When Winter Became a Memory

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Sometime in the latter half of the Third Millennium,
the atmosphere warmed so that snow no longer fell,
and ice formed only in man-made freezers.

There was no more skiing,
or blizzards,
or ice skating on a pond.
Trips to tropical paradises
were no longer game show prizes,
for Scandinavia enjoyed endless summers.

Sweaters and socks had been replaced with
swimsuits and sandals,
and outdoor activity ceased
between the hours of ten till four.

Some would sleep then,
for the night would be cooler—
lit up like that particle of time
when a lightning bolt strikes,
illuminating the moon-dark.

Timeless was the ice cream cone,
now enjoyed indoors;
endless, the dawn of night chores.

The earth did not become a desert,
for as slowly as it had evolved
through human intervention,
it stopped via the same route.

The air did not so much stir as hovered,
like a hummingbird over hollyhocks.
The waters of the ocean were warm,
and stepping into the pulsing foam,
was like stepping into a lukewarm bubble bath.

The raw, masculine energy of the sun
fueled the livelihood of the planet’s inhabitants,
so that life did not cease,
for what was life without work?

Stables became comfortable places
for humans without homes to stay;
fireplaces had become hiding places.
Athletic stadiums had become like
The Colosseum,
for even the night was too warm for
such strenuous activity.

Mother Earth, like a woman in menopause,
was going through The Change,
but The Change would not last forever.
Solar energy was like the hormones,
regulating Her body—
a temple not of doom,
but a temple of hope for the future
of the nature
of humankind.

Originally written as part of the Writer’s Digest Wednesday poetry challenge, using the theme:  When Everything Goes

Writing Prompt: The Desert (Inside of Us)

travel-857086_960_720Imagine a desert, and then a cube in this desert.  Describe the cube.  Then describe the ladder that you see.  Imagine a horse, then flowers.  A storm commences.  Describe everything as you go.  How do all these things relate to or affect one other? 

This was the first creative writing exercise in my creative writing class (the professor said it was based on an ancient, Middle Eastern philosophy, that reveals your inner self).  More in-depth analysis can be found at the link below:

http://oliveremberton.com/2014/how-to-connect-deeply-with-anyone-in-5-minutes/

Here was my attempt:

The desert is like scorched earth—dry, desolate, with nary an oasis in sight.  It’s like the life has been drained from it—evaporated in the air that doesn’t move, but is dead, like a radio gone silent.  It’s as if Mother Earth has been stripped of all her beauty…and flesh and blood.

In the center of this desert is a most curious thing.  It is almost clear, but not quite—a sort of milky pearl, except it is a square, like a lump of sugar.  It glistens under the hot sun, and there is a tiny puddle underneath it.

Adjacent to it is a ladder with 12 rungs, lying on its side.  Like a hologram, or a mirage, I move, and it is no longer visible.  As I move nearer, the cube becomes smaller, until I step on what I assume to be the bottom rung; it is only then I realize that I had to take the first step to be able to reach the oasis.  I had to acknowledge that I had a problem—this was the first step to sobriety, but that oasis was getting smaller the longer I waited.

I take the 12 steps and reach down to kiss the ice cube as if it is the Pope’s ring.

Twelve months have passed, and I look up to see this strange animal—a unicorn.  It is the only living thing besides the cactuses.  The unicorn is rainbow-colored, her tail reminiscent of Rainbow Brite—a favorite of my childhood.  Her horn is silver, and, upon closer inspection, I see it is a compass.  I pet the unicorn I have named Lavender, for she appeared in the twilight of my life.  I mount her, for there is a storm coming.  There is darkness ahead, but I know I can pass through life’s hurricanes if I just use the compass and carry on to wherever Lavender takes me.  I hold onto the horn and we pass through the storm.  When the clouds are behind us, I realize we have crossed over, for I see the Rose of Sharon—a single white rose—and Lavender stops, and asks, “Will you accept this rose?”

I answer, “I will”, and then I reach my eternal destination.

What each story element represents: 

Desert=worldview
Cube=you, self-portrait
Ladder=friends
Horse=lover, ideal lover
Storm=trouble, challenge
Flowers=things you nurture or create

What each story element (I surmised) represented to me:

Desert:  Hell on Earth, known as Pensacola (my surroundings)
Cube:  Oasis
Ladder:  My friends are my 12 steps
Horse:  At the end was my true love, leading me away/saving me from a life of drunkenness
Storm:  Addiction
Flowers:  I nurtured my faith, and my faith did not fail me; because of it, I shifted focus to the Living Water, not old wine

Once Upon The Starry Night

757px-van_gogh_-_starry_night_-_google_art_project_0

In Christina’s World many moons ago,
there lived a girl by the name of Mona Lisa.
Mona Lisa was born of The Kiss,
in a pond of Water Lilies—
a pure birth—
and so much was made of her being the Goddess
in the Flesh.

Mona Lisa possessed the Persistence of Memory—
time was made fluid.
Through her marriage to Father Time,
she became Mother Earth,
birthing a biological clock that never stopped ticking.

Three Musicians came from the West
in that period
since The Creation of Adam
proclaiming another Savior,
but Mona Lisa,
enraged,
waged a war on men.

Through man-made climate change,
through wars and rumors of wars,
she turned her world into a ruin,
for there were no more men to provide
for the women—
there were only vessels,
but no seed to plant in them.

Father Time,
seeing the rapid decay,
sent her away;
for Time took its time,
allowing the natural order of things.

Father Time turned her into a rapidly aging man,
so that her days would not be long upon the Earth,
and she was exiled to Golgotha
for her crimes against humanity.

And twas at The Last Supper,
that Mona Lisa knew He was the One—
that no power on Earth came to any
but through Him.
He had allowed her to carry out His work,
for wicked had been her people,
but now she had to pay as Judas.

There were The Three Crosses—
one for Him,
one for another,
one for her.
She was that other robber,
for she’d robbed others of breath.

But in His infinite mercy,
God chose to use her once again,
and turned her into the moon—
the moon that glowed,
rather than the sun that burned.
She was known from then on
as The Girl with the Pearl Earring—
a nameless being—
for eternity.

She is the demon that has control over the waters,
and when her anger is kindled,
there is a tidal wave of environmental calamity—
causing a form of mass baptism.

However, from then on,
Nature itself—
no superpower in Heaven or on Earth—
would ever control the weather,
for the rain falls on the just and the unjust.

Regina

…a time for everything…
(Ecclesiastes 3: 1-8)

Spring is the time of the new flower,
springing into bloom;
it is the long-awaited rebirth,
foretold in seasons past.
It is a time of singing,
the voice of the turtledove.
It is a time of resurrection;
it is the season of love.

Summer is the time of self-actualization,
a time of revelation—
of parables on the dunes,
and baptisms in the sea.
It is the time for the branch of the fig tree
to become tender, to put out its leaves—
a time of sweet fruit.
Earth is in the summer, the prime, of her life.

Autumn is the time to prepare for the coming harvest—
a time to build up our stores.
It is a time of change—
a harbinger of the coming sacrifice.
It is a time of full maturity,
yet also a time of decline.
That is why it’s called fall,
for Earth is in the Autumn of her life.

Winter is the time of hope for the coming salvation,
of the passing away, the fulfilling of old things
to bring about the new—higher and everlasting elation.
Earth is in the final stages of her life year,
and is put to death,
a crown of thorns placed on her head,
only to reawaken in spring,
as if from a long winter’s sleep instead.