writing

Toiling Everlasting

Exhaustion creeps through her muscles and bones. Hours upon hours of work atop disrupted sleep. Driving home still needs to happen once this is all done, but when is the question.

So she sits patiently, waiting, among the beeps, chimes, and grind of gears. Another hour, and another hour ticks by. Who knows how many more hours to go…

The highways are crowded in this tourist town and she has many miles and a couple hours to go to escape. First she has to escape the job though and that seems to be hours away still.

Tick-tock. Tick-tock. Eyes are heavy, head is already pounding from a two day old headache. She needs a break, she needs back-up, she needs some food. She needs to breathe. No relief in sight. Hopefully she makes it home sometime tonight.

poetry, writing

Crystal Clear

The truth will set you free; the bitter truth stings while doing it. No one can change their past actions and mistakes, all we can do is learn from them and make changes and grow.

Peace to all who have had the patience with others navigating these obstacles when they are unable or refuse to see.


Crystal clear, the view is now. The head was playing tricks.

Crystal clear, the tears are now. Falling down swollen cheeks.

Crystal clear, the past is now. Memories are where they belong.

Crystal clear, the present is now. Without you, life goes on.

Crystal clear, the path is now. Only going forward, no more going back.

April 24, 2021~DRM~


Please visit my poetry page throughout the month for all of my poems for April: https://dawnreneewrites.com/?page_id=1378

#NationalPoetryMonth

poetry, writing

Torn Up

Eating away, emotions are tearing apart my heart.

Misinterpretations of intent, taking over my brain.

The body writhes in pain, unable to be freed.

Unable to separate truth from words and actions.

What started out as a nobel attempt to reconnect

Fails miserably after all this time.

Knowing the failure, now can I move forward,

forget it all, and not worry about being forgiven?

It was meant to build and to help,

instead, my foolishness destroyed it instead.

Maybe that will close the door,

finally let me go.

poetry, writing

Sport Mode

The excitement of driving a sports car is awesome….even for the most intrepid and cautious driver. You never know when they’ll bust out the sport mode!


Glasses, on.

Seatbelt, strapped.

Engine, revving.

Waiting for the light to turn green.

Sport mode, engaged.

Ready, Set,

GO!

Flipping through the gears,

20, 40, 60, more.

How fast can she go?

Thrown back in the seat.

Breathing heavy.

How long can I push it,

before I chicken out,

settling for a few over the speed limit?

April 23, 2021~DRM~


Please visit my poetry page throughout the month for all of my poems for April: https://dawnreneewrites.com/?page_id=1378

#NationalPoetryMonth

writing

Observation

Today, I sat in a room with 10 others, working on a major project. The room was full of people with a variety of technical skills…electricians, networking, engineering… and various managers. (Social distancing and masks were all in play!) As I sat there, contributing like the rest, I couldn’t help but recognize I was the only woman in the room.

I wasn’t uncomfortable, and everyone treated me as an equal. I work with other women as well, but just not in this scenario.

It makes me wonder however, why meetings like this are so unbalanced when it comes to gender. Are women not interested in technology? No, I know that isn’t true. Do men block advancement? Maybe, but that didn’t seem to be the case here!

So, ladies, and girls growing up, go for it. If you like to build or invent, or analyze and plan, or lead, follow that desire! I’d enjoy seeing a few other ladies in the room along the way!

poetry, writing

Snowy Thoughts


Moonlight streams down through the clouds and the beams bounce across the ripples in the lake.

The quiet coo of a final dove settling in echoes through the night air.

She reclines in her adirondack as the cooled air settles in after a balmy Florida day.

The flames from the firepit warm her naked toes as she looks across the water.

She wraps her arms across her chest, her hands rubbing her arms to keep her warm.

She imagines what it would be like to be up north where the snow is still falling and the air is colder.

Bundled up by a raging fire and watching snowflakes drift down silently through the window.

Curled up and playing games or watching old movies as drifts build outside the door.

She wonders if she’ll make it there one day to enjoy it all.

April 22, 2021 ~DRM~


Please visit my poetry page throughout the month for all of my poems for April: https://dawnreneewrites.com/?page_id=1378

#NationalPoetryMonth

writing

Swans in the Mist – Part Two

Charlotte startled herself awake. She rubbed her eyes and looked around. Nothing looked familiar. The walls were made of wood logs. The crackling fire in front of her looked unreal, no wood, no flame, just warmth, a glowing light and a tinny sound.

She sat up and realized her clothes had been changed. Some sort of odd tartan patterned button down in what looked like a dressing gown.

“Oh good. You’re awake!” a sweet voice spoke to her from behind. She was startled to hear another person’s voice, full of a strange drawl. “Henry, she’s awake!” she called out. “Here dear, have some tea. I’m Sarah,” she stated as she sat in the neighboring chair, handing her a cuppa with cream and sugar.

Charlotte took a sip. The tea was way stronger than she was used to. “Wow, what type of tea is this? How did I get here? Where are my clothes?”

Sarah smiled and understood her confusion. Charlotte wasn’t the first visitor they had entertained. “First, dear, what is your name? Then I’ll answer all the questions I can.”

“My name is Charlotte. Now, answer my questions please!” Charlotte looked down, then felt her left thigh. Sarah saw her reach for her dagger.

“Hi Charlotte. My name is Sarah. Don’t worry first of all. Your dagger is safely stored, for all of our safety. I found it when I unraveled your tattered dress from your legs. The fabric was wrapped around your leg quite tight and we were concerned it would harm you. Unfortunately, your skirt will not be salvagable. Your blouse and bloomers are in the wash.” Sarah drew out the word wash, it sounded more like warsh. “Don’t worry, Henry turned around. He didn’t see anything. We girls need to stick together.”

