What did you think would happen to a child left on my doorstep? (2020 Re-post)

Photo by Skitterphoto on Pexels.com

Re-post comment:

Wednesday and time to wander the archives. This is the second most read post from GloPoWriMo 2020.
It’s both a story and about me as a child. Books and pets where my only true companions.

Enjoy!



What did you think would happen to a child left on my doorstep?
Free to roam the the shelves.
Delve into the dusty archives.
A whole childhood to read whatever took her fancy.

She learned everything she knows from me.
I always accepted, comforted and nurtured her.
When no one else did.
She felt safe spending hours.
Within my booked lined walls.

Of course she’d find.
Fantastic stories to immerse in.
Hilarious verses to laugh with.
Poetry as steamy as any video.
More facts than you know.
Opposing ideas and new wisdom.
Philosophy and all the religions.
Mystical traditions founded in ancient history.

Curious children do that you see.
They search for and soak up stories and facts.

Of course all that.
Paper and ink.
Facts and fictions.
Millions of words.

Put her under my spell.
Made her seek my sanctuary.
Endeavour to write stories of her own.

Wondrous worlds of strange beauty.
The nature seen through loving eyes.
Sensual stanzas that arouses desire.
Horrifying tales of death and suffering.

Yes! I confess!
That bright discarded child.
I made her mine by love.
Of knowledge and words.

Now she lives in the apartment of the head librarian.
Spending days and nights with words.
I think she’s happy!

© REDCAT

Written for today’s GloPoWriMo prompt, to write a non-apology. Very fun!
Also linking to OLN at dVerse.

Photo by Janko Ferlic on Pexels.com

GloPoWriMo 2020

DAY 1 – Build a New Start
DAY 2 – Beloved Bookstore
DAY 3 – Sunshine and Hail
DAY 4 – Isolation Dating
DAY 5 –Staring out a Windowpane
DAY 6 – Casanova Comes Closer
DAY 7 – Swirling Colors of my Mind
DAY 8 – White – Red – Black
DAY 9 – Different World After
DAY 10 – Spring Hay(na)ku
DAY 11 – Love – Hay(na)ku
DAY 12 – Make Art – Triolet inspired
by Neil Gaiman and Chris Riddell
DAY 13 – What did you think would happen
to a child left on my doorstep?
DAY 14 – Ballad of the Lost Poet
DAY 15 – Writer’s class – Hay(na)ku
DAY 16 – What is a Nomad without a Tribe?
DAY 17 – Pale Spring, Here Again, Nature Awake
DAY 18 – Spring Day in the Garden
DAY 19 – Close Couplets
DAY 20 – Lost in Love’s First Flush
DAY 21 – She Tasted Like Memory
DAY 22 – Struggling Mind
DAY 23 – Written in the book of dust
DAY 24 – At the end of every week, Friday-Cozy!
DAY 25 – Slip, Crack, Shatter
DAY 26 – Humans Really Don’t Know
DAY 27 – April Rain
DAY 28 – Greeting the Watch Horse
DAY 29 – Letter of Hope
DAY 30 – Witches Walpurgis Night Preparation

Light Sparkle in the Pool of Tears – A Pantoum , Ekprastic Challenge, February 2

Wet Sunlight

Light sparkle in the pool of tears
Rising to the surface lustrous pearls
Crafting paths that through the murk spear
Freed soul fire unseen wonders unfurls

Rising to the surface lustrous pearls
Transforming a life lived in fear
Freed soul fire unseen wonders unfurls
Bright ray of hope trauma shackles shears

Transforming a life lived in fear
A heart that passionately yearns
Bright ray of hope trauma shackles shears
Finding there’s power in these words

A heart that passionately yearns
Crafting paths that through the murk spear
Finding there’s power in these words
Light sparkle in the pool of tears

©RedCat

To see all art and read all poems go to The Wombwell Rainbow.

Kerfe Roig

A resident of New York City, Kerfe Roig enjoys transforming words and images into something new.  Her poetry and art have been featured online by Right Hand PointingSilver Birch PressYellow Chair ReviewThe song is…Pure HaikuVisual VerseThe Light EkphrasticScribe BaseThe Zen Space, and The Wild Word, and published in Ella@100Incandescent MindPea River JournalFiction International: Fool, Noctua Review, The Raw Art Review, and several Nature Inspired anthologies. Follow her explorations on her blogs, https://methodtwomadness.wordpress.com/  (which she does with her friend Nina), and https://kblog.blog/, and see more of her work on her website http://kerferoig.com/

Quietly Contemplating Continuation

Photo by George Becker from Pexels

Quietly contemplating continuation
Which way will wisdom grow
Will writing veer life
Shall sonnets soul spark show

Release old rules too relied on
Prepare for passions power
Find a faint force of freedom
Soak in shimmering star showers

Play with your Phoenix power
Follow fantasies fever frisson
Trust in true talking hearts
Moon-madness magic mission

©RedCat

Mind off on other things, I’ve decided to take a step back and allow myself to relax, take stock of everything written last year. Contemplate where I want my creativity to go next.

I’ll still participate in a few prompts, but for the duration of January my focus will be on other things.

