A Dribble is Half a Drabble

A “Dribble” is half a “Drabble”… and a Drabble is 100 words… see Wikipedia for full explanation.

The “dribble” (also known as the “minisaga,” 50 words)

The “drabble” (also known as “microfiction,” 100 words)

Metaphysical Dantesque

Created by Sharonlee Goodhand Imageweaver

Much I marvelled the wordsworthian dantean
I crave the mystical, magnificent metaphysical
In there stepped a supernal dystopianite
But only laughed the poet benthamite
Suddenly, I heard some sound horrifying
All my soul within me personifying
Back into my memories intimidating
Take thy tragic from out my heart!

Much I pondered this mythical textualist
That sorrow propagated such sorrow
‘It’s that poignancy,’ I muttered
My mind always strays to shadings, true
Remembering many daliesque, elvish hues wherein
The catastrophic contrition crying
And the profundity often decrying
I crave the melancholy, mozartian mischievousness
While I pondered, things fantastical and mystifying.
*


Sharonlee Goodhand Imageweaver 2021

Created by Sharonlee Goodhand Imageweaver

Below I shared the explanations behind my word usage and inspiration-

Metaphysical Poetry: highly intellectualized poetry marked by bold and ingenious conceits, incongruous imagery, complexity and subtlety of thought, frequent use of paradox, and often by deliberate harshness or rigidity of expression.

Dystopias are societies in cataclysmic decline, with characters who battle environmental ruin, technological control, and government oppression. 
A dystopianite, therefore, is a person belonging to such a society.

adjective

• relating to or consistent with the philosophical system of utilitarianism proposed by the English philosopher and jurist Jeremy Bentham.

“the Benthamite calculus of pains and pleasures”

noun

• a person who supports the philosophical system of utilitarianism proposed by the English philosopher and jurist Jeremy Bentham.

“for the Benthamite a natural right was both false and meaningless”

Bentham’s greatest happiness principle is the principle of utility, or “greatest happiness principle,” which forms the cornerstone of all Bentham’s thought. … His principle of utility regards good as that which produces the greatest amount of pleasure and the minimum amount of pain and evil as that which produces the most pain without the pleasure

True Test of Time

Full Moon Magic Art Sharonlee Goodhand Imageweaver

True Test of Time

The full moon rose over suburban streets
faint traces of daylight slowly draining
from a shadowed sky…
… bats swooped above tree silhouettes
darker shades against the night…

Branches echoed with a babbled chorus
as parrots squabbled for tree-space
and one by one lights shone
from regimented rows of houses…

There was a measure of stillness
as night took over from day
autumn kissed my aging cheeks
chill lips against my skin
as a muted sense of calmness
permeated the quiet streets
somewhere a dog barked
and the last echoes of children playing
fell to silence…

I realized there was a peacefulness
in such a setting
even though it was not the tranquility
of my beloved wilderness…
… was it that I had become accustomed to my new surroundings
acclimatized to the hum of traffic and the way
buildings blocked the view?

Me by Me

As I ambled through the twi-lit streets
my youngest son, at 22, slowed his pace to match his mum’s…
… yes, the same mum who had hurried his little feet to school-
– stopped to tie his scuffed shoes… held his small hand in hers
and smiled… come on son, we’ll be late…
… as if sensing my poignant thoughts my man-child
smiled at me, nice night, was all he said.
*
How things change, as the years change
pace slows and thoughts take on reflective layers
each passing month… each year that slips by
offers insights new and rewarding
as a full moon rose over suburban streets
faint traces of daylight slowly drained
from a shadowed sky…
I smiled at the evening stars
that appeared one by one
and realized there was a peacefulness
in such a setting
even though it was not the tranquility
of my beloved wilderness…

Perhaps the true test of time
is to find such peace
where ever one resides.
*

Sharonlee Goodhand Imageweaver

Why is it so… 

Why is it so… 

Life isn’t meant to stay the same
just as seasons turn… people grow and change
sometimes drifting so far apart
that echoes are all that’s left of the past.
And the laughter which rang, and secrets aired
seem a fragile reminder of time shared
when dreams were whispered in midnight hours
and truths were offered like fragrant flowers.
*

So I sit in limbo, waiting, lingering in reflections of life and past & present… and an obscure future which refuses to offer clues or clarity as to what direction I should be taking.
These reflections, today’s reflections circle around a life of friendships that faded as time passed. Very few from neglect or negative reasons, mostly because life changes and people change. People moved, I moved. And new circles of friends are eventually formed, with the old friends never forgotten and often thought of.
I wonder how they are, those friends from earlier years, who shared and laughed and cried so deeply with me? Have they survived the years and are now aging with whatever grace and dignity afforded them? Have they found their “happy place” ? Are they grandparents as well?
Were any lost between the cracks of society?

Lingering within reflections today… outside the sun is finally shining after two weeks of torrential rain… difficult to believe it’s actually an autumn day, the way the sunshine is dancing across the yard, deepening shadows and highlighting freshly washed foliage.
I should be outside! I should be wandering ‘neath trees, breathing in the earthy scents of nature.
But I’m not.
I’m sitting in limbo… waiting for a property inspection which the landlady has arranged- second one in less than 8 eight days… I ache somewhat, physically, from the extra household chores I felt obliged to do… aching somewhat,  spiritually,  because I’d rather be somewhere else doing something else or nothing at all, just BEING.

