Category Archives: Musing

Ae Freislighe Poem: Train Wreck

nottingham train

Train Wreck

The train rambles wistfully;

Not that my heart is rattling

as I gaze out blissfully.

I find my soul keeps battling.

 

Something bright, like ambition,

kept me from being faithful.

It allowed the omission

of what I saw as blameful.

 

My own truth is absolute;

Your truth could never relate.

I carried on, resolute,

in hope your pain would abate.

 

Our friendship is tenuous

But better than to strangle

a love that was generous.

Wistfully, will I ramble.

A.E.W.

Cat

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Just Before Dawn

I anticipate the sun;

His bright red face

burning through

the dark night of

the soul.

He’ll pucker up

then blow away

Clouds,

then plant

a warm

Yellow kiss

on my belly.

Soon,

I’ll return home.

A.E.W.

[Photo courtesy Chris Frosin]


Prompt #2 Write something “On The Road” 

“HEATHEN”

No regret in taking the Heartbreak Highway. I have had no end of company on this road. In the end with you, I  guess, I was just a flash of rag-tag blur as you sped by at 55mph. Perhaps you pined a little as you saw me in that proverbial rear-view mirror of yours while that plain little woman sitting next to you passed you a ham sandwich and prattled on about the wedding plans she made for you both.

And I walk on with nothing left to lose— With the Sun on my face— I squint into the thermals bluring my memory of our mad love. But these thoughts are as elusive as the sweet smell of mesquite after a desert rain.

I need coffee.


Untitled Poem #7

Sunday sunshine breaches dark cloud,
streams through bedroom window,
warming my face–
Alone now,
I stretch over white duvet.
On bedside table, black coffee waits
going cold as
I ruminate start of this day;
“Come what may.”

His scent on me–
faint now;
Lost within a dream–
or blown away on the wind,
like summer blue sky
in late August–
or Italian lavender.

His face–
so sweet with that
aquamarine gaze
and the promise whispered;
“Always…”

I cannot auspicate future need,
or if planets will align.
Revelations are, indeed, for another time.
At most, these memories upon which I feed–
wait as I continue to ruminate–
and hope they do not grow cold.

By A.E. Wallace

My Secret Garden

My Secret Garden


The Yummy Mummy Brigade– Just Musing

image

Soft jumpers over denim mini skirt over leggings–bare feet in Kelso clogs–the women of the Yummy Mummy Brigade file into the coffee shop. I just beat the traffic of the school-run-odyssey to boot up my laptop and prepare for a meeting at the engineering firm down the street.

But I got lost in the debate over letting baby use a pacifier or his thumb and the best way to puree homemade food for him. All of a sudden, my pencil skirt felt very scratchy and my high heels pinched. My skinny latte did not look as nice as the cream-topped hot chocolate.

Then I think of him and what could have been.

Pen a “five-minute-prompt”. Ok. Here it is. Is it curing my writers block? Maybe on it’s way.