0 Sevenling (I remember)

I remember the smell of fresh popped popcorn,
frogs flipping onto lily pads but mostly into water,
and the evil looking clowns drinking from water guns.

I wish to forget the sound of the organ grinder,
the sound of coins clinking against metal, and
the feel of being shot.  But not the lesson learned.

Never trust a monkey wearing a top hat carrying a pocketbook.

---

yet again i toy with the sevenling and the elusive 'power of three'.  i truly thought i had left this form behind.  i realize i own this form much thanks; it is the form that got me started in the exploration of different forms.  but still have my reservations about the rules.  anyway here is my attempt at a more 'mysterious, offbeat, disturbing effort.  inspiration for toying with this form again came from Poetic Asides' challenge.  inspiration for the content came from a time long ago when i was a teen creating my first profile.  it asked for a quote and while i'd guessed they were looking for something well-known, i came up with my own.  it follows me to this day and can be found at the footer of this blog.

0 drawings

She spread the crumpled coffee stained paper out on the table in front of her.  Tears began to swim in her eyes.  Everyday for the past six weeks she had sat here and barely noticed him.  She was too absorbed in her work to even look up from the papers that were always scattered about the table.  When he first approached her to ask to borrow her sugar, she had mindlessly grabbed the container off the table and handed it to him without once looking up.  That had been the first week she had missed him.  The following week he had come over and picked up a piece of paper that she hadn't even realized she had dropped.  She barely took her eyes off her work, her gaze only reaching high enough to see his outstretched hand.  It wasn't until the third week that she had actually looked at him.  He had bumped into her on her way in.  She had barely been able to keep her grasp of the papers and binders she carried.  His voice caught her as he apologized.  She stood puzzled staring at his profile and then retreating form as he made his way out of the door.  The whole walk to the table she racked her mind trying to figure out why his voice had sounded so familiar.  It wasn't until the next week that she found out.  He came over to her table and asked to borrow the empty chair.  The voice registered once again and her brain finally kicked into gear.  For the first time she looked up and saw him, truly saw him.  Her voice caught in her throat, her heart fluttered in her chest, and her mind for the first time in months went completely blank forgetting the work that lay constantly spread in front of her.  She had smiled and nodded, unable to find her voice.  For the next two weeks she found herself unable to do work.  Everyday she did her best to come in, spread out her papers and notes, and pretend like she was engrossed in her work.  He plagued her mind.  She casually watched him out of the corner of her eye and became a perpetual klutz in the hopes that he might once again pick up something she dropped.  Nothing seemed to work.  He simply sat there scribbling or doodling or drawing or something on the paper in front of him.  As inconspicuously as possible she watched him.  Everyday his hand would fly across the paper, he'd drink his coffee, and then crumple the paper up, throw it away and leave.  After two weeks of watching, curiosity finally got the best of her.  She waited a good ten minutes before she got up to throw something away and casually took out his crumpled piece of paper.  She walked back to the table with the paper tucked in the palm of her hand resting against her leg so no one might notice.  Then she pretended to work again for a couple of minutes, her irrational thinking that she shouldn't open it up right away in case anyone noticed and was watching her.  She stared at the drawing.  Her hand reached out gingerly to trace the lines of the face that stared back at her.  She bit her bottom lip to keep the tears and the emotions that were suddenly bombarding her at bay.  So engrossed was she, she didn't notice the cafe employee standing next her.  "I think this one is his best by far."  She looked up at the employee.  "He draws everyday he's here.  The rest of the staff and I have been collecting them.  We have them hanging in the break room if you want to see."  She opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out.  She nodded and stood.  He led her back behind the counter through the kitchen into a small room.  There covering the surface of the walls were dozens of drawings.  She gazed from one to the next.  It didn't take long for her to realize they were in chronological order.  Holding the drawing she had skimmed from the trash next to the first, she marveled at how much the face had changed.  The emotions depicted in the first verses the last were so spot on and complete polar opposites.  With the crumpled drawing in hand, she went around the room holding it next to each image.  It didn't take long to spot the change.  She knew exactly what day that picture had been drawn and was entranced by how well the emotions were captured.  She stepped back from the walls and moved toward the door where she could take it all in as a whole.  The employee, gathering that she was done, spoke, "I admit I always thought it a shame that you never noticed."  She just shook her head as almost four dozen pairs of her own eyes stared back at her.

0 Sevenling (I came across)

I came across a receipt in the hamper,
change rattling about in the washing machine,
and a twenty dollar bill in the lint trap.

I turned myself around searching
for my lost marbles, my misplaced lip balm,
and my elusive car keys.  "Where else can I look?"

Aside from the keys in the fridge, I really should check my pockets.

---

keys in the fridge?  i had thought to leave them in the door, but that was too obvious...the fridge is a trick my dad uses when he needs to remember to take something from the fridge to work with him...i know for a fact they're sitting in there right now next to the lamb.

so this is my third attempt at constructing a sevenling.  this is the first attempt that feels somewhat successful.  the whole "power of three" has be a bit befuddled (i really wanted to use that word...it's on my list with gobbledygook and bamboozled as fun words to say...anyway as i was saying...a bit befuddled), but that is a rambling for another day.  this particular post was inspired by Poetic Asides' Wednesday Prompt, as well as it's challenge.  

4 BETS

BETS
wagers
high stake risks

dabbling with bookies
a debt I need now pay
with money or utter pain

"gambling can lead to lean pockets"

---

i decided to dabble a bit more with poetic form.  this turned out to be a very lean clarity pyramid.  after much back and forth with the initial triplet, i uttered a sigh of relief as i counted out the last eight syllables.  this post was inspired by Three Word Wednesday [3WW=dabble, lean, utter].

0 love, hope and lonely

"at last / my love has come along / my lonely days are over / and life is like a song"

i don't sing, yet somehow these words continue to plague me;  luckily there is no one around as i belt them out.  maybe it's the desire that seems to be torturing me as of late.  i want my 'at last'.

i want to experience love...genuine reciprocated love.  it need to last; it could be fleeting; i just want to know that it's possible...that it exists.

i still carry hope within my heart.  i've lied to myself about being resigned to the inevitable; i'm not.  not yet, at least.  hope seems to be relentless; like a bad cold that won't go away.  odd that i'd wish it to go away.  but hope leaves you wide open to disappointment, loss, and pain.  i really don't need anymore of those things in my life.  i wish there was a cure, a little pill you could take to make it go away.  but what would life be like without hope.

i'm not ready to give up.  i'm not ready to resign myself to the possibility of nothing.  would it be easier to give it up if i knew the alternative was possible...if i were to experience the alternative no matter how brief?  if you know something is possible...if you achieve something...if you feel the accomplishment of something...do you need to repeat it?  i suppose i know the answer to that.  i suppose the answer will not be to my liking.

"at last / my love has come along / my lonely days are over / and life is like a song"

i get stuck on the word lonely.  i'm not sure if i find it or if it finds me that i'll be able to let it in.  lonely is a dear friend.  it is what i know.  it is who i am.  i'm not sure i can break up with lonely.

"but once you've learned to be lonely / and lonely is the only thing you've know / it begins to feel like home / it becomes your comfort zone"