Turbulent tranquility

There she was, umbrella in hand, floating down towards the edge of a gentle stream.  At times she’d been like a whirling dervish, full of boundless energy and chaotic vigor.  And yet, at the same time, there were other occasions where the current would carry her over long, tranquil airstreams.  

She’d glide along over the endless fields, absorbing the grandeur of the picturesque valleys, which all looked more like patchwork quilts than anything else.  Then suddenly, she’d hit an air pocket and be frolicking away again, like a frenzied feather on an urgent mission.

Once touching down, she gasped, as crisp waters from a melodious little brook jarred her breezy state of mind.  Now, wide awake, she looked down at the icy waters lapping at her bare feet and wondered how she’d come to find herself in such a fantastic place.

© 2021 Michelle Cook


*This brief reflection is based on a dream I had last year.  It was the kind of dream that one never wants to wake from.  The kind that leaves your heart soaring and your mind enraptured by a carefree spirit.  I smile every time I think back on that lovely dream.  I just wanted to explore further and see where all those hills and valleys would take me.  To get lost in a dream is often such an awe-inspiring experience.  I can only hope this year will be filled with more visions like this.

Photo credit: https://pixabay.com/illustrations/woman-girl-model-umbrella-parasol-3795636/

My childhood

I’m the girl who collected music boxes.  Each one was delicately carved and crafted as if they were made just for me.  I remember losing myself in each heart soaring note while the fragile little figures twisted and twirled, delicately dancing to the sighs of my youth.  Watching those tiny dancers was one of the only ways I could pass the time while locked away inside my dingy little room.  I remember the thin, mustard-yellow bedspread and the thread-bare golden colored carpet.  The uninspiring small room couldn’t have been more unappealing, and my imagination was my only saving grace.  There was always a book resting on my knee and a flashlight hidden beneath my pillow.  Those two items were critical to my overall health and well-being.  Although to be found reading at bedtime often meant facing a fate worse than death, but I still took my chances because reading was my only escape.  

The window above my bed was out of reach, too high to see anything except the smog-filled sky, and that dreary view seemed to envelop everything, even me. There were many occasions when I was ordered to stay confined to my bed, so I would perch on the edge of my pillow, setting the gauge on the quarter-sized timer that I’d bought for ten cents at the swap meet.  The dial was hard to turn and always hurt my hand whenever I tried.  But somehow, the ticking noise that abruptly followed after spinning the dial made it all worth it.  My spirit was somehow calmed and comforted by the tic, tic, tic.  The tiny treasure gave me hope that one day I wouldn’t be forgotten, and I thought perhaps someone would come and rescue me before the buzzer sounded.  Sadly, most days, I was just shushed back into silence once the dial made its final round.  I always wished the familiar chime would mean certain freedom, but that was just another lie I kept choosing to believe.

© 2020 Michelle Cook


Photo credit: https://pixabay.com/photos/rain-water-window-dark-night-room-2589417/

It was the year 2117…

It was the year 2117, and a brand new shiny city had been built in the middle of the rain forest.  Strangely enough, there were hardly any trees left, just a few scattered vines growing haphazardly on some of the buildings.  The Amazon River wound its way through the spacious city, and man-made islands could be seen throughout.  Streets were a thing of the past, and boats and airplanes were too.  Those who were mentally strong enough could travel instantaneously through mind control.  Others who lacked this ability were at the mercy of those who could. 

Most of the buildings sat atop wide pedestals and were sporadically spaced throughout the city.  Some were shaped like huge cigars standing on end, while others were shaped like flying saucers atop narrower single columned structures.  There were only a few ordinary looking buildings, and even those were all elevated off the ground.  A maze of passageways existed underneath the crowded city.  Vines crept and clung to the buildings’ undersides, and the majority of the passages were dark and vacant. 

Most people walked along netted bridges, which had been built high above the city.  These bridges seemed to connect most of the buildings so that people never really had to set foot on the ground.  The majority of people were very free with their bodies.  Little clothing was worn, and most of the people seemed intoxicated and grungy looking.  There were quite a few structures built of woven bamboo.  These places were used mainly by the lower class citizens.  Many of the buildings did not even have rooftops and were instead completely open to the elements.  The upper-class citizens were mostly found in the taller buildings, which were all constructed of polished metal.  

