Lee Dunn

~ Tempests ~ Having come from the seas of your storms and decades of disquiet, I step, directionless, on an unmoving Earth. Being tooled for havoc, I despair of knowing what might fill this brazen peace, this wild surcease.

~Master, I call you, for you have painted a thing that has been in my mind so long and long, though I was not conscious of its seeking. In the foreshortening of dream I see you, beckoning, at the last bend of the road, saying “Come. There is more.”~

I didn't know it then, but that backyard of dandelions, the tuxedo cat a-scamper, the tower of the silver maple, was a kind of paradise.

If there is no wind in space, how, then, might I use these dreamwings, these eager try-ons? As it is, I trip and stumble into crowding ghosts who say I belong to them, to come home.

I am your familiar, says the pain. No, I will not kill you, and will let you walk and talk. I have escaped the notice of hired eyes, and lain dormant while you made up lies. But now, my old friend, I really must insist.

~A baby holds my finger tightly and looks at me with wide eyes. She inquires, her blank pages aglow. I must not make her smile or cry. I must show no fear for what she might see in me, and make peace with regrets. Let her know that I have come this far, and it has been good.~

@curleyhammcozy.bsky.social Hi Eileen I’m sorry to hear about your Twitter account. I hope you are making progress with it.

You put on those airs Tripping the light fantastic Falling down the stairs #haiku

~ In grace ~

~There was that time of peace, soft and slow. Of an unbeknownst contentment. Of being here for it all. And, in this later day, the notes of that gentle melody are half-heard, reached for in dream, settling on tired eyes...the weight of a nodding head.~

That melody you once heard, but could never find again. The one that came back in a dream, then was lost once more in the surfacing of the day. Look for it, my dear, in the half-heard fade of that nameless tune that otherwise was base and common.

~ All in good time ~

Sunset at our house

~ It was night in the dream-room. There were table saws, whistling kettles, a hallway maze, and cushions strewn on the floor. A serious bird that bowed and said nothing. The only light was red, shining into the years ahead...~

Hello, lovelies. The wonderful Ilanot Review explores character flaws and favours. I'm thrilled my story is included alongside these brilliant poems, stories and CNF. Hope you enjoy. #amwriting #fiction #litmag www.ilanotreview.com

Tonight’s sunset

You are different. You can look into my eyes, and not look away. I remember, now, how to look into a mirror, unflinchingly. From what life do you come, and how came the art of this miracle? This smile that cracks my lips. This wanting to play.

There ain't no flying straight lines, Beach Crow tells me. Or walking. Life ain't got grid coordinates. Yer follow yer beak. Or nose. Wind sends yer off in sweet curves or curlywurlies. Hills to rise above. Or crawl up. Ooh and shinies distract- She blinks. Where wos I going with this? #whistpr

~ About dishes ~ Pretend, at the sink, to be enthralled by those sheeting waterfalls. Those rebellious spoons that always lay just so, contriving their founts of rinse water. Float that pasta pot. Let it bob, see its handles whirl like a time-lapse sundial, softly, softly to bed.

In want of an enfolding, I imagine a bird of Pray. Winged as an angel. As bright as a day.

Somnambulant, I have the night terrors. In the bathroom mirror, I am a bearded ghost, gowned and scream-faced. Adrenalin pumps- a syringe to the heart. The earth shrugs us off with her manic quakes. The nattering television cannot help me, for it won't listen. Won't listen.

finding seeds amongst the stubble next summer's skylarks #DailyHaikuPrompt (straw)

Seagazing, I wonder. These sparkles must be telling secrets. Nah, Beach Crow says. The sea whispers her lickle myths into shells. All about moons & stars & comets. But that's how most water began. As comet ice flying through space. Cor, says Beach Crow. That's why she's full of sky. #whistpr

~ Pleased to meet you face to face, you windblown leaf with heart of lace. And, I'm so glad you stopped to chatter, never asking what's the matter. ~

The old man still dreams of French kisses, and stays in the curb lane. He knows that the speeders and the weavers aren't the ones who are in love.

Some sour long-nosed elf, eyes a-bulging, is stirring the pot with a long-nailed and dirty finger. With a thin-lipped and gap-toothed smile, he breathes a breathy whisper… “and so. Just so.”

In the booth across from me she sits. I knew her from the drugstore, when she was blonde. Legend has it that she was fired because she never smiled. I liked her, automatically, ‘cause her eyes had seen lives. Today, she’s mystery. With the blackest crown I have ever seen.

The ice cream truck jingle I was ten in shorts and runners Star streaks in my eyes The sigh of the leaves all a-glitter saying here- here is everything

You said but four words, with round eyes and arc of hands, and I love you, now.

I feel it in my heart of hearts. We're not alone. Among the untold trillions of worlds in God's wide wild universe, we can't be. To think that they can't come here, given the limitations of light speed, is provincial. We're limited by the yardstick of our own knowledge.

Fix things. Clean a mirror. Switch pillows. Allow the cat into your room. Vacuum the rug with that perfumed powder. Have your morning coffee outside, if you can. Solitude and loneliness are not true sisters. Be your own best company. Keep Niagara at bay, just for today.

Ms. Bug- Were I to give you a small pencil, would that you could trace your wanderings. Are they to a purpose or, like the bumper cars, do you move at the caprice of dumb luck? Do you pause to consider the import of watchful things? Or dilly-dally all the livelong day.

Losses- The spelling The language The surety of the next move The inner hum, then the melody A matte screen is good- it allows no reflection of the slacking jaw, the black openings, the fixed stare going going gone In the end we're chaperoned by gravity.

A watched pot never boils. This is your punishment. The Gods writhe their displeasure. There will be no more coffee or instant noodles for you.

She watches, bemused, then walks away as I keep up the stirring of the hot pot of milk and cocoa. I covet that clunk of spoon, milk-muted, because of a recurring dream in which each of my teeth is tapped with a tuning fork. Like a drip on a hot burner, I make myself into a very small world.

~Forlorn~ Dreamer Have you awakened from a theatre of tears? You know, you smiled and cried, as did the players who once were yours. Sweet one, may this day help your heart home, and give respite from your tireless search down the winds of the world.

We all wanted safety. Father, from trouble’s horde. Mother, from father. We chickens, from the storm. All of us were running, and love was hard pressed to keep up. Adolescence held confusion, guilt, and strange desire. I looked for yellow bricks, on the cusp of a fireworks life.

~We steep in the familiar: That intimate cave that the tongue finds, years after the bloody extraction; the tattered dog-chewed shoe that you won't throw away. The off-key whistle, often practiced. The sock smell (supposed to bring on sleep). That one nail you let grow longer.~