Passing Comfort

The sun was warm. It reflected softly off the gold rimmed frames, as dust motes danced with wild abandon.

His head nodded in time to the gritty folk strains pouring from the old record player in the corner. Calloused finger tips, nicked and bent with age, traced the arm of the rocking chair he had built 30 years ago. He sighed.

Through the partially closed door to his office, down the pea-green wallpapered hallway, across the living room where pictures of his children and grandchildren smiled, and into the kitchen, he could hear his wife preparing dinner.

Settling his tired body more comfortably into the cushioned chair, he folded his arms. Minutes passed, slowed in their passing by the ageless music that continued to softly fill the sunlit room. His head began to sink, and soon his chin was resting gently between the open collar of his golf shirt. His eyes closed. He sighed.

His wife called, dinner was ready.

He did not hear her .

Picture Perfect

He had her in his sight. Tenderly and with much care he traced her silhouette, taking in each crystalline detail.

There, on her right foot, the muddy spot from where she tripped on a stone. Her socks were lightly dusted from the three mile hike. He paused, watching each minute twitch of her calf muscles as they stabilized her on the precarious pile of rocks. Her hat was slipping.

Carefully focusing, he could see the outline of the tank-top she wore under the linen shirt. Her hair floated lightly behind her, blown like little white tufts of cotton on the summer breeze.

Her finger squeezed, the camera clicked, and she fell. The remaining echo from the shot skittered down the canyon walls.

Now for the Great American Novel...

It is finally official! I'm published!

Two poems - one that I wrote 3 years ago and the other that you see below (with edits). I don't normally write poetry, it's just not my thing.

I prefer prose; to me it is more satisfying. But even I get hit with the urge to create poetry. Sometimes there are just those things that can't be related in normal writing.

When I have a link and image to share, I will.

Publications!

I'm going to be getting "The Watcher" and another poem I wrote titled "The Truth" published this month! The Writing Center where I work publishes work by writers in the various writing groups we run. It's a small magazine, but still - published!

"The Battle Field" or "The Watcher"

The sun dawned red on the battle field below
bodies rose like lumbering Goliaths
twisted limbs wrapped 'round them
denying the gapping maw within.

Mists flee before the graying light
slithering, sneaking, sliding
over and under, between and beside
humps of withered flesh.

As dawns fair light creeps above
piercing dewy darkened ash below
one with those I see, I stand
the watcher.

~CAS

Depressing? Meh. Dark? Maybe. Visual? I hope so...

I don't write poetry often - really I don't think it's my forte. But there are times when something happens in life, or when you see an image that the only words to describe it and the feeling you get is through poetry. At least, that's how it is for me lol, not sure about the rest of you.

I found this image while stumbling pictures. This is the site I found it on. There are many wonderful images, but once I saw this one, I stopped. Now that I've gotten this out of the way, I'll keep looking :-). http://www.alpics.net/

PS: I'll make the image bigger when blogger stops giving me an error message...