Through a Child’s Eyes

© http://www.waiming.com

Simple morning chores all done
she was drawn by the metallic tinkle.

To a jingle-jangle of sound
which echoed so clear.
It was sweet, sweet
music to her ears.

Such a beautiful noise
drowned the gurgling sound
of water swirling at her feet.

The chimes were not placed
there through error though.
As with most of the small
Himalayan village
her papa is a fisherman
and he’d placed them
there to please the Gods.

To ask them for their blessings.

In awe
…she hesitates
wishing so to own.
To covet their music-bringing-joy

but,

as if to show displeasure
at being thought a toy
to her surprise
a sudden gust arrives
and blows the chimes just
out of the young child’s reach.

shaken by this
to vindicate herself of
anymore such selfish thought
of ownership
she gives thanks instead for their sharing
and offers a silent prayer.

~*~

© Daydreamertoo           *All rights reserved

The prompt by Dani today at Poetry Jam was to use art/painting for our inspiration.
I wanted to write something to do with Tibetan wind chimes and, Googling it came across this artist’s stunning work. He has so many lovely paintings at his website.
Wai Ming

Shared with Three Word Wednesday: CCLXXIV Jingle, Error, Vindicate
Poetry Jam Painting a picture with words

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Of Gods and men

They
(whoever they are)
say we live at least four or five
different lives
on this beautiful planet.

Each time we come back
we return to enable our souls
to repair our prior mistakes
Our sins, our damage to others
which is why we sometimes
go through Deja Vu

We come back to reach a higher level
of spirituality in order
for us to eventually return
to the Prime Creator

back to the
‘I am’
of which we are all
one small part.

When Gods and men lived
side by side
I guess we knew their source
The fountain of all knowledge
and we wanted a share in it too
to understand the magic
they could do

And,

I always knew I’ve loved you before
another time, another place
for I recognised your soul.

Soul mates see through the mist

…clearly.

The ache is soothed
with time’s healing balm
through all the setting suns
yet,
there is new love to
discover too which
awaits the lucky ones

So if it’s you

Choose again

and,

choose well.

~*~

© Daydreamertoo *All rights reserved

Shared with dVersePoets OpenLinkNight #46
Poets United Pantry #100

Live Your Dreams

Life is
the long and winding road.

Sands of time
ever moving
shift once again
offering new direction.

Untied hair blows with
the winds of change.
Just the slightest breeze
but enough to tease those
tresses from their
sleepless rest.

She vowed a thousand kisses deep
to keep passion’s flow alive within
the core of her being
in the living stream.

A hand reaches
to brush a cheek
….tenderly
with love.

Smiles cover the sting with a
soothing balm of unspoken knowing.

A sea of sky
stretched arms out wide
before my eyes
as if Heaven’s awake to my needs
there is no sacrifice to
high a price for love
and,

if you want to be a hero
you have to live your dreams.

~*~

© Daydreamertoo *All rights reserved

Shared with
Carry on Tuesday#157 Prompt: The Long and Winding Road
With Real Toads Open Link Monday

Separate Lives

Image © Edward Hopper House At Dusk

Sun slinks low to the horizon
giving leave for darker shades
of dusk to arrive.

Trees rustle their conversations
with all manner of inhabitants
muted, to suit the dying of light.

The steps take us up into
another world.
One where,
we may not wish to go in
the dead of night
but, the street lamp
offers a quiet glow of courage.

Light plays across cold-stone walls
of the old house
somehow
softening their intimidating depth.

If walls could talk
what would they say about those
hearts they’ve known?

For all its rooms the house
is empty
save a woman, who waits.

Maybe she has always been
isolated in that one room
looking at its four walls but peeking
at the world outside every now and then

just as we all tend to live in our separate boxes
leading our own separate lives.

~*~

© Daydreamertoo *all rights reserved

*I wanted this to be a bit on the dark side because the painting seems somewhat dark and lonely too.

Shared with Magpie Tales #119 Edward Hopper House at Dusk Painting.

Pearl

Always a free thinking spirit
trapped within a nacre cocoon of
out-dated, austere rules
she had no choice but to obey
but, longed for more than the old wives tales
burnished into her memory.

Barnacles covered everything. Eventually
leaving all surfaces, brittle, flinty and
prone to easily cut into the softest
of soft flesh.

Suddenly the water was churning
…gurgling
as if there were a storm approaching.

It had been rough many times before
but this, somehow was different.

She felt a sharp scrape along her lips
tongue, chalk dry now from fear
as light came flooding in.

It was all a blur as she was
lifted high then
dipped back into the water
Naked now
completely drenched

and,

the little pearl
was born.

~*~

© Daydreamertoo *All rights reserved

*I was going to write about a mermaid but then thought it might be a little quirky to write what a pearl’s thoughts might be.  lol

Shared with The Sunday Whirl #58

Roll up Roll up


We came for all the rides.
Not much money in our pockets
but it was all so much cheaper
back then too.
A couple of quid (pounds)
got us plenty of those and
maybe some candy floss too.

There were boat swings
and chair planes
ghost trains to ride
a Ferris wheel to sit atop
(and get stuck when it broke down)
if you felt so inclined.

The bumper cars were fun
yeah,
I was fourteen and so sure I could drive
(not)
right into the front, back and sides
of anyone in the way.

The switchback, the waltzer, I hated those
the carousel was a bore but the side stalls
excited, especially the guns.
Oh, how I loved to shoot those pellet guns
at the little metal men, knock them all down
win another free go and off I’d go again.
Even with their sights all bent
(just to make it harder to win)
somehow, I always won.
Don’t think they liked me much
but then, I walked away with a big fluffy
teddy bear so, I didn’t care.

Used to feel so sorry for the goldfish
tied up in plastic bags, no air to breath
nowhere to move, hung up in heat all day.

The darts, the hoops, the plastic ducks
all waiting to be hooked.

The noise, the music, the screams
the joy all carried on the air.

The smell of hot dogs and fried onions
burgers, fish and chips
along with
pink and white candy floss on sticks
and toffee apples
upon which to break our teeth.

The rain that came and never left
’till every step we took was mud
and we’d end up caked in it all
covered in the stuff
swearing we’d never come back
and yet
there we were as soon as the fair
showed up in town once more.

~*~

© Daydreamertoo *All rights reserved

*Pics are all Google images

Shared with dVersePoets Poetics: The Fair

Honour

Honour
(to me)
is has always been
agreeing to disagree
respectfully.

Honour
(to me)
is not wanting to fight
and force my beliefs on anyone
who doesn’t share the same view.

Honour
(to me)
is honesty, trust and being
truthful in all things.

Honour
(to me)
is being kind, compassionate, caring
of everyone because, we all have hearts
that ache from callous words or deeds.

Honour
(to me)
was in serving my country
appreciating all who have served
and, fallen. Those who still serve
to protect our freedom to have a
point of view and not have to fight
for the right to express it.

Freedom is not free.
It has to be fought for and won by those
with the courage to make it happen.

Honour
(to me)
walks hand in hand, side by side
with faith, hope and love.

Always.

~*~

© Daydreamertoo *All rights reserved

*We spell honor with a U (honour)

Shared with Poets United Think Tank #98 Honor