Lighting My World

Candlelight of the Mirrorworld by Maria L. Berg 2021

Today I put a couple festive candles in the Mirrorworld.

New Poem

A prompt from In the Palm of Your Hand by Steve Kowit is to use a Dream Metaphor. I haven’t had a really vivid dream recently, so today I’m going to close my eyes with a metal spoon in my hand hovering over a metal bowl and write down any dream imagery I see before dropping the spoon wakes me up. I’ve heard that many visionaries used this technique, but I’ve never tried it before.

Flicker by Maria L. Berg 2021

The Red Candle

It starts with a red candle.
The flame flickers and the shine
of the melting wax at the rim
turns into a scarf that wraps
and flies out behind me.
It is tugged and the candle turns
its profile now a face aflame.
I worry the scarf will burn.

The scarf has wrapped around
a man in a thick, fringed gray cape
with a wide-brimmed aged and wrinkled
hat pulled down over his face.
He pulls on the scarf as he hurries
toward me, grabs my camera,
and flings it to the street,
smashing it into specks.
He reaches past me and pinches
the wick, extinguishing the candle’s flame.

We are on a set. Fake eyelashes knock over
the scaffolding which topples into Christmas
trees. The family scurries onto the couches
for the formal photo. The red scarf, now tied in a bow, is tossed over the nearest tree. Everyone races into the rows of fake trees, but the gray man doubles back, shrinking to slide under the couches then growing to join the other elves on the hand-cranked, vertical sled with side wheels and gears.
Once they ride out, the door slams shut.

I have a chance to breathe and contemplate
the rush. How each action sped to the next,
and then it was over, like the lick of a candle’s flame catching the curtains, but nothing else.
A holiday gathering can exhaust
with lack of oxygen.

It ends with the elves seated on the lip
of the lit candle, warming their hands
by the flame which sheds a warm glow
on a cherub-faced elf with blond curls
who beckons me to join them.
I hesitate, not wanting to burn.

Flame in Reflection by Maria L. Berg 2021

If you’ve enjoyed the photographs I’ve been taking, I’ve added some to my RedBubble store and I’m excited about the new products. The abstract bokeh really lends itself to product design. So fun. While you’re looking, please click the hearts to like the images on the RedBubble site. It will help my work get attention. Thank you.

December Daily Prompts by Maria L. Berg 2021 Please leave your links in the comments. I hope you will join me.

Happy Reading and Writing!

M is for Mawkish

mawkish: adjective – 1. having an insipid often unpleasant taste 2. sickly or puerilely sentimental

writober 27

Mutation by Maria L. Berg 2017


Puerilely Sentimental

Your teacup rattles as the table wobbles
I quickly lift my cup in response
The steaming charcoal liquid close to my face
Smells of pleasant bergamot
But I remember its mawkish entanglement and
Center it carefully back in its saucer

I wince as the hammer echos beyond the window
A seagull screams. I smell the ocean
And our wobbling table is in a rowboat
I know I had placed matchbooks under the uneven leg
I bend over to find it and see that the ribbons
Of my ballet shoe have bunched to my ankle again
Frustrated, I begin to cross and wrap the pink satin and
Become embarrassed by the spots of blood

You sip your mawkish tea
The seagull lands on your head and
You lift your teacup to its beak
I worry that the blood from my
Ballet shoes will attract the shark
My ribbons tight, too tight, I hear
A clink of the china and two of my teeth
Float in the now cold tea
You bang your hammer on the table
Making it wobble and tell me to
Go to the dentist
I feel trapped in this rowboat
With you and your seagull and
Search the water for the shark