Autumn Metaphor

10-27 Leaves

In my head, dreams float in brilliant color.  For blessed moments, I forget

the grey expanse tinted by amber lies. As gravity pulls, I come to

 realize… through the haze, the golds and reds have begun

to slowly curl and die; I see what’s been hidden right

before my eyes. Reality gets thicker; harder

to swallow with the passing of time.

Toughened skin, stiffened

muscles hinder the

turning of my

cheek;

still, I

manage

to bend,

though

I am weak.

Indecision prevails-

of what to do, there is no Absolut.

~~~-~~~-~~~-~~~-~~~-~~~-~~~-~~~-~~~-~~~-~~~-~~~-~~~-~~~-~~~-~~~-~~~-~~~-~~~-~~~-

It’s kind of been my thing lately to share the inspiration behind my fiction and the meaning behind my poetry. I’m not sure where to begin with this one. Really.

Deep breath. Exhale. This one is partially in code- my inner thoughts intertwined with metaphors that make me feel like my soul isn’t splayed out on the screen. I hate what this is about, but I’m going to break it down anyway. Here goes…

I lose myself in my ideas- my fiction. For a time, when I’m writing short stories, (and working on my novel) I am distracted from things that bother me. The reference to “grey” is me stumbling over things that aren’t black and white- the things that aren’t all good, or all bad.

The “amber lies” refers to a beer bottle I found poking through a trash bag when I dumped some leaves I’d cleaned up into the bin. This bothered me because my husband knows I don’t like him drinking. When drinking, he acts like an idiot (last month, he was removed from a public place for such behavior.) So, it hurt to find that he’s drinking- just not when I’m around.

On the surface, the golds and reds dying refers to the autumn leaves – like those on my maple tree in the photo. What it really means is sometimes I wonder if this is a season; if my life will blossom again, like nature does in the spring.  The next lines refer to the passing of time and the effects of age; specifically being weary from all the years of trying to save him from himself and his heredity.

The ending is me, settled in with my familiar indecision on what to do next. Do I confront him? Pretend I didn’t see it? Do I bother getting angry or just let it go? These questions are all rhetorical in my mind. If things were bad all the time, the decision would be easy. It’s the grey that makes me stay.

The reference to Absolut is a literal play on words.  I found vodka and poured it out… there is no Absolut 🙂

Oh, and the shape of the poem (supposed to be a martini glass) came last.  I like irony.

I hope the poem makes more sense after reading the background behind it. Writing/reading about ‘heavy’ stuff can be awkward and you may shy away from leaving a comment because you don’t know what to write. Let me help – be fun. Be humorous – I love to laugh and won’t be offended by it all.  And I like comments… a lot 🙂

Have a beautiful Monday!

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Bad Choices (Fiction)

09-29 Eldon Pueblo1

Most days, I can find the happiness tucked behind the prominent list of things that serve the sole purpose of bringing me down. Most days, my prayers for internal rest are at least partially answered. Most days, I can believe with the greater portion of my heart that tomorrow will be better.

But this isn’t most days.

Today, the muck of life seems to have suctioned onto my wading boots. It’s as if I try to fight it, I’ll wind up flat on my face, completely submerged. So I do nothing.

Well, not exactly “nothing.” The fuse of my resentment is burning fast. It turns out that stewing about what I can’t change is like blowing on a fire. Eventually, the pressure will release and I worry about what my world will look like after that happens.

He groans and rolls over, nearly falling off the couch.

I place the crinkled receipt between the pages and close my book. I walk over to the wall of windows and open all of the blinds.

He buries his face between the cushions and mumbles something unintelligible.

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