Nuns And Sunflowers

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Nuns And Sunflowers
(My tribute to Fellini.)

A long afternoon spent
in a field of ripe sunflowers
my faded picnic blanket
a magic carpet.

The ultraviolet rays
sing my body a warm lullaby
my hands stop worrying
at the worn threads of my mind
as goldenrod heads gently nod
in blissful agreement above me
nature doing Fellini proud
(or is it just me?)

As the day settles into the heat
the visions start to fade
but before the spell is broken
I see myself surrounded
by nun’s in old habits
collecting seeds and planting sunflowers
(I am not alone.)

My last thought of course
like a hummingbird’s sweet kiss
settles on you.

© Rebecca Sanchez 2017

Written for my friends at Poets United seeking the extraordinary from the ordinary and my tribute to Fellini. Also shared for open link at dVerse~Poets Pub. Artwork animated by me.

Tuesday Lost

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Tuesday Lost

I woke up this Tuesday
it was foggy and gray
local news was boring
my cat was snoring
nobody around
there was not a sound
so I looked outside
as I tried to decide
just what I could do
on a day so blue.

Coffee broke my fast
but that didn’t last
fatigued to doom
I retired to my room
I picked up a book
to take a look,
“Beware,” it read,
“this will go to your head.”

I woke up this Tuesday
instead, it was Wednesday
just around dawn
as time had crept on
a most tedious day
literally slept away.

© Rebecca Sanchez 2015

Sharing this poem from the past with Imaginary Garden With Real Toads on a Tuesday much like the one I wrote about in 2015. Photography of San Francisco under the weather by Gary Lo.

I want to ride my bike but the weather has been foggy and very windy for days on end. I anxiously wait for the wind to calm down in the mornings so I can enjoy my rides. Biking on the San Francisco Bay trails is a real downer when riding for miles into the wind.

The Boom Boom Boom

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The Boom Boom Boom

I feel the bass
############EXPLODING
through my body
###############with the boom
#########boom
###############boom.

As the electric guitar
##################SCREAMS
#######over the notes
of the opening song.

The music SMELLS
#####like an alleyway
in San Francisco

####where you get a BUZZ
########just by passing by.

The people stand
#####in lines
############waiting
at the venue
and the music
#############SPILLS
#################outside
into the streets.

So
#####singular
and beautiful
############the notes

#####as they CASCADE

 

###############down.

Bouncing
#########off the buildings
with the bass
############EXPLODING
########with the boom
##boom
########boom.

© Rebecca Sanchez 2013

Photography by Lorenzo Montezemolo. An old poem I wrote about a place I used to live and love shared with my friends at Poets United.

Vanishing Act

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Vanishing Act

She could never keep her feet on the ground
she preferred her head above the clouds
daydreams taking her far away
leaving the cruel world behind
to others, just an empty shell
but on the inside…

She could never understand her fate
born free only to become enslaved
told when and how to feel
how to act and what to do and say
a second class citizen with a womb
expected to be a selfless caretaker of others
as if one job that pays less than a man isn’t enough.

She could never find peace in vacations
everywhere she went was the same
people controlling and questioning
lines of strangers greedy and pushing
draining her money and energy
not that any amount could unshackle her.

She could never breakout of her prison
returning to a home that wasn’t hers
“things” that belonged more than she did
a life she couldn’t bear for another instant
the heavy weight of it took her breath away
her heart crushed like so much stardust.

She could never commit suicide
despite her unhappiness with it all
so enthralled by the heavens that night
she made a decision to travel once more
plucking the evening star to wear in her hair
she decorated her robe with the milky way
wearing the rings of Saturn as her crown
a sliver of moon topped her scepter
finally, all the universe was hers alone.

Daydreams taking her far away
never, never to return.

© Rebecca Sanchez 2015/2017

An old poem reworked with my animation from Magpie Tales and shared with Imaginary Garden Of Real Toads. This is about women and some of the thoughts we may share about being born a woman in a man’s world. Some of us may dream of vanishing but we all know that there’s more to life. Going crazy (or suicide) is not the answer but I feel for the women who can’t deal and hope they find the help they need.

Impressions Of A View

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Impressions Of A View

A base of periwinkle blue
covered with thick strokes of indigo
with smudges of power blue,
a proposal.

I accept…
watching the colors
changing hues
as they run together
catching the last rays
of light at gloaming
swirling and glowing.

Ample spring green
splashed with light green
streaks of amber
applied on top
with banana yellow
layered in bitter lime
wet colors intermingling.

A base of bistre brown
covered in burlywood
with thick almond accents
dashes of citron here and there
along with dandelion yellow
covering the ground.

A few slate gray lines
with dark greens
hinting at boundaries
between tree and landscape
an impression soon washed out
by the black of night.

© Rebecca Sanchez 2017

This is my animation (no name.)

We are to paint a poem like an impressionist. Written with my friends at dVerse~Poets Pub.

A Different View

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A Different View

The rain falls on my canopy
a pitter-patter so serene
time gets lost inside these woods
where everything is mossy green.

Once the storm has taken hold
illuminating the darkening sky
animals escape to their cozy dens
they run for cover, but not I.

I drink deeply of this gift
rainy weather won’t phase me
I patiently wait for the sun’s return
to grow into a bigger tree.

© Rebecca Sanchez 2017

The art is mine called Magic Forest. Covering prompts 2 and 3, with Imaginary Garden Of Real Toads and shared with Poets United.

Yesterday

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Yesterday

We stayed in the playhouse
that my dad built me
in the backyard near the lilac bushes
that summer in Indiana
sleeping bags on camping cots
we huddled around cold popcorn
drinking Coca-cola
under flashlights in the dark
listening to Beatles 45’s
on the portable turntable
telling ghost stories
giggling through the night
me and my friends on our own
yet tethered to the real world
by an umbilical extension cord
running from the playhouse
up to the kitchen window.

© Rebecca Sanchez 2017

The subject of nostalgia made me think about being a child in Michigan City, Indiana. I loved having friends stay in my playhouse in the backyard. One extension cord plug would give us power for the turntable or a light. We didn’t have cell phones, video games or much of anything yet but we had music and friendship.

The artwork is an experiment of mine called Time Warp.

Written with Poets United and shared with dVerse~Poets Pub.