Lit Up — April’s Prompt: Distraction

Photo by Anandan Anandan

There’s a ‘drip, drip’ coming from the sink, that I haven’t fixed, it’s been some time, but that sink is my mind and that ‘drip’ is the ‘drip, drip’ of things slipping, I keep tripping over time (or is it space?) I can’t keep a handle on this place, it’s all moving too fast, but that ‘all’ includes me, I’m allowing this perpetuation, this constant noise, consumerization of everywhere you look, ‘eat, EAT’ it’s this mantra on repeat, (cause just stopping isn’t a choice), (not doing anything isn’t a choice), apathy won’t give you a voice, what they want you…


free verse

Fully present, I,
Taking in vibrations,
movements.
Eyes shine, mouth wrinkles.

Do I take this for granted? Am I really truly
present? Would I listen more if I knew, for a time
this is the last time, I would meet someone new?

Pressure heavy, people to feed.
Keep the mood light, wrestle with carts
filled high with lunches for hungry humans,
hearts wrested to a cause,
together united.

What times are these? When a body you love,
a community you hold dear feels pain
you draw near. Throw yourself
forward, and in, lift them high,
on weak arms but willing bones.

Flung from humanity.
Isolated, yes. But still there is connection…
not skin by skin, or hand on hand.
Voice by voice, screen by screen,
share by share, word by word.

And it brings life still…

Love and Listen well.
Take not for granted.


Photo by Samuel Yongbo Kwon on Unsplash

Tenuous thread moving through the eye of the needle meant for me. For the hole in my blue jeans, a small spot not as strong, more compressed, feeling the pressure so much more than the rest of her sisters, those fibers and threads woven tightly together til the weight was too great and a kneel gave way to a widening chasm torn asunder.

‘I can help you mend it’, come the gentle words from my mother. On my own I don’t quite know just how I’d sew it shut. Jeans must come off, wrenched inside-out. Deft strokes follow, back and forth: armed with courage, built up by love, kissed with kindness. Slowly the hole becomes smaller, before it disappears. But still it must be treated gently, more tenderly.

Sometimes the mind is like blue jeans.


Free verse

Copyright © 2021 Ellie Brooke

Stillness, sigh.
Oh that my longing could be
contained in a word.
Would the word be too heavy to hold?

Maybe by I…but by We?

My singular strength being weak,
sometimes completely deplete-ted,
So would your You
be enough
for me too?


from a twenty-something whose looking for it too.

Photo by lucas Favre on Unsplash

The day that I realized I couldn’t remember how much student debt I was in, had no idea how much money was leaving my account each month for automatic bill payments, and whether or not I actually had enough money to stop and get that coffee before work…was the day I decided enough was enough, and sat down to take stock of my finances. These are a few steps that have helped me feel just a little more in control, a little more financially savvy, and even helped to make a little extra money. (***Disclaimer: I am not a financial…


Free verse

Copyright © 2020 Ellie Brooke

The sun, it calms
my heart
and soothes my tender mind,
as I sit and soak
the rays into
my skin.
Like a plant, I’m addicted,
convicted by,
and bound
to the photosynthesis,
all the premises
of my life bent
on one job:
Converting light energy
carefully
to chemical energy,
like mitochondria
but with the sun.


Free verse

image created by author

Air fills lungs, as breath comes deep.
Sweet oxygen for a moment replacing my need for sleep.
Loud minds, louder than a thousand out-loud voices
condemning my choices in the day-to-day.

Stop!

Stillness…sigh…

I feel. Hear nothing.

This is what Earth feels like: cool and wet,
letting my back sink into it, my hair unkempt.
Sloppy kiss of affirmation,
that all my fears and consternation matter not.

This is what Sun feels like: warm and wise,
placing a kiss on my tired eyes. ‘Be still’, she says…
just like her Maker.
A Giver, not a Taker.
Warm love, exposing light.

Here I lie.

On the Earth and in the Sun.

Still. Silent. Sigh.

Listening.

Ellie Brooke

Poetry inspired by nature and the inner-wrestling. Prose in pursuit of living well. Learning how to ‘be’. Find me at: wilderword.com

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