In the heart of the city was a large open pavilion, and the view from this vantage point was breathtaking.  The pavilion was divided into sections by bamboo woven walls.  Each separate area held feasting tables, which ran the length of the open rooms.  The rooms were crowded, and extra seats were nonexistent.  Food was not available for purchase; instead, neon-colored alcoholic beverages were served in shot glasses.  These colored concoctions littered the tables from one end to the next. 

The rooms were filled with people who appeared expressionless and incoherent.  One woman even had her newborn baby lying in front of her on the table.  The baby was malnourished and naked, untouched and unloved, with its umbilical cord still attached.  One of the woman’s breasts rested along the edge of the table, allowing her baby to suckle while she proceeded to get wasted.  A sign above her read, “Viewer Discretion Advised.” 

This story is based on a dream I had, February 2, 2017. I wanted to share this dream again because I’m starting to wonder if this is a reality we could one day be facing.

Originally posted February 4, 2017 on my other blog, which can be found here.

© 2020 Michelle Cook


Photo credit: Pixabay.com

Inner battles

People come
and people go,
like the weather
is it all for show?

My deepest desire
is to see someone stay,
to keep a promise
and never go away.

Maybe I’m just needy
and want it all,
I tend to dream
of the impossible.

Regardless of everything
I want the love of a close friend,
one in which
I can always depend.

I believe that life
gives us what we give,
this is what allows us
to fully live.

So I try to relinquish
the tender parts of my heart,
I’ve always done this
from the very start.

But I know deep down,
I’ll never be the only one,
for I am merely
a fraction of the sum.

And yet sometimes I still forget
there isn’t just a “me,”
the equation is more
than what I can see.

Plain as day
and black as night,
this dose of reality
is my darkest plight.

I remind myself to accept
all that I can’t change,
even when life seeks
to rearrange.

There is nothing else
I can possibly do,
I can’t hold on
without the glue.

I’ve become accustomed
to letting life move past,
for I know dreams
they often don’t last.

I only wilt further
when I choose to hold too tight.
These are the battles
I continue to fight.

© 2020 Michelle Cook


Photo credit: https://pixabay.com/photos/tulip-wilted-dying-wilting-flower-3459282/

This is my chosen place

This is my chosen place
here in this footloose space.
My niche where anything goes
cause nobody really knows
.

I can be happy, or I can be sad;
I can be the good girl or even be bad.
And people can only ever wonder
what kind of spell I’m under.

Nobody ever really knows
my story and how it all goes.
I love this unconfined space.
This is my happy place.

© 2020 Michelle Cook


Photo credit: https://pixabay.com/photos/book-landscape-nature-wind-weather-2929646/

Unacceptable

His words fester beneath the surface,
weary words of disdain and ill repute.
But what can I do,
and how can I be anything more?
For I am just another daughter,
a regret still in the making.
And my existence is a constant reminder
of all he’s ever done wrong.

© 2020 Michelle Cook


Photo credit: https://pixabay.com/photos/woman-mysterious-traveler-journey-5718089/

 

How are you?

There are days when you are close,
but mostly days when you are far.
And sometimes, even the stars
seem to wonder where you are.

This pushing and pulling
due to some odd gravitational force
always leaves me to wonder
if you’ve just gotten off course.

And my soul is forever searching,
looking for a definitive sign,
to show me you’re alright,
in the midst of this decline.

I’m always aching to understand
and know for certain you’re okay,
but it’s difficult to know sometimes
when you’re so far away.

© 2020 Michelle Cook


Photo credit:  https://pixabay.com/photos/girl-moon-night-fantasy-halloween-5712027/

The Perfect Color

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Robin’s egg blue
Takes me back to you

You were the loveliest creature
I memorized your every feature

But cornflower days
Were never long stays

I had you for just a short while
Amidst the decaying dandelion pile

You should’ve had more
A bit of forest green to explore

Instead the pacific blue
Became your life-long hue

Those sea green and periwinkle days
Formed all of your mahogany ways

You stayed purple mountain majesty true
To your olive green and cadet blue

Carnation pink and brick red brown
Followed you into the burnt orange ground

And bittersweet left the taste of gray
As the sky-blue in your eyes faded away

 

© 2018 Michelle Cook

*Just needed to repost this today. Been thinking of my grandfather and his patriotism. He was my hero and loved this country more than anybody else I’ve ever known. He gave me my love for the United States of America and taught me to never say an ill word about our country. I love you so much grandpa. You were a rare gem in this world and will never be forgotten by me and all who knew you. May you rest in peace today and always.

