In a forest, green and cool

In a forest, green and cool

I buried our love deep in the dark earth.

Our story, our words, our love affair

would grow roots there among the giants of sycamore and elm.

And our young hearts would endure

though we were but 15 and had fickle hearts.

In a forest, green and cool.

The Kiss

The warm touch of his hand on her cheek.

Her drowsy anticipation of his lips softly brushing hers.

The exquisite pain of longing; waiting for him to navigate

the dusky, gilded river between them.

He laid her on a bed of poppies;

crowned her with a wreath of violets.

The heady perfume of him washed over her

in waves of scarlet and gold.

Breathless; floating between this world and the next...then the kiss.

From the first kiss to the last...I get drunk on your lips.

L.M. Betit

Untitled poems....

Rosewater tears streaked down her apple blossom cheeks. 

She stood alone at the edge of the lake,

the tall grasses tickling her legs.

Far off in the distance lay her hopes and aspirations

seemingly so far out of reach.

When will her time come she wondered? 

Why did everyday bring more of a mystery?

Misery and mystery measuring the moments of her life.

______________________________________________

Sometimes I dream in shades of blue (green).  I dream of walking into the ocean at night and let the cold slip around my body which soothes and burns.  I dream of slipping beneath the waves and my body so quiet...so still finds peace at last.  Sometimes I dream in shades of blue (green) that will haunt me all my years.

--Laura Betit

My apologies....

There is nothing better on a damp, autumn afternoon than a pot of Earl Grey tea.  I crave it not only for it's flavor but for the dose of aromatherapy I get while it steeps and while I sip on it.  I am painfully aware of how long it has been since I wrote anything in this space.  I have had a few ideas for some stories to develop but I can't seem to get the prose to flow onto paper...or computer screen as it were.  I feel as though I haven't had any real inspiration for anything to write in months and honestly, it has plagued me.  Amid all the changes I have undergone in the last year you'd think I could find some sort of inspiration but alas I am an empty cup.

Perhaps the chill of autumn and the knowledge that winter is not far off will help as I seem to do my best writing this time of year.  The story I have been kicking around in my head is aching to be told but I am afraid...afraid on a few levels.  I know a writer isn't supposed to be afraid to tell a story, isn't supposed to worry so much about what her audience is going to think of the story she has written but I am.... I am afraid that the story may be taken out of context.  Most of my stories are not happy ones.  I am never as fond of the final product when I feel forced to create a "happily ever after" ending.  Sometimes there are no happy endings or sometimes the happy ending isn't what you think it should be.

So I will make you a deal.  I will begin work on my" unhappily ever after" story as long as you do not, as my readers, my friends and my family, read the story as this being a dark time for me...far from it.  So as long as you do not worry for me or have me committed as you read it, I will share it with you.  Sometimes a tortured writer is a good writer.  Stay tuned and thanks for being patient and thanks for reading.

Black holes and Spider webs

Black holes and Spider webs weave their way through my mind.

Sticky, whirling interludes of light and dark;

My spiraling tunnel how I have missed you….

How long I have kept you at bay, but you crept back inside me

Waiting to trap me again in your silken bonds.

How will I ever escape you?

Haunted Mourning

I am one of those "special" people who likes to wander around in old graveyards, searching for some link to the past, or to be deliciously scared by what being may be lingering. Sometimes it is the only quiet place I can find, except for my own thoughts which scramble restlessly around in my head some days. Included in this post is a photograph I took at Oak Grove Cemetery in my town of Gardiner.  The photograph and poem are both titled Haunted Mourning.

Haunted Mourning

Morning creeps in behind the trees and there she stands.

Alone...still...among those she loved, that have gone on before her.

Head bowed, fingers tightly clutching a wreath of laurels.

Emptiness washes over her in waves of gloomy gray.

Nothing disrupts her stony gaze,

Not even the band of chortling squirrels

playing about her feet.

Is there poetry in sadness,

Wishing to be stricken with tears

When no tears will come?

Only her crushing lonliness is stronger.

Cielo Añil

Indigo is the color of the nighttime sky.  It is the color of spiritual realization, personal thoughts and profound insights.  Shades of Indigo has been created as a space for me to share my writing as I continue along this journey. Inspiration strikes in many different ways and at many different times but mostly under the cloak of a deep indigo sky.