Short Poem-Fiction

I’m a ruin.

Every stage is an age, oh no, must be the seasons of the witch, and the wizards of Waverly palace. Driving on the 405, Bartender, holding the sunrise, summertime living easily on a Trailer painted by Norman Rockwell.

The world is a teenage dream, handling loaded guns, and drop-dead dreams, choosing the ones that it deem psychedelic fiends. Oh no, must be the seasons of the witch. The earth is made of rebel-diamond cut out of the sun, but can you read my mind?


14 thoughts on “Short Poem-Fiction

  1. “The earth is made of rebel-diamond cut out of the sun, but can you read my mind?” This was intriguing. I like the wording very much.
    “must be the seasons of the witch” — Donovan! I loved Donovan. Guns, not so much.

    I wonder what is “Waverly Palace” all about?

    I hope your hope you’re not serious about being a ruin. Nothing is ever completely lost. We can turn on a dime toward a more difficult, but rewarding (perhaps 8-fold?), path.

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  2. Goodness me, I’m much the same at times. And I think many others are as well. It’s not stupid, it’s human as much as scorpion. We are one and one is all. It sounds rote but it’s true. The moment we tap into that love somehow, mostly, I suppose, by telling the truth, to ourselves as well as to others, the moment we can feel relief from fear and anxiety. I don’t mean to sound preachy here, I need that advice as much as anyone.

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  3. Keep on rocking, writing,
    and publishing.
    Self expression is a most
    precious possession.
    To even have that creative
    gift is truly something.
    There’s a good reason
    Confucius placed the
    literary scholar at the top
    of the Chinese pecking order.
    Lesser beings can go
    build the walls
    against the foreign invaders.
    … Is History repeating? 🤔

    Liked by 2 people

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