTok: @FrankWatsonPoet


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To Each Their Own


Do you…

save meaningful mementos from the people and things you love
or hoard objects that may eventually become useful

widen your mouth into a smile when you see your joy
or walk right on by, indifferent

thoughtfully phrase your worries
or blurt out your hurts

dance in the grocery aisles
or remain stoic doing the mundane

laugh unabashedly
or throttle it down, embarrassed

let the dust pile on while you enjoy life
or frantically control your environment

get wounded easily
or have a breastplate made of steel

shamelessly sing loudly
or slowly build into your confident voice

delicately and carefully plod through life unnoticed
or pronounce yourself a bull in the china shop

take a hard hit in times of crisis
or get surrounded by those looking up at you when they do

share the coolest, latest things with friends
or find yourself at a loss when life changes

understand you can’t know everything
or act the fool who thinks they do

think all the time
or feeling blank most of the time

just hate some people
or only love all

Just a few things I was wondering…

Bad News


I awoke in dimmed light — the spirit of forging on slightly dampened. 
But a new day had begun anew. I owed it to nature to oblige with movement. 

Slow slaps of arthritic pain on the laminated floor bore witness to that effort.
The smell of coffee circulating in my nostrils urged me on. 

Looking out the kitchen window previewed a gloomy day.
Bare brown limbs prominently on display with the sun hidden behind the white backdrop.

I watched as flat and fluffy white flakes mingled with the ice-encased scenery.
The hard-crystalized nature would eventually shatter, litter on the ground indiscriminately. 

Steam from my coffee curled up into view like a typical fog.
This scene of dreariness further clouding my demeanor. 

The TV spouted the daily “Breaking News,” breaking me down even more.
“Does anything good happen anymore?” I wondered. 

The responsibility of my existence sits on my desk chipping away at my bank account and self-esteem.
Once again, screaming, “I can’t give what I don’t have.” 

My ringing cell phone urged a distraction from this misery.
Tears began to flow as another nail hammered in, another in my generation gone. 

With trembling hands, I ended the call and stared out the kitchen window.
And with a heaving chest, a wet face, and blurry vision, I broke. 

I should have predicted the inevitability of heading back under the covers.
The older I get, the heavier the weight of what life has to offer, the more defeated I am.