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Paulina Angela

writings and ramblings

Month

September 2016

 

Storming Cowboy

 

bright

 

I wrote this when I was very young and had a broken heart.  something reminded me of it today.

 

Damn it triple B

my beautiful baby blonde

the light you reflect is blinding me

so I cannot truly see

 

made helpless by your halo

paralyzed at your aura

as your opposite I absorb the flares

bouncing off you at every angle

 

all I want is a taste

let me lick the light

I hear the church bells chiming

I hear the mustang roaring

but I cannot see tonight

 

the light it blocks the storm

keeping the apocalypse at bay

but the storm it is surely coming

and the horseman rides a mustang

 

I know I was the fool

and brought this on myself

but if you’ll just forgive me

and  let me kiss your light

won’t everything  be  put right?

cowboy-angel-bdr

 

 

 

 

 

 

Daily Prompt: Dilemma

I like the word it sounds pretty like a little girls name. “and this is my youngest daughter, Dilemma” (please don’t call your kid that)

dilemmaDilemma

Dilemma

two choices……hmmmm

predicament, quandary, problem

this is my dilemma

should I  or shouldn’t I

yes or no

stay or go

open my mouth or keep it closed

either way will not be good

either way it’s understood

the rock is here

the hard place there

myself trapped between the two

wondering what (the bloody hell) should I do

 

 

 

 

Daily Prompt: Pretend

via Daily Prompt: Pretend

 

awkward

The following is a rambling if ever there was one.  I apologize in advance

I am tired of pretending

when I was young it was fun

pretending to be grown

to be famous or important

pretending to know all the answers

 

When I was still young, only less

I learned to pretend to like a person

even if I didn’t

I also pretended to like “it” when I didn’t

the “it” being food,  a song, sex, or his opinion

 

I noticed others did not always pretend

did their mothers not teach them as mine did

did they not know it was rude?

 

I crossed from young to old

and considered,

always pretending to like and to care

might be restraining me

I pushed the thought aside and grew older

 

Now reaching upper middle age

noticed many of the young have discarded

the pastime of pretending

unfiltered

they said what they thought    did what they did

how rude how uncouth I first thought

 

but I watched    then I tried

words I had never before used

becoming comfortable in my mouth

said no to eating the potatoes I had always eaten but disliked

shared my unpopular opinion

saying out loud – what I liked in bed (and didn’t)

I unlearned how to pretend

and it was liberating

 

 

 

Daily Prompt: Passionate

via Daily Prompassionpt: Passionate Passionate

 

 

She cries when she sings

her mediocre voice

in her mind rises and soars

Feeling the lyrics

she relates each word to her own life

conveying the emotion

intended

She cries when she sings

Her heart swells

pressing against expanded lungs

tight chest

shoulders spread

every sense redirected to the one assignment

of savouring the song

She cries when she sings

concentrated breathing

notes lifted on the exhale

diaphragm contracting

an abstract orchestra supporting her

She cries when she sings

Though she has no audience

it is a personal performance perfected

fingers instinctively wipe

from her face

unnoticed tears

She cries when she sings

 

 

 

 

 

 

Daily Prompt: (Two)gether

together

Two-gether

We are two

two of like mind in agreement (mostly)

two who are whole, fully formed, defined

we come together

a formed alliance

through mutual attraction and congruent allure

appearance suggests we are  combined and symbiotic

merged at the hand holding

united by gazes and smiles and chorus laughter

this is our togetherness

the attachment you have witnessed is

the beauty of our contract

nothing more

we are but ones

two, happily individual and suitably  together ones.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Daily Prompt: Stump

firewoodStumpvia Daily Prompt: Stump

On a wintry Saturday morning  when we would rather watch cartoons or go tobogganing my siblings and I would be in the back field with Mom and Dad helping ready the fire wood.

Stumps of wood  that had been cut and dried the previous season were now ready to be split and stacked. Our job, myself and three siblings, was to transport split logs to the house then stack them properly on the front porch.  The four of us, dressed in snow suits and tied up in scarves and toque, would complain.  We complained about the cold, about our wet feet and about the shows we should be watching on tv. Of course complaining only made mom threaten “she’ll give us something to complain about if we don’t quit it.” So we piled  firewood onto our toboggans, dragged it grudgingly down to the house, then stacked it. Back and forth, up the hill down the hill. Getting colder and colder, wetter and wetter. I remember trying to  train the dogs to pull the sleds for us. Never worked.

The funny thing is, as much as I complained about the cold Saturday chore, it is now one of my fondest memories. go figure.

Sandwichsandwichvia Daily Prompt: Sandwich

the following are two stories told to me about sandwiches. the first from my father the second my best friend.

I am going to make myself a sangwich. That is how my father pronounces sandwich. He prepares his sangwich, which almost always contains hot peppers, regaling his children with how the sandwich was invented. Back in Italy  the farmer would go to work in the morning. By lunch time he would be so far out into the property, tending fields or shepherding livestock, it would take too much time to go back to the house for food. So the wife would place in her kerchief some bread and cheese a little prosciutto or salami with hot pepper and artichoke like antipasto. She would tie the kerchief up and  have the dog deliver the food to her husband. Upon receiving the meal the farmer would reward the dog with a piece of meat then partake himself. There were some days when the farmer had so much work to do, he worried taking a break for eating, he would not get done before the sun became unbearable.  This is how he got the idea to put all the contents of the meal together. Meat, cheese and vegetables between the bread. Making lunch time more efficient but still delicious. So while sangwich may be a British word it was the Italians who invented it. Of course, according to my father the Italians invented everything. Except pasta. It was the Chinese who made pasta but it was the Italians who put sauce on it.

I met a woman while in my third decade of life. Blonde, beautiful and perpetually single, though she had no shortage of men asking her out. Occasionally she would give one a chance and begin a relationship. Falling in immediate and stupid love followed by next day  disenchantment. One day as we spoke the language of girl talk over coffee in the shape of wine. My friend revealed to me that while in bed with a lover she would often imagine what kind of sandwich she’ll be making for herself.  If he would just hurry up and finish.

 

 

 

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