Charlotte was apprehensive, but Sarah seemed genuine. Sarah was dressed simply, some sort of soft clothed shirt and dungarees, nothing Charlotte had ever seen a woman wear. Sarah seemed to be in her forties, grey streaks ran through her dark curly and short hair.

“As for the tea, it is a Chai Latte with vanilla. Do you like it?”

Charlotte smiled, “It is more flavorful than what I normally drink.”

Sarah flashed a knowing smile. “And, to how you got here…we are not sure. We found you out by Cygnet Lake. You were passed out on the bench and looked to be in rough shape. We brought you home to help.”

“Home? My family owns the land in this area, acres of it. Are you one of our neighbors?” Charlotte grew confused.

Sarah smiled faintly. She hated this part of discussions with their visitors. She needed backup to help Charlotte understand. “Henry, could you join me please?”

The clunk of boots came down the hall. Six-foot three Henry entered the room. Charlotte stood and turned to greet him. In front of her stood a handsome man in his forties with short graying hair with her father’s face.

writing

Swans in the Mist – Part One

Charlotte stood in the middle of the sprawling garden of her family’s country home, looking over the small fountain’s flowing water. The smell of jasmine, lavender, and roses filled the air. Charlotte tugged at her bodice; its boning digging in to her waist. Her flowing skirt of silk brocade floated out over her bloomers. She never enjoyed wearing formal dresses and didn’t understand why it was so necessary, especially when they were not entertaining.

She spied a small orange butterfly and walked towards it, around some rose bushes and other shrubs. Why couldn’t she be free like her little visitor? She twirled the neck tie of her blouse. Oh, how she longed to be free of all her family’s expectations. Currently they were trying to match her, and she was tired of meeting suitors who didn’t suit her at all.

The butterfly floated towards an arched pathway. Two cement swan planters sat at the entrance, full of blooming flowers. Charlotte followed the butterfly down the path. She had never been this way, and looked forward to a new discovery and a distraction for herself.

As she walked the trail, a light mist started to fill the floor. An owl cried out in the distance. The noises from the forest frightened Charlotte. She reached through a pocket of her outer skirt and felt for her dagger strapped to her left leg. She learned to protect herself growing up, there were too many rogues willing to kidnap and harm members of her family. She felt the cold steel hilt; it calmed her.

She continued down the path. Fallen branches tugged at her heavy skirt. One snagged it, ripping a small patch of the deep red fabric. Her boots peeked out from the hem of her skirt. A cobbler made them to her specifications, brown with crossing straps, and tall enough to cover her calves, to just below her knees. They protected her legs from the scratching undergrowth of the trail.

As she continued to walk, she lost her footing and slid down an embankment. The only thing stopping her from falling into the ravine below was her skirt which had become entangled on twigs and branches. She dangled briefly, reaching for a nearby tree trunk and struggling to get her footing. Finally, she found a hold to pull herself up, but her snagged skirt would not let her move further. At least she could now firmly stand without slipping.

Luckily, her left hand was free. She reached for her dagger, pulled it out, and began slicing away at the silk. Her mother would be furious, but which was more important — her dress or her life? Finally, she freed herself and climbed up onto the tree trunk.

The trunk spanned the ravine, but Charlotte had lost her sense of direction during the fall. She saw two trails, one on each end as she sat on the trunk. She decided to take the closer one as that seemed to be the correct one. Carefully she traversed the trunk and stepped back on the trail.

With her skirt in tatters, and the bodice still digging in, she took her dagger and slid it under the strapping in the bodice. Her maid had tied the strapping in such a way she could not get out otherwise. Finally, as the straps loosened, she took in a deep breath and her blouse floated away from her skin, allowing her to relax, and the bodice fell to the forest floor.

She turned in the direction she believed to be back home. The trail continued to turn, but did not seem familiar. Finally, in the distance, she noticed an arched opening. She picked up her pace, ready to be home. But, when she reached the opening, home was not what she saw.

Her jaw dropped. Before her was a lake, covered with mist. Swans floated nearby. By the lake was a small bench. She sat down to take in the view and to rest up before heading back up the trail. As she watched the swans, her eyes grew heavy and she succumbed to slumber.

Two shadows in the form of a woman and a man approached the bench. The woman checked Charlotte’s pulse and alertness. She was completely out, but alive. The woman nodded her head at the man. The man slipped his hands under Charlotte’s back and knees, picking her up, and holding her close to his chest. The shadows then disappeared back into the mist with Charlotte in tow.

writing

Shimmering Aurora

Her boots crunch in the early Spring snow as she traipses along the trail. The sun glistens off the crystalline surface; the reflected light plays with her eyes.

A pulsing glow shines ahead. She steps towards the light, believing it to be some beacon, perhaps dropped by a fellow hiker. She stoops down, resting her knee in the cold snow.

Slowly, hers eyes adjust to the light and she sees delicate flower petals in the shapes of hearts, iridescently glowing in white with sparkles fresh from a rainbow, around a vibrant teal blue pistol. A small style of purple protrudes from the center, topped with a golden stigma.

She sighs from the beauty and she inhales the sweet fragrance which reminds her of warm tropical weather, a hint of coconut and banana. The heady odor is strong for such a diminutive flower. The blossom sits aloft a small tube like stem with a single broad leaf rising from behind it, protecting it from the elements.

What an amazing find! I think I will call it a Shimmering Aurora Fosteriana Tulip.

Fictional flowers are fun, don’t ya’ think?

@LadyJabberwocky – thanks for the prompt!