OSI – Crimson
As I look at the poppies field
I wonder Crimson or Scarlet -
Deep or clear,
Intense or tense?
Beauty reign in colour.
© 2012 Mariya Koleva
Image from Wallpapers Free
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Poets United, Thursday Think Tank #97 – Playground Is this the vault we used to go in Apart from our bruised knees and elbows Below the ground © 2012 Mariya Koleva Image by freakingrainbow — Follow me on Twitter: @Phoenix_EM Coming Home Just coming there © 2012 Mariya Koleva Although the month of Poetry and various types of challenges is over, I decided to post this haiku I wrote for Day 30 on a notebook in my car. I forgot it there and only retrieved it a couple of days ago, so here it is: NaPoWriMo, Day 30
*** Magic spell Blissful breeze around Living on. © Mariya Koleva Today my blog features a fun Two-in-One experience, combining the Acrostic with the Limerick. The prompt I acted upon could be found here: Acrostic Only Limerick – ONSET *** One fellow took off for the town Not knowing that he had no gown So the moment he went Every eye was content To enjoy at that beautiful clown.
© 2012 Mariya Koleva Shooting Saturday Sitting there in the sun, she felt her mind was void. At last! Spring has come, and the chestnuts along the boulevard had bloomed white and tippy like candles. Tiny white and yellow daisy-likes spotted the green wetness of the grass. The weather was still cool with spring freshness and tender with sunlight. She looked at the large thermometer on top of the adjacent building. She had to wait till the clock gave way to the temperature. 23. Closing her eyes, she remembered the nights she had stared at the same bleak building top and seen the devastating -9 glowing nefarious red. She had always wanted to spend time like this. So, whenever she managed, that was bliss. “Oh, good life, ha?” screeched an unpleasant voice near her. “How are you doing, baby? Hardly working or working hard? Which one is it this time?” She looked up at the newcomer and forced a wry smile. “You know I don’t like you when you smile like that.” She dared say nothing. This conversation used to have its unfolding. “Like what?”, she would ask. “Like you are mocking me.” he would say with a fierce grin. He hit her several times as an ending of this very conversation. One of the times she spent a week in hospital and a month not able to work properly. Of course, he made her. Only, it hurt too much. That was how this conversation was never led again. “Are you visually-impaired or what?” he said maliciously. “Why?” her voice trembled at the vision of the coming tornado. “Can’t you see the gentleman over there?” he pushed her hard in the gentleman’s direction. “You said I could be off today. It’s Saturday.” she mumbled unconfidently. “I said, did I?” he screeched again. “Well, you’d better focus on what I do, than on what I say. For I say a lot of things, you know.” She didn’t move. “Com’on”, he urged her. Sitting there in the sun, she felt her mind go blank. “BANG!” the shot echoed across the sleepy afternoon neighbourhood. She could go back to her satin dreams again.
© 2012 Mariya Koleva Poetic Jam – Blind
We see © 2012 Mariya Koleva Image taken from the prompt site Beauty Queen “By God, it’s so hot.” Sheila thought and tried to stretch her arms, yawning. Before she knew anything, she noticed the utter darkness. “Am I in a cellar?” she murmured. She couldn’t see her arms did not stretch. With a grunt, Sheila tried to stand up. Failed. The darkness was as thick as always. She wanted to rub the numbness off her feet. Failing again, Sheila suddenly realized she didn’t feel numb. She didn’t feel. “If only there was light,” she was getting annoyed. Was she even moving her limbs? Were there even limbs for her to move? What was that ineffective place? Only last night, it seemed to her, Sheila was the new Beauty Queen. She remembered she drank champagne off the glass of that masked boy – mask way too scary, yet he was a charmer. “So, how do zombie beauties live?” Sheila blinked in confusion and irritation. © 2012 Mariya Koleva Submitted to Writerlious blog to a prompt: Beautiful Zombies. Two for Tuesday “A twisted mind will get you nowhere nice” he repeated to himself while splashing the freezing water over his face. That was something his father used to tell him when he was little. He cupped his hands and stared at the water for a while. He looked on as it started to trickle off, oozing between his fingers, the pool inside getting shallower and shallower. He tried to press his fingers tight to one another, in an effort to keep the water from trickling out, and it seemed to slow down a bit, but then oozed out anyway. Looking up from the basin, Luke saw his badly-cut face in the mirror and pressed his eyes shut. That hurt, too. He didn’t know which hurt more – the black and blue image in the mirror, the black swells on his eyes, or the memory of how he had received them. “No more vodka,” he thought furiously. It was all vodka’s fault. He even didn’t know why he ended up drinking that stuff. He hated vodka since the last time he got drunk on it. He knew that threat would not intimidate the bottle he could still see to the left of the dirty fridge. He knew he was trying to intimidate himself. And he knew it was no good. His face hurt. He filled his cupped hands with freezing water again and splashed it on. His father’s words rang through his mind again. Why wouldn’t the old man be quiet for a while? How come it was his father’s words he could hear, and not those of his elder brother? Every time his elder brother heard those words he would counter them: “A twisted mind will get you anything you want.” With a soft grunt he moved away from the washbasin and towards the window. A champagne stopper flew off with a weird pop. Who would be drinking champagne at this time of the day? His face felt huge. Something caught his glance. On the front of his muddied and torn T-shirt was a rose in bloom. “A twisted heart will get you nowhere nice,” he thought with his last flash of consciousness. The floor was cold and hard, and damp with filth.
© 2012 Mariya Koleva
Magpie Tales #116
Are those tops Is that river All innocence slides off Fear not © 2012 Mariya Koleva Image: River Irwell by R.A.D. Stainforth |
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