Tumbleweed Contessa's Poetry: MEOW

When You Face Journey And The Unspeakable... The Unthinkable Happens 

© Meow

backseat face journeys witnessing
pigeon dung pigeon dung
white splats on terracotta tiles
red splats on the windshield
dying pigeon on the driveway

feral cat slinking low

P O U N C E

Mimi Wolske
All Rights Reserved

Face Journey is when you are talking with someone or watching something and your expressions tell the story of what you're hearing/seeing.

(photos are not mine and are the sole property of the owner)

Poetry: ©The Wind Scratching My Window Reminds Me, from Letters I Never Sent to You

©The Wind Scratching My Window Reminds Me

from Letters I Never Sent to You

Mimi Wolske

All Rights Reserved

She took the horse sailing again. Well, the three-year-old has horse panic attacks every time he gets near a plane.

I pressed one of the flowers, from the bouquet you sent, between the pages of a large book the way you used to press my body into anything that resembled an ocean of sheets.

The flowers are so beautifully pastel, so fresh, so recently cut, they remind me of how moonlight lit your face and stuck like pollen, or like an ocean being beached.

I wonder, do you plunge your face through that sun-deprived skin to search for lost intentions or have you abandoned them, one and all?

The rain began falling just now. It’s welcome and if I were younger, I would go outside and dance in the desert heat-blistered white drops. Instead, I’m where I prefer to be as I write another letter I will never send, lounging on my chaise as deliriously happy as Cleopatra on her barge and sending you all the love she freely and openly gave to Mark Anthony.

As always, I end with All My Love.

Fifteen Stitches

What screws us up most in life is this picture we have in our heads of how it is suppose to be. What really happens is the one left behind is painted out of the picture even though that person is clearly equal and a collaborator.

© Fifteen Stitches

chaos spilled across the paper moon

opening the window and abandoning

the weights of life he found inopportune

fall into the arms of sweet dreams

the vigilante air held hostage

loving words she dared not utter

he misunderstood fragments of shared moments

and incomplete life puzzles

kneeling in the cathedral of him

collecting and saving broken-heart stitches

the way a child keeps fireflies in a closed jar

she longed for another lullaby

by Mimi Wolske, American author, artist, Renaissance Woman

All Rights Reserved

(painting: Don't waste your tears by Catrin Welz-Stein)