On my way

I stepped away,
left the beaten path,
and traversed my own way
to find my way.
It wasn’t easy,
and I’m still not quite there,
but the decision
to take a different course
has enabled me
to leave behind everyone
and everything
that was steering me towards
that dreadful rocky road,
the one we all sometimes face.
It was lucky for me
that somehow in my heart,
I knew I was going nowhere.
I remember peril,
urging me on
from that tempting horizon,
and it was so hard to say no.
But now,
after walking away
from where troubled waters
sloshed at my feet,
I see peace,
at last,
urging me on,
guiding me towards
the finish line.
Of course, now
It’s up to me
to regain my bearings
and finally go after
what I’ve been seeking all along.
And if I can do all that,
I might just have done
all that I was meant to do.

© 2020 Michelle Cook


Photo credit: https://pixabay.com/photos/countryside-crops-dawn-dusk-1835847/

When love is more than love

Sometimes love is more than love;
it just happens, and there isn’t a doubt.
And you try so hard to hold it in,
but you’d rather scream and shout.

And it’s funny how it catches you
in those moments you thought wouldn’t exist.
And once it takes hold of your heart,
there’s just no trying to resist.

Your soul is somehow captured,
beholden forevermore.
And you’re left at the mercy of things
you’d never even considered before.

The emotions are so overwhelming
as the feelings flood your body and soul.
And you find yourself losing
all that’s left of your self-control.

When love is more than love,
there’s no escaping its merciless grasp.
So instead, you breathe it all in
because you just wanna make it last
.

© 2020 Michelle Cook


Photo credit: https://pixabay.com/photos/couple-love-sunset-young-5028352/

Writing prompt: When love is more than love.

Where to even begin?

She asks why I don’t write
But the pages are very thin
And I know my heavy words
Would do them all right in

So I hold myself back
Hiding what’s within
And even if I did write
I doubt I’d know where to begin

Perhaps I’m just uncomfortable
Being here in my own skin
It’s so hard to be myself
Because of where I’ve been

I’ve lost a lot of who I am
I think I’ve even lost my grin
But that’s the way life often is
Sometimes we just can’t win

© 2020 Michelle Cook


Photo Credit: https://pixabay.com/photos/diary-ipad-to-write-blog-workplace-968603/

I once was…

I once was a child
Left broken and battered
Mostly locked away
As if I never really mattered

I once was a small girl
Always searching for a way
To be free from the shackles
That plagued me every day

I once was a young lady
Just wanting to belong
Only realizing my efforts
We’re pointless all along

I once was a grown woman
Looking for a hand to hold
But after a long, futile search
I discovered I’d become too old

I once was an old lady
Holding onto deep regret
Wishing the good Lord
Would just make me forget

And now I’m a crushed spirit
Dreaming of the past
The life I once knew
Just went by way too fast

If only I’d accepted
The life I’d been given
But instead I just looked down
Never really livin

© 2020 Michelle Cook


Photo credit: https://pixabay.com/photos/autumn-hand-leaves-red-puddle-2917472/

Jonathan Michael was his name

If only I could’ve held him
Seen his lovely little face
But fate intervened
And he was lost
without a trace

I wonder what could’ve been
Our lives will never be the same
Some things we miss forever
And Jonathan Michael
was his name

© 2020 Michelle Cook


Photo credit: https://pixabay.com/photos/love-clouds-romance-sky-romantic-1381420/

Writing prompt: Jonathan Michael was his name

Behind forbidden’s door

Turn this page over
See what’s behind
In-between the creases
I cannot hide
You’ll see my reality
The truth that I face
The depth of my desires
I dare not taste
Each sweeter than honey
These visions I explore
Yet locked in silence
Behind forbidden’s door

© 2020 Michelle Cook


Photo credit: https://pixabay.com/photos/fantasy-dark-gothic-dream-woman-4565555/