Guacamole Rose

https://lightmotifs.wordpress.com/2019/03/08/three-things-challenge-pl23/

Today’s prompt: charisma, guacamole, rose

Guacamole Rose had charisma, ask anyone…

She could roll her hips as fine as tortillas

Her black hair was waterfall at midnight

Full lips, painted kissable hue, beamed

Smiles for all who came through door

Hungering for plate of enchiladas…

“More chips?  I’ll bring you, pronto!”

Construction workers were daily

Customers, best tippers by far, and

Smitten, young or old…she was fantasy.

The boss kept count: two or three

Marriage proposals each week.

But Rose held heart open for one

True love only… by day she

Might flirt innocently, but each

Night she prayed the rosary…for

Fiancé…they were pledged to marry

And he’d be back one day.

Nothing but war, death would deter him…

That’s what he’d promised and she believed.

His letters had slowed, then stopped recently

…Surely he’d return someday…

©Ennle Madresan, 2019 ~ All rights reserved.

Image: Pixabay.com

Scapegoat’s Notes

https://sundaywhirl.wordpress.com/2019/03/03/wordle-393/

Would that you might have

Deleted the day I was born

Before my eyes could focus

And see the truth in yours…

That you never loved me.

In every “love ya” printed on

A birthday note, I heard a liar

Making poor pretense of being Mom…

You were maternally corrupt

Smug in your superiority as the adult.

You called me stupid, naive, as though

Your bitter cynicism, disillusionment

Regret for irrevocable choices made

Were medals to be coveted…I think

You envied my chances not yet taken.

You mocked everything about me…

In particular, my hope that there

Was more ahead of me in life

Than the role of your scapegoat.

You despised me with a fire beyond

Passion’s cool describing and belief

By others…consummate actress

Outside our home, none of your peers

Would catch you in act of cruelty…nor

Dad, who kept you on delusive pedestal.

But there was a Witness…the One who matters.

I didn’t need to send God a memo

Sixty-some years later He’s still

Picking up the pieces of young soul

You shattered over and over…and

Pasting me together again and again.

©Ennle Madresan, 2019 ~ All rights reserved.

Image: Pixabay.com

Portcullis of Peace (#writephoto)

Thursday photo prompt: Invitation #writephoto

Coming upon the entrance, I nearly wept.

Breathing became less constricted, peace

Settling upon and lifting my shoulders.

I’d feared never to reach such a place

Yearned so long for sanctuary.

The trees were idyllically still, as

Though even birds were resting.

I didn’t know what was next, what

Specifically I’d find inside the gates…

But it had to be more wonderful in its

Cloistered calm than prior arduous

Decades…making my way through

Tortuous labyrinth of dreaded demands

Soul-suffocating compromises—never

Measuring up to expectations; and

Murky secrets lurking behind eyes which

Held no luster, affection…only lies, wariness.

Childhood should be a nest of nurturing

A glad time—not an unscripted madness

Coolly denied, if one is fool enough to

Ask steely penetrating questions.

Here, remnants of insanity would

Slide away, a mist…reveal untapped

Imagination, bear vibrant results.

If there were ghosts, they’d be benign

Announced by wind chimes, angelic

Beings assigned to guard sleeping

And waking…as words danced with ideas

A magical choreography, the patterns then

Woven in rich-flossed tapestries of tales.

Surely here, rain dripped tenderness upon

Flourishing gardens’ fragrant flowers…

And seasons would fall gracefully

Onto calendar pages held kindly

In God’s Sovereign hand…for

His covenant blessings come late

To some—delayed, not denied—

Fulfilling faithful hearts’ longing.

©Ennle Madresan, 2019 ~ All rights reserved.

February’s Winter

You know those days when you’re

Convinced you’ve gotten away easy

Dodged one of Life’s bullets?

There’s a mix of gratitude for faith proven

And complacency; a delicious sweet relief

An almost giddy joy ready to rise and

Percolate through your marrow…

And then “it” happens.

IT was merely “winter”…in my relatively

Temperate neighborhood (Pacific NW, USA).

We’d had no white Christmas, January

Had skated by without snowfall or

Hazardous ice to ratchet up my fear of

Falling, keep me housebound… And perhaps

Some instinct had moved my slow bones

To stock the larder anyway, and catch up

The laundry, which requires going outside to

The separate building housing our facilities.

I was enjoying the happy peace of any

Accomplishments ageing has not yet stolen;

Eager to cook a pot of creamy potato soup

With bacon, and settle into another

Patricia Highsmith novel… “Ripley”, her

Sly-scheming character who can escape

All but suspicion from multiple murders!

I’d paid no mind to the forecasts of

Possible snow…there had been nary a

Cloud, and temps remained comfortable

For this fat-insulated body.

Habit of curiosity, I glanced out the

Bedroom window, and oh…such a sight:

Belated Christmas card’s winter wonderland

Delight (my quite uncharacteristic response).

Silent snow, meringue-whipped white, fell

With determination of workers pressing

Toward deadline, the boss’s frown leaning

Weighty shadow over their shoulders.

For several days the sky was a burst

Bag of sugar spilling winter, undeniably

Pretty as it accumulated soft, heavy

Bringing normal activity for many to a halt:

Traffic, a horror; schools, workplaces closed.

Yet, soon I was itchy to take my chances—

Abandoning year-round sandals, I hunted

Packed away boxes for shoes with some

Semblance of tread.  I donned gloves

Pioneer attitude, grabbed cane and bested

The hill for “just in case” groceries.

It was challenging for most—our area

Isn’t well prepared, experienced with

Snowfall:  the county plows roads

And dumps their work onto sidewalks

Blocking some residential driveways.

Thus, pedestrians had to manage mute

Mountains of muddy sand-mixed snow.

There wasn’t garbage pick-up, no one

Could get in or out of our parking lot.

As melting began the cycle of

Slush-turned-to-ice-melt-freezing again

I congratulated myself for not submitting

To panic, depression in chilled isolation.

I mourned only the single silly cherry

Tree which every year puts out blooms

Too early, then freezes… And laughed at

Intrepid high-stepping crows.

Brief flurries teased last Sunday’s dawn…

But surely the surprising, sparkling

White wonderland is over for this year 🙂.

©Ennle Madresan, 2019 ~ All rights reserved.

Image: Pixabay.com