Friday, March 9, 2018

Friday 55 March 9 2018


Welcome to this week's 55, an exercise, a journey, a discipline, a memory of a meme originated by a genial and giving man named Galen Hayes, and carried on by my inadequate self, and all of you who come to read or to play. As always, no rules except that your contribution be 55 words of prose or poetry, no more, no less, linked in the comments below between Friday and Sunday morning. I look forward to reading what you have to offer.





My 55 this week is just a singsong mess that I couldn't dislodge...


Heaven's Door







Heaven's door stands open.
Peter knows I won't stay--all my angels have wings
just to fly away.

My darling dreams he's a fever
too hot for decay. My flowers open in darkness
and uncolor the day.

I'm a stone rolled downhill
for the unquieted grave--only angels have wings
so they can fly away.






~March 2018













Optional Musical Accompaniment











Images: Open Door On A Garden, 1934, by Konstantin Somov   
Public Domain (Manipulated)
Open Darkness, ©joyannjones 2018


31 comments:

  1. Something about flight and doors--they just don't mix, do they? Open a door, nothing flies in, or everything flies out and off. Human invitation pales I suppose to the bestial and angelic. Maybe the metaphor's too mixed for what is simple in the heart. And neither birds nor angels can remedy this sad simple 55 on the sill of fever and farewell and darkness. Yet how pretty it blooms exactly there. Kicks my weekend's keister, fer sure.

    My meaty spore of a metaphor's 55: https://blueoran.wordpress.com/2018/03/09/the-water-horse/

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    1. Thanks B--when all else fails, the singsong rhyme has its way with one. Maybe some day I will be able to write a bit larger, but for now I make do with being able to patch out even this much. Thanks for your wet and wild 55, and your squint at the way truth can be disguised by a twist of phrase.

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  2. Heaven's door stands open.
    Peter knows I won't stay--all my angels have wings
    just to fly away.
    My darling dreams he's a fever
    too hot for decay. My flowers open in darkness
    and uncolor the day.
    I'm a stone rolled downhill
    for the unquieted grave--only angels have wings
    so they can fly away.


    A sombre write Hedge of that day that will visit us all, whether we are ready or not. I am not ready to pass through that door either and will live your darling’s dream, constantly in fever, too hot to be taken. I hope it will work…

    Please see my offering here: https://hypercryptical.blogspot.co.uk/2018/03/getting-it-wrong.html which may or may not be in a similar vein.

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  3. Oops! Cut and pasted too much, but there again - your words are worthy of repeat.
    Anna :o]

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    1. No problems, Anna. (Glad to hear it was unintentional, though, as that sort of wholesale quote tends to be a substitute for meaningful comment when done arbitrarily--after all, there the poem is, etc.) But I'm glad you think the words were worth a repeat--they've been earworming through my head for days, so glad to share that. ;)

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  4. I like, even love, the idea of angel winds--of goodness--giving choices. If one is good, one should at least be able to go where (and when) one wants, the same is true about coming back even if staying there forever is not a desired (or possible) choice. This is such a sweet piece, but... it holds the taste of unavoidable goodbyes... and that squeezes at my heart.


    *waves at the stunning amaryllis*

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    1. That is a very evocative typo, angel winds...I like it and you should use it. The place is elusive, and while I'm no believer in ersatz Christian paradise, it's a symbol of all the unattainable and magic places where something beyond the mundane is supposed to live, where we as earthly creatures so seldom are able to stay, or even understand. Thanks, Magaly.

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    2. Typos are very creative, lol!

      And I'm right with you on the rest.

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  5. This is my bit of "Chilling Heat", for this week:

    http://magalyguerrero.com/chilling-heat/

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    1. *snicker* I see you chose Brooklyn style. ;)Absolutely loved.

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  6. I spent a lot of my childhood wondering what it would be like to be dead. I guess it was the abuse that caused it, but I'd lay in bed at night staring at the ceiling contemplating death. Just another peek into my odd mind. "My flowers open in darkness
    and uncolor the day." I picture the blossom draining daylight into its petals leaving the eye to wander through gray landscape, like living in a funeral.

    Here's my 55. I saw Real Toads prompt and thought 55. :) https://blackinkhowl.blogspot.com/2018/03/doll-play.html

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    1. Yes, I can relate--and you are spot on with what I meant by the metaphor. Thanks Susie--for your genuine comment, and your great 55 as well.

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  7. Very beautiful. There is such impact in the lines about the flowers opening in darkness and uncoloring the day. Love that angels have wings with which to fly away. They need them. We all do.

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  8. I'm glad you posted that song, because while I was reading the piece I heard Tanya Tucker for some reason. That piece jangles as it rolls down that hill. I love the vibrancy of the darker shades. Great job Joy!!!

    http://herotomost.blogspot.com/2018/03/pet-friendly-motels-in-eastern-colorado.html

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    1. It actually came to me while listening to Life Without You, by Stevie Ray Vaughan, but I am always a sucker for some Joan Baez. Thanks for the kind words, sir, and great to see you at the 55!

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  9. A singsong mess? Girl, you better go read what you wrote, again. It may *seem* singsongy, but it is rich in complexity and wisdom, at least the way I read it. It's a bit Lorca-ish, isn't it? I love it. I'm not going to itemize--that would diminish what you've done here.

    And I adore that painting.

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    1. Thanks so much, both of you, tho any comparison to Lorca can only make me blush wildly. ;_)

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  10. Oopsies, forgot "here's mine" ;-)

    http://fireblossom-wordgarden.blogspot.com/2018/03/her-real-name-was-lexi.html

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  11. I too wonder sometimes, but mostly I have to the conclusion that angels have had their wings clipped... love the darkness,

    here is my dark piece

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    1. Thanks, Bjorn--your 55 was very human and sad, as well as dark--and these times seem to grow dark words like weeds.

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  12. Here is my pitiful 55. The prompt at Toads got me to thinking (really?) of night and stars. But then I am an insomniac and often walk about at night. Your 55...oh my goodness. The first line of your last stanza - I am a stone rolled downhill...that hit me hard for some reason. Thanks for letting me play. https://kanzensakura.wordpress.com/2018/03/09/night-curtains/

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    1. Always glad to see you here, Toni. And nothing pitiful at all about your offering--it was a pleasure to read it.

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  13. like an old-school fairy tale, where the rhyme masks a deeper clarity ~

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    1. More like a malfunctioning jukebox inside my demented brain, but I appreciate the analogy and generous thought. ;)

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  14. Here is my little bit. I created a word list and invite others to use it too, if they so wish... If you will forgive a meme within a meme.

    http://kerryoconnorsother.blogspot.co.za/2018/03/untitled-copperfield.html

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    1. Of course--whatever it takes to get your poetry out Kerry, is always more than welcome--you know there are no rules here except the word count, and that anything you write is greatly appreciated. I doubt Dickens would mind the way your selected choice was made to glow, either.

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  15. The 55 is closed for this week. Thank you all, and see you next time.

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