Sunday Whirl #337

Post that missing message already!
And never mind the spilled ink
that fills the rows with sense or
its gentle meandering bend
that follows your thoughts.

Spin that tale already!
It’s a spectacle to watch –
softly injecting your mind
with the mint of a mojito,
and leading you by the hand
to that message you failed to post.

(c) 2018 MK

Fire, Post, Now

April Poetry Month #06


1. Haiku Heights – Fire

Not to break the bond
Sparks from welding torches.
Flame eclipsing sun.

2. Poetic Asides – Post

While posting this letter
remember to pass
by the stamps and envelopes’ kiosk
You know, the one just on the left
of the old confectioner’s shop
we frequented as children
every day after school

Remember to sit at the table
right in the middle of the shop
we somehow took it for ours
I know you preferred one at the window
Yet you always joined me
just smiling

Do not order anything
Sit for a while and then go
Post the letter and
Let go.

© 2013, Mariya Koleva

Web Wednesday

This is just a short post aiming nothing 🙂 It’s not writing



“Why are you always on your computer?” Sally’s mom peeked through the semi-closed door. “It’s such a beautiful day outside. Go play with other kids.” The mother stood at the gap a little more and, as no answer came, she ventured, “May I come in?”

“Yeah, sure,” Sally waved indefinitely. Sally’s mom stepped in and went directly to the window. She raised a hand to pull open the heavy curtains, but Sally yelled, “No! Get back!” Her mother froze. Sally coughed nervously and added, “I mean, is that necessary? I like the twilight here.”

“Twilight could be bad if too much.” Her mom murmured and came up to her daughter’s back. She put her hand on Sally’s shoulder and froze once again. This time, with fear. Sally’s left shoulder was stone cold, similar to the marble statues on the Florence piazza she had visited in her youth. She pressed Sally’s shoulder harder trying to make Sally turn around and face her.

“Yeah, I can feel you,” grumbled Sally. “What is it?”

“Why are you so cold?” said her mother quietly. “Is there anything wrong?” Sally didn’t speak, so the woman became restless. “Why don’t you look at me?” She pressed Sally’s shoulder harder.

The girl jerked out of her mother’s grip and hissed, “I don’t know what you mean. Go away.”

“Liana has been here looking for you. Why don’t you go see her?” asked the mother, groping for something to say to make her daughter available again. Sally trembled slightly, but she just shrugged her cold shoulders and shook her head, “I don’t care. Please, leave me alone – I’ve got a project to finish.”

Her mother let go of her shoulder, looked around helplessly and left the room. Sally waited for a while to be sure that her mother has left, then stirred. She tried to move her left hand and pushed the chair away from her desk.  The curtains had done slightly apart and through that crevice a tiny shaft of sunlight came. Sally moved in its way, dragging the chair on its wheels. She could see the left side of her face reflected in the mirror on the wardrobe. Totally frozen. As was the entire left side of her body. “What’s wrong with me?” she thought and suddenly remembered her mother’s touch on her left shoulder. “Who was she? And what did she do to me?” Her eyes widened in fear. Was she… Did she…

Sally stiffened and started to remember… How long has she stayed in front of her computer? When did she last see anybody around this place? Or go out of the twilight room, for that matter? Memory twilight got denser and heavier, as the stiffness overwhelmed the bright afternoon. No birds, or children’s shrieks, could cut through.

© 2012 Mariya Koleva