ProsePetals's avatar
is the flowerpoet
202 Watchers101.2K Page Views219 Deviations
Dance of Seasons
Winter is past and Autumn is nigh… years and cycles turned over and on. Memories…wheels…rolling by, turning pages of a dusty diary, yellowed, worn… weathered, read again to remember, yearning for Summer, not soon enough yet to return to whose arms he ached, for whom he longed, where he belonged… but for those who remain, eternally too soon. Spring’s siren song a constant call, a melody only he could hear… a fragrance of jasmine and wisteria along Moon River, high heels sitting on the rear of an old MG, whispering mysteries into his ears. So now Summer’s reply has come – to the Snowdrop,
         Along the halls hung on the walls ~ faces, memories, seasons gone                          Summers, Winters, Springs, and Falls –                              Share the Story, Sing the Song.      Daughter of Spring, April's Child ~ she knows the storms that push along                          Greeting Summer with weather mild –                             Creating the melody of the Song.        Wife of Summer, June's Beloved ~ hand-in-hand and walk among                             Flowers, trees, and skies above –                            Sing of Spring and Summer's Song.           More than forty years have pass
Thirty-one years ago this past July twenty-third two girls, aged fourteen and fifteen, entered into the world of a story you've never heard... ...because they swallowed the names like a Coke on a hot summer day... ...because I swallowed everything, except for the one thing I gave away... ...because all they wanted was some fun since that is supposedly what girls just say...they... Cyndi belted out in that one... ...and Sheryl while drinkin' beer on Tuesday... a decade later. Tripping over ellipses, still tangled in parentheticals (like the fact 1988 is a halfway point). The twenty-ninth of May was just another day as we were on o
Shades of Blue and Purpose
Accidental Haiku
Ziplocked Enigmas
Twilight slipped behind the curtain of the day and I sipped a glass of wine - maybe two. Kismet and claret while I visited with you, every measured syllable, every forced pause, kept neat and trim. Clipped and pared into near engima, an effort made, though so unnecessary - relatively requisite in obscure but exquisite arrogance. Elegance sorely lacking as my patience wore thin - whittled away carelessly, the serrated edge tinged. Having dined on your mind, I developed mental kuru, ending up pebbled from the kiss of a dragonfly wingtip - nose to a hair, then away it flew. You cringed and recoiled, but I only whispered metered tru
Across the Sea
You never requested my friendship, but given it was, freely  – Strange yet welcomed amity My young friend across the sea. How were you to understand with my friendship comes complexity? Although offered without demand I give not myself to mediocrity… To you, I'm a puerile adult – too aged for fun… Spongebob Squarepants and other frilly things; In my mind, you're too old for one yet so young… fretting on politics and worldly happenings. Never have we met, and likely never will – Yet you challenge my philosophy… Questioning constantly my ideas and ideals, My young friend across the sea. The span of the ocean and that of our ye
Nature in Motion
Sapphire sky above— to the west, dusk a painting of crimson, magenta, orange and gold decorates the horizon. Fireflies twinkle erratically, dancing to a melody only they can hear… Squirrels frolic in the grass and in the trees… birds twitter about in the branches above. A perfect summer evening. To the east, ominous charcoal thunderheads roll in, threatening to banish the tranquil scene… The furries and feathers scurry to their hidey-holes… fireflies disappear into the shadows. The scent of ozone is carried in by an unexpected gush of wind, driven recklessly at a pulsating pace, violently whipping the grass and bowing the t
Anger Management
A bottle of carbonated anger shaken with the force of time eventually must release its pressure or face the risk of explosive force. It destroys all in its path – guilt or innocence of little concern. To some, this is of no concern, for they seldom experience anger. Walking on their carefree path measuring step-by-step in time, never pushed to rage by force – seemingly immune to external pressure. I'm not among those free from pressure. I know my fair share of concern. While rarely met head-on with force, my life is fermented in bottled anger – stewed and steamed and steeped in aging time, I spill periodically along my path


forty-two keys, zero doors (redux)
my love entered freely ...imperfectly... without condition too young, too naïve ...while wary... for long-known reasons unguarded directly believing in mutual bond ...for many seasons... misplaced trust was a planted seed come now to fruition this old soul behind these cold eyes clearly failed to recognize to distinguish between the few hard truths and the myriad soft lies compounded by silence ...of miles, years... of complex family ties the truth of small doses of pop-psychobabble armchair diagnosis ...ignores history... ...prices paid... though all paid their due only I paid mine for words that were spoken trust that w
  • Deviant for 15 years
Super Llama: Llamas are awesome! (27)
It's been a while. Hmmm. Welp, found the Box of Unpolished Stones, so that's something pertinent to this place. Maybe. Then again, hesitant to even post here anymore. *shrug*
From FB click to read OP, and to follow there, if you're so inclined. For those who don't wish to click through the above link: Back when ProsePetals was first conceived online (since she existed WELL before the internet), deleting journal entries (in dAt other place) was a common occurrence. Except I never *really* deleted most of them. I simply saved them and filed them away. Many of them would later be revised and shared in my personal blog...and in a few cases, in the WSE blog. Over in my personal blog, there are 976 entries dating back to August 21, 2009. In nine years, I've written nearly 1,000 blog entries (probably more, because th
It occurs to me that "daughter" and "laughter" should rhyme...were it not for the stupidity of English language conventions & pronunciations. Except..."dafter" isn't quite a compliment.


Join the community to add your comment. Already a deviant? Log In
thewolfcreekHobbyist Photographer
Thank you for the fav...
BernardumaineProfessional Traditional Artist
Thanks for faving :D
Happy New Year, Prosey!

Roy Sara Jane and Ceannt