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come down to the water

Come down to the water
My true love sang to me
Come see the sailing ships
And watch the tide with me

Come down to the water
I called back to my love
Let’s seek shells and toss
Pebbles, and rescue starfish

Come down to the water
Let’s watch the sun sink
‘neath waves turned golden
With its waning light

Let’s sit together at the wharf
Dangling our feet and laugh
As waves tickle our toes
And crust them with salt

Oh, do come down
To the water with me
It is there life begins and
Where our love remains
- – - – - – - – - – - – - – - –
written for Velvet Verbosity’s 100 word challenge WHARF. Photo is from a day trip my love and I took to Homer over the weekend. I belong in Homer – someday – someday I shall live there.

Ahhhlaska Beauty

Beauty in my town is apparent in summer. Blossoms and berries; salmon smoking on grills, halibut filling the freezer; sun browned babies playing in the surf.

Beauty in my town is apparent in the winter. Pure snowfalls, sledding, snowball fights; bundled up babies playing in snow forts.

Beauty in my hometown is apparent in its people. They complain about summer road whales and “idiot” drivers sliding on iced over roads. Yet they give and give again whenever there is a need.

Finding the beauty in my place is as easy as looking out my window or talking to my neighbor.

Written for Velvet Verbosity’s 100 Word Challenge: FINDING

Faded over time

Wrinkled skin
Eyes once brilliant blue now faded and time-worn
Liver spotted hands, veined with lines of blue
Aging well?
Or simply aging
Each day brings another strand
Of gray in once blond tresses
Another line
Another wrinkle
Another sag and bag
We’re sliding down the hill of
Growing older
Laughing at youth long gone
Wishing for less painful
Of misspent youth
Or a well lived life
Soft in the middle
Paunchy where once muscled
Do I regret my years?
How could I?
Without the years there would
Be no you
No daughters
No grandchildren
No life
No love

written with LOVE for VV’s 100 Word Challenge: FADED.

There’s Magic Here

It’s late summer and I
Sit on my stoop watching as
In the lane an old man weaves
Tales of magic from side to side
Or maybe he is just walking
Magic is strange that way
What to me is weaving tales
To you is an old man’s pride
Whimsy, I cry spellbound
Foolish you repeat shaking
Your head in disapproval
Play with me I beg
Not today – too busy you say
So I sit on the stoop
And listen for the whistling
Announcing magical lore
As the old man slowly
Makes his way toward
Whistling along
written for Velvet Verbosity’s 100 Word Challenge: WHISTLING

Fouquier ॐ / Foter / Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 2.0 Generic (CC BY-NC 2.0)


Mine was boring tan and orange, not the pink I wanted. But it was still great. We all had record players, a stack of 45s and our transistor radios. Every night when we were supposed to be doing homework we were spinning the Beatles and Herman’s Hermits and twisting to the sounds of Wolfman Jack late into the night.

Simpler days then. No cell phones. No internet. Our days were filled with school, chores, and homework – the latter often done with a Teen Magazine or Tiger Beat in the center of the Geometry book.

I miss those carefree days sometimes.

written for Velvet Verbosity’s prompt TRANSISTOR.