she puts down her pen at 5:30 a.m.

she picks up a hand mirror

suddenly there are no reflections

no remembrances

no bookmarks

nothing at all but fragile glass words

she leaves

walks to

the bank

the library

the drugstore

the supermarket

returning with only a few items:

one oil removing mud face mask

one audio book

some weekend cash

baby carrots

chopped spinach

bread

and a package of sunflower biscuits

the street is dark and quiet

except for a screaming man

across the street

in a bus shelter

his arms flailing

she walks faster

eyes scanning the immediate area

for signs of others walking

there is no one around

even the basketball courts

have no players

she looks down at her feet

new gray and white sports socks

orange Keds

she picks up the pace

eyeing the freshly-trimmed hedges

trimmed unevenly

the man’s screams

eventually drowned out

by a sudden surge

of noisy traffic

arriving home

she notices that

her neighbours’ children

are no longer playing tag

on the front lawn

though it is still quite early

such a strange night

passing through the lobby

she has a few words with security

requests that he make a phone call

on behalf of the screaming man

then heads upstairs

takes the staircase

hoping the six stories will benefit her

each with a beginning, middle and ending

but of course there is only a middle

she turns the key in the lock

turns on the light

undresses

puts on a soft night gown

makes coffee

reads about the benefits of white tea

takes her stomach pill

her pain pill

puts in her eye drops

sets the alarm for nine

knowing all too well

that she will awaken at

two, at four, then again at seven

or something like that

sitting at the table

she thinks of earlier on that day

how children had found a

well-feathered bird’s nest on the ground

how they had thrown it back and forth

laughing gleefully

as for the birds

come to think of it

she’d seen no birds at all

no gulls, no pigeons, no sparrows

no butterflies

only the tiniest of ants

feasting on bread crumbs

the words logical illusions

come to mind

she dismisses them

the words

logical exclusion

come to mind

she ponders this for a while

then stretches out

her head resting on a cold, plump pillow

she awakens at two

and again at four-thirty

her thoughts free

of all but fragile glass words

affair…”

“i’ never had one of those,” she thinks to herself

“if the required word had been faithful, i could have written much”

faithful…it has such a beautiful ring to it”

she ponders the next word, expectation

a tear falls from her eye

at least she has something to post now

by mary ann blinkhorn

the days of yore

so you sit there

churning around ideas

slipping further and further

into a pair of slippers

soulful distraction

you turn on the tube

“remain seated

for recycled laughs

cream yet to be butter

stay tuned

for the days of yore

retro places

the days of your pain

brought to you by

short and snappy personalities”

you proceed carefully

read the star, the sun

the globe & mail

take a look at now

colored socks

knitted leggings

new front door designs

a place where shoes take you places

suggest answers

and the van gogh exhibit

is way too far to get to easily

so you wonder

what might the next issue bring

another motivational patchwork quilt?

lessons with clay?

sunbleached ideas?

pop-up autumn advertisements?

“hello fall”

you return to the laughs

snack from a healthy tray of pre-made delights

wipe mouth with serviette

stare at screen

there’s a new guy up now

you crank up the volume

listen to dishwasher safe words

oh he’s good with metaphor

you envision your mother’s full clothesline

in the backyard

blowing in wind

as if it were yesterday

birds flying overhead

preparing to…

she’ll have to rewash those sheets, I guess

suddenly you tune in

to cheers and applause

another new face

to excite the imagination

“annoy a few listeners

amuse the rest”

that’s what he’s all about

songs of mental high notes

delivered with sincere commitment

creative energy flowing

a first-aid kit just in case

those days of yores need bandaging

by mary ann blinkhorn

for Three Word Wednesday at:  http://www.threewordwednesday.com/

Today’s words:  excite, sincere and amuse

the skiff is waiting

cry loudly, martyr with flapping ideas

cheers to your rotting words with

limited access, no entrance

beat the cream

spread the butter on

thin vintage breakfast toast

black coffee pending

 

substance, a burrowing idea

don’t ask

just do it

circumstance divides the brave

 

i sit where trees breathe

contemplate the warrior’s plea

the penciled-in thoughts

the moan of slanted arms

reaching for the embrace

inflicting a heart’s think tank

with cold lips

high blood pressure

incredible warmth

voice, spectrum and limitations

 

i am holding you

there is a reason for this

there will always be a reason for this

simultaneously,

I’m setting out to sea

the skiff is waiting

 

by mary ann blinkhorn

written for Three Word Wednesday at: http://www.threewordwednesday.com/

This week’s words:  beat, substance and pressure

 

the slightest touch

emotions falter

right off the couch

the oars

of his heart

paddling to

places of

near silence

places of

“show don’t tell”

the promise kept

unbroken

despite its demise

“show don’t tell”

his heart’s quarry

nestling in commas

in merry intoxication

the slightest touch

transcending to feet

giving toes their

much deserved

blissful freedom

i see it all

spiky mane

mighty roar

his unedited claws

glistening in

pure orange sunlight

no longer restless

delights shining heartily on

thump, love and exhaustion

his room no longer, misty

his fingertips, warm

and i am glad for that

by mary ann blinkhorn

for 3WW at:

http://www.threewordwednesday.com/

The three words:  emotion, falter and touch

shade depends on light

i  was dreading the thought of telling you

afraid of your reaction

but upon my doing so

you laughed warmly

held me more snuggly than ever

made it all out to be trivial

in a good way

the same as before and always

 

good times, trying times

i’m thankful for all

ink eats away the lost time

replaces it with light

 

sure

pages may have shrunk

but i assure you

i can always

find the story

nestled in the corner

like tangle-free silk threads

suspended in time

 

 

by mary ann blinkhorn

For Three Word Wednesday

http://www.threewordwednesday.com/

words:  tangle, feel, shade

 

 

to imagine you happy is a beautiful thing

my ink skulks not

for i am truly happy for you

halted, the dreamless nights for me

sunlight, adventure and peace for you

may she differ from the rest

be cat-like in every way

hunt, pounce, yowl

meet all your hidden pleasures

scratch the earth upon rising

purr often

but most of all

may she lead you

through harsh and heavy wastelands

past empty lots

into fields of brightly-lit colored flowers

where the two of you will come together

share delights

be truly happy

 

by mary ann blinkhorn

 

Written for Three Word Wednesday

words:  imagine, differ, halt

http://www.threewordwednesday.com/

the floor buffer

she’d slice him up

with a few good adjectives

then run off

to the bedroom

crying

later he’d apologize

without transition words

while she’d stare at the ceiling, subdued

“where is the unity?

what is the point?”

i’d ask myself, as the observer

but there was always that

floor buffer in the kitchen closet

and for a week or two

everything would again shine

by mary ann blinkhorn

written for Three Word Wednesday

words:  buffer, unity, and transition

http://www.threewordwednesday.com/