If truth be told, I’ve relocated so many times in 60 years… reinventing myself, my life, and in the process my circle of friends and each time the “she” who is me became a quieter more introspective person… life became less encumbered with material possessions and the circle became smaller and smaller.
That’s not to say that I have forgotten those friends and friendships formed,  connections that, at the time seemed permanent and perfectly suited to my heart and spirit. Each one ripples in my soul, circles in my pond of life.

Reflecting on this journey, I wonder why none of us ever managed to stay in touch, stay connected, stay friends despite distance and disruptions? I wonder why I have so few long term friendships… none from childhood… nor school… or those wild and crazy days in my early 20’s.


Only one from my failed attempt to be trained as a “nurse  and model citizen”. And I haven’t actually seen her in thirty years, we ‘refound’ each other through Facebook and stay in touch.
As for the group my late husband and I socialised with, well… None of “our” friends stuck around. After.
So I started again. Again.

All this leaves me awash with melancholy homesickness for times lived and me’s I use be… and I wonder, Why?

Just why. Why is it so.
*
Sharonlee Goodhand Imageweaver

Thoughts scatter… like dry leaves in an Autumn wind…

Thoughts scatter
… like dry leaves in an Autumn wind…

… 60’s child growing up in outer-suburbia- shadows
when children owned the streets and roamed in safety
– after-school-care was a an adventure in the nearby swamp
or vacant lot… trees our look out towers
no thoughts to falling or scraping knobby childlike knees…
innocence was so innocent back then…
and tasted of stolen passionfruit
and honeysuckle blossoms… and one cent lollies…
sepia comics and homemade kites that tangled
in trees we never thought too tall to climb…

Mamas & Papas spilled from open windows
This is Ded-i-cated to the One I Love
and the Rascals
People Got To Be Free…
Curtis Mayfield
People Get Ready there’s a Train Comin’

…we watched Pollyanna & Mary Poppins
and  Chitty Chitty Bang Bang
and sang all the songs with innocence…
…the harsh details of the war
in Vietnam were softened
by my mother… who shooed me into my room
when the news was on…

…70’s child growing up “on the road”
temporary backyards in towns that differed with the seasons…
faces never stayed the same and even though the scenery changed
she felt  at home in every valley and mountain range…
as summers merged into summers and winters mirrored winters
She grew with the trees and flowing rivers…
isolation became the norm…  and vague the memories
of being suburban-born…
books replaced the TV… and songs are just poetry with music
sun-watching and moon-gazing filled the silent spaces
when poetic thoughts were scratched in the back of her home school English book…

… too soon it seemed her nut-brown body had desires to grow
she blossomed in soft rounded curves…  and let her hair flow
nubile changes… and a deeper turn of mind
and she left the pure innocence of childhood behind…

SharonleeGoodhandImageweaver ©

Ante-Post-Meridiam Twilight

Tumbling untainted joy
skinned knees
and trees
so high I could pretend I didn’t hear mother’s voice-

Tree-climbing is only for boys!
how often she screeched that, I could not count;

Ahh… the purity of those sweet scented days
that wafted by on the scents of childhood-
swamp-water-up-to-my-knees scents
fish-and-chips-wrapped in newspaper scents
pungent with vinegar and tingling saltiness
living in the dreamtime of innocence…

No halting the winds of change though
skinned knees heal and children grow
time ebbs and flows, as season blows into passing season…

Clinging to shreds of childhood dreams
yet eager to venture beyond the grip
of parental embrace, perhaps too soon it was
or mayhap too late, I took the road to independence-

And lost myself
in those early postmeridian days
lost in late nights, catty fights
waking…. where I shouldn’t be waking
taking what I shouldn’t be taking-
– but that was a passing faze, a mere scene embedded
into life’s diorama
– my inner child shook me silly, beat me up, willy-nilly
I didn’t sign on for this!
How wise she was, my inner child;
I think she saved my life.

Trading bar-room- emetic for the sweetness of motherhood
and those healing places where ancient trees grow-
I taught my children how to climb
limb by limb, how recognize the perfect branch
for sitting on
how to share with the breeze their secret soul-song…

… but, and it seems there is always a ‘but’ with me
one that pulls me up as time ebbs and flows
as season blows into passing season
– but…. life presents obstacles of no rhyme and reason
and for a while I lost myself, in soul-consuming sorrow
          only shadows haunted each tomorrow
dreams merely empty reflections of yesterday…

I lived and loved and lost, in the postmeridian of my days
forgot how to smile, while time stood still in silent eyes
I guided children as they grew, but no longer knew
who I was…

Time doesn’t stand still though
does it
and I woke to discover I was aging
an old crone looked at me from the neglected mirror-
– she looked a lot like my mother, in many ways…
… the crone tsk tsk’d shaking her graying head
and then she winked
and whispered… don’t you think
it’s time… time honor your self?

