A flash of light!

Whimsical Wednesday

I have this thing for gypsies. I don't know. But I like 'em. So here's a short poem about one of them and me.

I met a gypsy along my way. He said, "Hey little girl, would you like to play?"
With no hesitation or fear in my heart, I lept for great joy and jumped onto his cart.
His wagon was filled with most sparkly things, red stones, pretty scarves, magical wings.
I asked the gypsy, "If ever he flew?" The answer that followed was mostly untrue.
With a gleam in his eye he turned back to the road and steered the great wagon and its magical load.
I crept near to the wings, for they glimmered with shine. I touched them, caressed them, and wished they were mine.
I heard music, great music. Song filled my mind, I never heard the gypsy creep up from behind. The wings shook and fluttered as though they would fly, but it was too late once I heard a deep sigh.
I was pushed with a force to the edge of that floor and would have fallen right out for there wasn't a door,
But the flutters and glitter and sputters, and magic, attached to my shoulders and saved me from tragic.
I flew from the wagon, into the great sky, leaving that gypsy without a goodbye.
I flew and I flew, and I never came down, because gypsies abide in any old town.
If you're thinking I lie, just look deep in my eyes -
Not a sign that I'm tipsy when I speak of the gypsy.

"The Edge... there is no honest way to explain it because the only people who really know where it is are the ones who have gone over.” H.S.Thompson

Pull me back from that which I step too close.

If I must, better to go over than to lose.

Being that of reason; straight and cutting.

Live on.

my chest rises and falls out of grace
evil smears calamity in recess
my conscience is reason light, alibi tight
i gulp tempest thoughts and finger the wrong fight
my whitewash tongue sings peace and songs of freedom
scattered seed and flowing rivers wild
it is the wrong season, a misinterpreted night
i taste your tempest thoughts and point to failing sight
a salty sea swallows our right
my starry starry night deceives me

Exude Christ and walk away from me forever.

"When I get this feeling it's hard for me..."

It sucks that I'm sad and that you don't have to deal with it. All you have to do is sign off.

If I really said what I thought, you couldn't take it.

You're so snarky, but you're fragile and I would hurt you.

And I care about that.

And that makes me want to hurt you more.

There is no such thing as a stupid question.

"What happens when it snows?" I ask.

Pennsylvania bred - Southern by the grace of God answers,

"Depending on the balance of surface temperature and latent heat of the ground, the snow may stick or it may melt on contact. This is the technical answer.

The more practical answer is: people will lose their collective minds. Bread and milk will be completely gone from grocery store shelves, Kmart will sell out of snow chains (even though they will simply stay in the box as they sit in the car trunk until grandchildren find them years from now and ask Poppy what these are), and everyone driving in front of me will cautiously proceed at 7 mph—until I change lanes. Then they’ll gun it, spin out of control, and regain traction once they spin into my lane.

This….is what happens if it snows."

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