Long time gone…
…innocence
…hitting
…screaming
…hate
But only in my little world.
Crafting a place of
joy and safety,
whispers and laughter …
my little world.
Come, friends,
step into this place
with me.
Take my hand,
share your heart and
my little world.
April night.
Peepers. Starlight. Wind.
Eyes closed. You are there, but here.
Holding. Whispering. Loving.
You are here, but there.
(C) Creekside Whispers
The sky cleared today. Blue, beautiful. Clouds flirted in the sunlight.
Daffodils taunted late bloomers.
Forsythia flaunted her bright self.
Wind caressed me, my lover’s touch echoed.
For a moment so alive, so grounded.
Worker Bee. The parameters in the manual unaddressed while the fears of Queen Bee with power spew forth.
Insubordinate. Rude. Unfocused. Scary smart. Unapproachable. Everyone notices how you talk to me.
Spinning, contorting, censoring, Worker Bee raging but silent, then lip-syncing the right words,
What can I do? Thank you for your guidance.
Worker Bee. Ashamed. Self-preservation? Integrity?
How much obsequiousness before choking on one’s own bile. Joy dying moment by moment.
Worker Bee mourning.
Escape to self. Joy whispers…
Through the woods, pups, creek, wind, and sun.
Back, into the arms of my lover.
©Creekside Whispers
Routines and Rituals I
Saturday, plants drink water. Orchids chew on ice. Dust bunnies scurry.
Sunday, thoughts appear in text. Notes hide inside envelopes. Letters await the mail carrier.
Monday, worker bee toils. Thoughts simmer.
Tuesday, emotions boil.
Wednesday, weekend taunts.
Thursday, unchecked affect burns.
Friday, jaws unclench.
Saturday, plants drink water.
Routines and Rituals II
Hi Mom, how are things?
Uh-huh.
She did? He did?
Really?
What can I do?
No!
Uh-huh.
Ok.
Love you too.
Bye.
Me? I’m fine, thanks.
Routine and Rituals III
Puppies, I’m home!
Were you so good?
Outside, outside.
What good puppies!
Treats!
Inside, inside.
Sun and stars oversee
Puppies and me.
Trees grumble in the darkness as Winter blankets them in snow once more. Wind chimes gossip about Wind’s coldness.
Water whispers secrets to Creek.
Inside, we fret.
Red Dog grumbles at Scruffy Dog. Scruffy Dog growls back, but moves as requested.
Little Dog whines. I throw her toy and continue to type.
Sunday night.
© C.M. DeCourcey and Creekside Whispers
Creekside Whispers 