Twilit days flow with twitterlight
  and as I watch grandchildren grow
I grow too, reconnecting with that me
I was long ago.

*
Poetry and Image Sharonlee Goodhand Imageweaver ©

Wake Me Up When the Madness Ends

Another year has come and passed
The innocent can never last
Wake me up when madness ends

I tried to put my best foot forward
Tried to be the strong one
Done my best to be there for family
and friends…
… I’m weary now, my spirit aches
Wake me up when the madness ends.

Here comes the pain again
Falling from the sky
Pain from all corners of the world
And I here’s me asking why
… why has life become this way
Is this really who we are?

Another year has come and passed
The innocent can never last
Wake me up when madness ends
Wake me up when madness ends

And then perhaps I’ll have the strength
To carry on, fix what’s wrong,
Wake me up when madness ends.
*
SharonleeGoodhand Imageweaver 2021

Heart Quivers, Rain Shivers


Tonight the rain falls soft, persistent as if
to fill the nooks and crannies of my world with sky- tears…
… listening to the muffled world beyond the lamplights glow
I feel somehow
detached from the world and all I know…

Global energies run high… I try to hide… from it all, but
once seen it cannot be unseen, once heard, it cannot be unheard
– and a life on the run, from life, reality, might suit some
But I committed and that can’t be undone;
*
Strange, isn’t it, how fear is louder than understanding, and
how selfinterest blusters pretentiously, in flatulent tones, whereas
empathy embraces unconditionally, in a gentle soothing hum.
Often drowned out by more belligerent forces of human nature;

Are we losing ourselves in the collective madness or are we lost within it-
– struggling to stay afloat in a sea of mass turbulence?
Is the media inciting us to live in fear not only of a global virus, but also
of our fellow human as well… suspicion of our neighbour, our grocer, our friends?
When will it end?
Is this the World Wide disaster of these times, as wars and economic depressions have been in the past?
It has been some time since the Global Community faced a crisis and conflict that could shake its very foundation.
Shake it by creating division and fear and loathing; rattle the very truths and certainties we live by. Clouding reality with deliberate lies and misinformation…

I don’t understand why having a difference of opinion need be a problem.. a fear, something to fight against- if those differing opinions are not actually criminal and morally unconscionable conduct, then will name calling and violence prove or solve anything?

Perhaps I am having a conflict of Faith: my faith in my fellow people, the cross-section of loud blustering hotheads who believe their way is the ONLY way… and subsequently drown out the healing lullabies of the faith-full and compassionate.

Don’t lose heart, I say, even as I feel my own heart quivers in sorrow. Don’t lose faith… and please, please don’t condemn the unknown… ridicule the different or belittle unfamilier beliefs.

I don’t recall being asked if I wanted to be born this colour and height, this nationality and culture.
But I do have a choice how to live it and what energy I return to the Universe.

Tonight the rain falls soft, persistent as if
to fill the nooks and crannies of my world with sky- tears…
*
SharonleeGoodhand 2021

I Am Yours – A Prayer to Mother Earth

Art- SharonleeGoodhand

Spirit of the Mother Earth, I feel you;

I feel your energy in the very air I breathe…

…. I feel your power in the winds rushing over land and sea

I feel your joy in each season passing in accordance with time;

I feel your sadness, I feel your sorrow…  much has been done that may never be undone;

And Mother Earth, I feel your hope… see your hope, in every rotation around the Sun

I see your hope in the Light that shines to guide us through dark & troubled times…

I see and feel your hope in hearts and eyes and minds of people who I connect with

– people of like spirit … a kindred-kind… for we seem to grow in number;

Mother Earth, as patient and enduring as you have been, please be patient a little longer

…. a little longer…. an awakening consciousness is blossoming, can you feel it? Sense it?

a new stream of consciousness flows stronger as day passes day… evolution of the spirit;

… a deep-seated desire for spiritual cohesion  is drawing together  tribes of many colors & cultures

an underlying link vibrates… stirring in souls and quickening  energy… I feel it like a natural current

racing through my blood… and I know others feel it too…

I am yours… yours to guide as you see fit… I will do all in my power to champion your cause;

I am a child of Peace… a child of this Earth… sister to all and enemy to none

 your wisdom has been my guide through times of trouble and great joy

your seasons have been the timetable that shapes my days

I am your defender, protector and advocate … your keeper & sharer of tales & truths

I am the midwife to your rebirth… handmaiden of the Earth;

Sharonlee©

Just a Few Thoughts

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I read things and react, because I am human & humans, regardless of how evolved enlightened educated they may be, are emotional beings.
I react to injustice and pain and suffering of Earth Animal & fellow Human.
I react to joy love and beauty, and to achievement and triumph.
And sometimes I read things which sends my heart into hiding… replaced by a hollow ache… Mostly I do not respond to the negatives which make up daily life. The conversations at the work lunch table… a comment on a friends post…
I’ve learned to recognize certain mindsets. But they still fill me with a deep fear, that we have come so far in human evolution that we balance on a dangerous tipping point.
Which way will we plummet?
Backsliding into a dystopian existence or slipstream ahead into a freer cleaner more empathetic global community?
*
Sharonlee June 2019

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