The Hub Bubble Journal

He was the pied piper of dreams. Was the orchestra proud?! Tooting melodies serene; The orchestra sublime, glorious chorus bringing dusk, Pied proud glorious feathers of heavenly shades, Piper tooting chorus of beautiful birdsong velvet; Of melodies bringing heavenly birdsong in harmony, Dreams serene, dusk shades, velvet harmony ends. This challenge was to write a complete square poem of 7 lines x 7 words that display the same words vertically as well as horizontally, but forgiving of necessary punctuation, usually 24 hrs to complete. Absolute fun, not aimed to be a tongue twister though. I just couldn't bring myself to let go of this one. We do take for granted a lot of nature around us, maybe we don't even notice the birds a lot of the time, so to take time to recall the sounds and focus on not just how they make us feel but to bask in the wonder of how it must be for the birds ... to have this marvellous interaction with each other and create such beauty all around simply b...

 Silver embossed hairbrush is duplicated by the mirror its' laid upon for years, surrounded. Guided fingers gently trail around a regiment of trinkets, secrets carefully tucked away where loving eyes buried deeply treasured memories into pinewood dressing table drawer; softly lined with  delicate paper that once wore cascades of a fragrant rose; Pleated now and faded thin as tissue, fingertips breaking the fine layer of fluff causing its dispersal into the daylight rays projecting from the window to bounce each fleck of lint around the mirror, like tiny feathers lost from angel wings. Turning my head towards your picture the sunshine falls hard across my face.  There is no replacement for a person lost from us to this world but they shine through every part of our being. The warmth of a memory can live in any moment of our day.

  As far as an eye's stretch over the last lamb the flow of the heather sails flush against the sun; Belting out indigo waltzes hummed in tune with the wind turbines repeating whirl .. Sky to land, sky to land, sky to land, the last dance saved for the harvest moon. All the time layered between seed to plant creation of colour from the bee to the lover; From the slow, quick step, quick step, slow whipping air light spinning twirls... causing a fragrance to bleed  its flavour into the waking furrow. Nature can really dance aligned with us ... just know when the balance is right!

  A Childhood Memory A Children's Journey story Look at the sausage rope skies! When the air turns sour I look for cheese hanging over the cottages waiting in line. It's always laundry day there. The chickens know it and rejoice! Until the clatter of steel bins wakes mother. These ropes turn for skipping now sending out little bubble cars. Wouldn't it be glorious to jump on the roof? Flailing legs over the red tiles with propeller blade arms winding Bzzzrrpp Bzzzrrpp Bzzzrrpp Imagine how cross the hens would be if we landed on every brown egg. The old woman sang with the choir once. I heard her legs wobbled like thunder on a cold day until spring afternoon arrived on the porch. The sausage ropes have gone now, bled into the silky blues of the afternoon. Just as we reach the top of the hill  the sky is no longer our focus as eyes linger on the outstretched valley, deep bold green .. Oxygen for the heart's river! Breathe it in harsh until the vision is set ... This is the...

 When the seasons divide bringing air to rush mouths to halt mid-yawn at thunder's clatter; As energy subsides to fear of morning's hush, winding limbs recoiling causing dreams to shatter. When ordained skies move as one with the earth, in that second when all is in view on life's horizon; Laid bare, caressed of hope transparent, undisturbed; In that brief interlude, in that copse of heaven smiling. That is when our bond lives outside of earthly realm. That is where our love is molten gold and shining .. Where shadows sweep and search high for our gem; There is our sacred altar where our hearts lay as diamonds. It is such a good feeling to know that to describe a feeling in a certain way can bring another person to complete understanding and recognition. The best part is knowing we are united with humility.

 I do not care that he did not say sorry. It pulls my heart only that he did not feel it. Coveting of my words - private, laid bare  and vulnerable, innermost feeling; not his experience, not his truth! Plunged like a wound to my soul. In the discovery not of his sharing my words  as his to own, not that, but in all the loss; I lost years .. staying, waiting, being unaware that all he did to bring me down, to discredit me, was done to hide his deed.  That thrashing of my soul was not innocent. It was contrived in every motion, gesture, hammered out. No emotion, he was not present, not ever with me. He knows yet still hides and exalts himself. He cannot see beyond the perimeter I know is there. This makes me sad for life, for truth is never his, nor will be. He cannot release his inner self. I have a way to let go of my pain that is bereft to him. We can all be hurt by betrayal but the hardest part of any experience is to have to accept that no matter how much you car...

 The heaven's avalanche cascades. Starlight bursts through earth's charade. In skies so dark hope has appeared, through silence thrown on the crisp air so clear. The North Star bright stares at The Plough and orders tides to settle down; A happy rain cloud gives one last shudder as it gently shakes on a word of thunder. Angels heads bow down to host Christ their saviour and holy ghost. It is quite innate in us all as children to be so in wonder of descriptive stories and prayers and oh how we love to feel a part of it all.