Misted Mindset

it was a quiet hillside; he considered it
a place of worship where ghosts gathered
to swarm the edges of the bog like a hasty fog
the exact consistency of a pea green slurry.
patches of  clarity would spill unbidden
into sharp and defined visions. he saw what
he wanted to see. nothing more
© JPW – 2013

The SUNDAY WHIRL – Wordle #128

Painted Lady's Lament - Memories

Her father called her Kat, always with tenderness. From the time she was in the cradle, Catherine was her father’s angel. He doted over her and protected her. When Catherine was three, he had taken her to the county fair; a good ol’ country girl who loved the animals and the simplicity of life. She told stories about how she loved peering into the animal tents to watch them munching on apples and corn. But she also remembered seeing other things, secret things the “carnie” teens did exploring their youth and each other. But she had sent those memories into exile. When her father had died, Catherine’s mother became unhinged. Her spirits plummeted and a tension had built between mother and daughter. This angst clawed at Kat’s heart and left her a ravaged heap of humanity; a pile of confusion – she lost her father and was losing her mother. When she turned eighteen, the memories of those young people in the animal tents haunted her. Catherine made the rash decision to find her comfort elsewhere, in the arms of strangers. She called herself Kit, a bastardization of her father’s love. That’s all everything had become now!

Her loss brought her pain.

Nothing could ease her struggle.

That was her first clue.

© JPW – 2013

Painted Lady's Lament - Part I

The SUNDAY WHIRL – Wordle #127

Painted Lady's Lament

She was born Catherine. A brunette of beauty and style and a smile that could melt hearts. But her confidence existed only in theory. The memory becomes a bit blurry. In her day, she played in their line of vision; a vixen, vivacious and classy and a bit too sassy for her own good. Would she be that sweet young (never innocent) creature again, her life would be vibrant once more. But a friend once told her, “Don’t sell yourself short!”. Deep inside, she believed she shouldn’t have been selling herself at all! Now, this was the life she had chosen. She stood frozen and cold, scantily dressed; sumptuous and manipulative, she could give them her eyeteeth, just to take their cash and valuables. Instead she found it easier to slather these ego-maniacal “johns” with faint praise just to get a rise out of them. Girls like her stayed single. Dreams of the picket fence never entered her ravaged heart; her thoughts remained vacuous. She starts to tear up at the recollection, staining her violet swatch of a frock with saline.

She spreads herself thin.
A slave to all who could pay;
she had one ma$ter!

© JPW – 2013

The SUNDAY WHIRL – Wordle #126

Without a Clue

Vivacious Vivian, vacuous, vibrant and voluptuous!
She was very “blonde” and still a vision
for sore eyes and tired libidos.
Her breath smelled of Fritos and Mojitos
and her violet eyes gave Liz Taylor a run
for her money. It was funny that she
(of the sumptuous rump and short attention span)
could make a man slather her with baubles.
Although quite continental, she made them mental
with her sassy and manipulative demeanor.
She served no single master.
Vivian liked to spread herself around!


© JPW – 2013

The SUNDAY WHIRL – Wordle #126

In The Order of Bailey

Walking along the snow covered avenue,

George had a time remembering things the way they were.

So much had come to change around Bedford Falls!

The whole episode seemed a lifetime ago in another dimension.

The magic of that night had faded since the intrigue

of Old Man Potter’s deception was put to rest.

It was a shame the town folk chose to pummel

the infirm codger,  sending him to his own potter’s field.

Clarence used to answer the bell every time,

but since getting his wings, things were different.

Now Bailey knew he was truly on his own.

No longer the center of attention, George Bailey

had learned the hard way that life was indeed wonderful,

and he was more than OK with it.

We all pay a price for the lives we lead,

and love stains deeply if we only let it!

© JPW 2013

The SUNDAY WHIRL – Wordle # 125

Gutenberg's Dilemma

Some said Johannes had a hole in his head,

well hidden by his floppy hat.

It was a matter of time before sparks would fly

and the public would come to doubt his process

(which held little sway with the monks

who would shoot their mouths off while

slaving over their hot feathery quills). Still,

his press would revolutionize the way

information was spread, relegating

hand scribing to a lost art. Surely, printing

had its flaws early on! The pages stayed wet

and smudged by the inky residue on Gutenberg’s

hands. Experiments with scarlet pigments gave

his pages a splash of color. And soon, Johannes’

“press” was close to working like a well-oiled machine.

Gutenberg’s quandary was this: should he call

his contraption a true printing press or a real screw job?

The SUNDAY WHIRL – Wordle # 124