I was reading this poem and couldn’t help but imagine it as a light acoustic song. It’s so soft, heartfelt, and beautiful — it would go perfectly with a guitar.
That was a sweet one, Miguel! Mine... maybe not so much. It's a massive overdose and prose instead of poetry, but sometimes the muse wants me to color outside the lines…
..................
Pygmalion was lonely and could find no one to love, because every woman he met was wrong: Too fat, too thin, too talkative, too quiet, too stupid, too intelligent, too promiscuous, too prudish... There was not a woman in all the world who could ever hope to match his idea of perfection. So he decided to make one.
He carved her out of alabaster so her skin would be white as snow. He used all of his artistic skill to give her ethereal beauty and grace and then he just imagined the rest. And so he fell in love with a beautiful block of stone, and began to waste away from desire, for his ideal lover was not alive.
Aphrodite took pity upon him and turned the stone statue into a real woman without a name. Pygmalion thought she was perfect in every way, and claimed her and wed her and in course of time she bore his children. He was happy with his perfect wife… but nobody ever asked this perfect woman to describe HER idea of an ideal man. Oh well, at least one of them got to live happily ever after.
Never stops being funny that Vienna airport has a designated area for people who landed in Austria instead of Australia 😂 but one would dodge a lot of poisonous things though
It's so funny to think how often this must be happening. People are probably making this mistake all the time, if they've had to set up a special desk. I may have to go one day, just to see if I can find it! Haha... 😎
The fire was lit the night before. Got it going, ember‘s met stars in the sky.
We talked on the phone. We we pursued, fire died down. But without a clue. She’s bombed, three beers down at 9 AM. 3 six packs by 5 PM. Bleary eyed doing housework. Wait for a phone call. She’s passed out. She wonders why I love her, don’t know why ; just do. Sends me cryptic messages. I understand. She needs as much as I do. She sleeps and takes a shower awakening. She washes her flaming red hair. Thoughtful someone loves her stressed state. Listening to the Beatles.
I somehow missed this prompt two days ago.
Here's my microfiction -
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Fiona adored the idea of the old house—its charm, its creaking floors, the whisper of history in the walls.
She imagined tea by the fireplace and writing her novel beneath dusty beams.
The realtor warned her no one stayed long. "Bad dreams," he mumbled, scampering out the front door.
She didn’t dream—she watched.
Watched herself sleep from the corner of the ceiling.
Watched her body twitch as shadows crawled up the walls.
She loved the idea of living alone… until the thing in the mirror started smiling back, mimicking her movements, but never blinking.
Now, it moves when she doesn’t.
I was reading this poem and couldn’t help but imagine it as a light acoustic song. It’s so soft, heartfelt, and beautiful — it would go perfectly with a guitar.
Aw, thank you Sofia!
Yup I was humming along to it as I read. Definitely a song
I'll take that as a compliment!
Was definitely meant that way 😉
It was definitely meant that way 😉
The Museum of Lost Futures
---
Children on a class trip
to the Utopian Museum
where the olden futures lie
behind glass, to keep off dust.
-
They cluster round the gleam
of rocketships to Mars,
jamesbond volcano base,
sheen of oceancities,
-
ooh and aah to see skycars
forget the raining fragments,
squish noses to the pane
strain to catch the details.
-
But one display's bereft
of watchers. It's the one
where people lived in peace,
lived with beasts and bluebirds
-
went touching fronds of fern,
clustered at night to sing
looking at the moon and stars
and laughed and did not murder.
-
I liked that future fine,
though it didn't quite gleam
like all the others did.
And now we have none of them.
A Young girl wanting love
Never took off the gloves
that sheltered her heart
From those who would part
Her mind so she
suffered in
As if stuck by voodoo pins
So many problems of life
Given or bequethed to strife
No man, no children, no home
Got used to living alone
Til when she was fifty four
A man appeared at her door
And love found a home in her
An a Cheshire cat purr
Though she knows it won't last
So she's loving him fast
And hoping they have the time
As she lovingly
makes rhymes
To love completely til the Son comes
The One that is loved by some .
Thank you, Miguel!
Love you poem !
Thank you, Izzibella!
Thank you , Scott !
Thank you Theresa!
Thank you, Jeannine!
That was a sweet one, Miguel! Mine... maybe not so much. It's a massive overdose and prose instead of poetry, but sometimes the muse wants me to color outside the lines…
..................
Pygmalion was lonely and could find no one to love, because every woman he met was wrong: Too fat, too thin, too talkative, too quiet, too stupid, too intelligent, too promiscuous, too prudish... There was not a woman in all the world who could ever hope to match his idea of perfection. So he decided to make one.
He carved her out of alabaster so her skin would be white as snow. He used all of his artistic skill to give her ethereal beauty and grace and then he just imagined the rest. And so he fell in love with a beautiful block of stone, and began to waste away from desire, for his ideal lover was not alive.
Aphrodite took pity upon him and turned the stone statue into a real woman without a name. Pygmalion thought she was perfect in every way, and claimed her and wed her and in course of time she bore his children. He was happy with his perfect wife… but nobody ever asked this perfect woman to describe HER idea of an ideal man. Oh well, at least one of them got to live happily ever after.
Loving the Idea:
The idea of roaming beckons me,
faraway places yet to see.
Tuscany vineyards or Grecian Isles,
Spanish beaches or Paris smiles.
Sunny day or rainy shower,
Windswept desert or shady bower.
I'm loving the idea but the purse says No;
so my travel is done by TV show,
Youtube videos and magazine pages,
devoured at one time or in different stages.
That’s so good Sandra!
There are indeed a lot of awesome travel blogs on Youtube!
PROMPT: LOVING THE IDEA
THE TRIP OF A LIFETIME
"Let's go to Australia", she said,
"To see the kangaroos, and Sydney",
And I loved the idea, but unfortunately,
I booked the wrong flight,
On the travel website,
And we ended up in Austria instead... 😎
Never stops being funny that Vienna airport has a designated area for people who landed in Austria instead of Australia 😂 but one would dodge a lot of poisonous things though
It's so funny to think how often this must be happening. People are probably making this mistake all the time, if they've had to set up a special desk. I may have to go one day, just to see if I can find it! Haha... 😎
Just Loving
The fire was lit the night before. Got it going, ember‘s met stars in the sky.
We talked on the phone. We we pursued, fire died down. But without a clue. She’s bombed, three beers down at 9 AM. 3 six packs by 5 PM. Bleary eyed doing housework. Wait for a phone call. She’s passed out. She wonders why I love her, don’t know why ; just do. Sends me cryptic messages. I understand. She needs as much as I do. She sleeps and takes a shower awakening. She washes her flaming red hair. Thoughtful someone loves her stressed state. Listening to the Beatles.
Loving the Idea vs. Living the Idea
Getting married
Having kids
Trying grad school
Starting biz
See the birthplace of the toga
Sweat your way through fiery yoga
Haul your fat ass on a jog
Beg for eyeballs on your blog
Defer your dreams ‘til you retire
Hoping that you don’t expire
Loving these ideas and such
Put to practice not so much
Great one Scott!
Thx. Loving your poems!!