Photo by Phil Kallahar from Pexels



From Nadir to Zenith – last poem of 2020

FurryTiger, CC BY-SA 3.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0, via Wikimedia Commons

Mummified alive by cobwebs of lies and deceit
Numbed until she couldn’t see it
Spider poison talking in her ears
Corroded until her heart knew new only fear
Hiding within a surreptitious poised shell
Her soul walked the cold and lonely paths of hell
In concentric circles further and further away from herself
Until one day a peddler in a wolf pelt
Traded a scarlet apple for a rhyme
One bite, her being rang with creative passions chime
Hands writing forbidden poetry until frozen fingers paper crumble
Feets choreographing forms until they bled and stumble
There is nowhere for the petite rodent to hide her bright light
Her pointy shoes rap-tap-ratting in their flight
She sings with newly found voice
Creative suffering my life choice
For love I’ll walk through fire
Reify my heart’s hidden desires
Travel from dark nadir to bright zenith
Rise from the ashes like a newborn Phoenix

©RedCat

Willermoz.es, CC BY-SA 3.0 http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/, via Wikimedia Commons

There really wasn’t time. Right now I should socialize and talk the night away. Instead I’m alone, polishing the last poem of the year. I felt it important to write one last piece. A piece of rebirth and renewal. So I searched for inspiration and found it in #skyloverwordlist.

The petit rat was something I just learned about watching Tiny Pretty Things.

Also shared with Open Link Night over at dVerse and earthweal open link weekend

Happy New Year!

Fantasy – A Acrostic Poem

©RedCat

Free your mind
Accept the unknown
Note every strange idea
Take in sounds and smells
Always go further
See wonder in the mundane
Your mind can travel everywhere

©RedCat


It’s the holiday season and not much time or room for writing. Mostly it’s playing or hanging with the kids. Building a train of chairs and traveling to outer space. Acting different plays with cuddly toys. Reading books. Watching movies and series. Playing board games.

When evening comes my mind is overwhelmed by their energy and fountains of ideas. :-)

©RedCat

Inglenook Dreams – 14 December

Days she’s a translucent idea
Displaying the required galleria
Stuck in this confined woman form
Laced tight in society’s norms
As the fire turns to embers
The quiet girl no one remembers
Cosy up in the inglenook
To write forbidden poems in her book

©RedCat
©RedCat

Written for tonight’s dVerse prompt Quadrille #118: In the Inglenook. A lovely word, I seldom get to use. And a thing I always wish my house would have.

©RedCat

Word – By Ulf Hässelbäck, Guest Poet

Pixabay

there’s a void where there once was vocabulary
there’s a patch worn through where there once were words

but I have hope

if in the beginning there was the word
and if despite the void that word was heard
then it matters little if my words are slurred
and their meaning blurry
for, you see

there is no hurry
no need to stress, scurry and scamper about
no need to stand on metaphorical rooftops and shout out
at the imaginary skyline

for there is still time
still time to be present in the present
leave the past that the demons sent you to
the wounds can heal if the bullets all went through
if some remain
you know what you are meant to do
what maybe
just maybe
a god sent you here to do

but, you say
if in the beginning there was no word?
not even a speck of dust to be disturbed
all silent and not even a nothing there to see?
surely
that deflates my analogy?

No it doesn’t

because, you see, it is all metaphor to me
I am not christian nor muslim nor buddhist nor pagan
but as my life is finite
there’s a place where it began
as to why I exist?

Because I can

and all the words in the world are trapped in
consciousness awareness perception
so we can´t have true conception of the
eternal infinite

but

there are always words
words to be
served savoured and heard

that is the beginning

that is the end

©Ulf Hässelbäck
Photo by Min An from Pexels

For the second time I’m happy and grateful to host Ulf Hässelbäck, who shares this poem from 2008.
RedCat

Also linking to Open Link #280 – LIVE! at dVerse.

Searching For A Way – 8 December

Photo by Nikhlesh Tyagi from Pexels

Searching for a way
For the right words to say
I long for the dawn of a new day

Searching for a new life
Passionate, loving, without strife
Filled with strobing nightlife
Abundant wildlife

Searching for a new dream
Asking guidance of a moonbeam
For the path where creativity teem

©RedCat

Right now life feels small, cold and lonely for many, and for me. So I tried for some hope, light and life in today’s Advent Calendar poem.

The midwinter darkness has felt exte oppressive lately. The unseasonable warmth keeps the skies grey and foggy rather than the crisp, nipping, sunny air the season should have (unless there’s snowfall of course).
Today I read that the instruments in Stockholm and several other cities have measured ZERO sunhours in December.

So a warming climate makes the winter darkness more oppressive, by denying us the few hours of sunlight, robbing us off the white cover, starving us from reflected moonlight. A full moon can make a clear snowy December night brighter than an overcast December midday.

Some days I have hope for a new spring, perhaps next summer without a pandemic looming. A world coming together on the pandemic and the climate.
Other days, when the sun has not been seen for more than a week. I feel cold desolation, touch deprivation and failing hope. A world gone to smoking cinders, cascading ecological disaster, all ending in an egotistic whimper.

Not knowing to hope or despair, over the fact that the human race has its destiny in its own hands.



The road might be long and windy,
but with will and intention
we can make the journey the point,
not an unforeseeable future goal.
©RedCat

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