poetry

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Photo by Alice Alinari on Unsplash

In the melancholy contemplation
of lives not lived and
inside the blurry nostalgia
for the never-was and the half-happened;
is the dark-haired girl
that never was
yet still is

(Drowning deep in the locked tall tower)

Reliving moments that never were
where hazy memory and simple wish mix;
bittersweet untruths
slip from the mind
like words thought of
while simultaneously
forgotten

(tip of the tongue)

Better oblivious is she,
from never a taste to be had
of that heat that you give
from that sun that burns within you;
that energy
(contagious)
ignites
lifts

alas

(disheveled dark curls)

The moment in between sleep and waking
hovering in the Land of Forget
where only pleasure exists

Of what do you dream while soft breath rises?

..

.


You waltzed into my life in the oddest of ways

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Photo by Daniel Andrade on Unsplash

*****10/10, would recommend: A testimonial — Volume 1.

We can’t always know what brings people together. I think it is usually something small and seemingly insignificant, forgettable, or mundane. One of those life moments where it is only in retrospect that we are able to see the importance. Similar to the butterfly effect in chaos theory, something happens and our trajectories are set: parallel paths become perpendicular. Whatever it was, something hit our proverbial cue balls and created a pivot point.

I remember the exact moment, but that detail doesn’t matter right now. I was on the doorstep of change with a bifurcating path in front of me. I felt lost as everything I understood or had worked for had been set on fire. Not literally, of course, but I certainly felt as though I was sifting through ash looking for fragments of me. …


*North Star

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Photo by Mike Setchell on Unsplash

Can I tell you?

Can I tell you how I crave that flash of white- that sudden lone light?

The one that finds me — in surprise — in the deep, deep, dark tunnel where I hide.

Can I tell you how time stopped; standing just perfectly still?

A split second somehow stretched into a space filled with forever.

Breath removed from the air; underwater sounds whispered in my ear.

My frozen stare; blinding and surreal.

My North Star.

So brilliant and white.

Will you be gone in a flash — like the flash in which you came?

Gone — and only the craving of light left to remain?

Blow through me then — would you mind just blowing me away?

;

written November 20, 2019


random rainy morning thoughts

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Photo by Kevin Jarrett on Unsplash

What are you here for? What can you do with this winning lottery ticket called LIFE? You have a one-way trip. Just this one. Make it count. Make it matter. Make it mean something. Be a force to be reckoned with. Listen to that fire inside… that burning desire that smolders at your core and aches to give more, to do more.

Walk the world with your eyes wide open. Take it all in. Notice the way the scent of the air is different during sunrise and sunset. Count the rings on tree stumps and watch cloud formations float on by. …


Memoirs of a Mama Bear

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Photo by Herbert Goetsch on Unsplash

Brilliance. Staring into flashes of memory. My kids when they were little. My son as a baby, how warm his round head would get when he was sleeping. My daughter not even five, and obsessed with black and white scary movies. The excitement of picking Halloween costumes, and their small faces seeing Christmas presents under the tree. Them peering over my shoulder as I did homework, asking when I would finish and come play. Knock-knock jokes, peanut-butter-and-jelly, velcro light-up shoes. Summer nights with roasted marshmallows and lightning bugs, movies, and popcorn. …


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Photo by Mink Mingle on Unsplash

Knock softly to find me in the spare room,
set to the side for tired eyes to visit.
Where I am nested
in silky cream linens,
undercover.
Drawn shades with dappled golden light… always.

From across the room,
you watch me,
pleased at my stillness.
And pinned under your stare,
I wait.
As you slowly drink me in,
up and then down.
And maybe back up again.

Slow steps towards me,
then shadowed by shoulders
broad and wide.
Strong hands filled with paused intention,
suspenseful
as they take their time.
And wander
…over my soft form.
Pressed against me,
and I ache to take you in.
Interlaced fingers,
parted lips.

Sighs.


A Just-Get-to-the-Point Metaphor

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Photo by Casey Horner on Unsplash

The night feels darker when lost deep in the forest. Cradled under treetops and cloaked from the light of the sky, everything looks different. Once-familiar paths shift unexpectedly and snake-like, veering off at odd angles. The dark is dramatic, altering every little bit of light and making shadows reach towards us from around corners.

With our flashlights, we illuminate narrow hallways between the trees ahead. Regardless of how bright, nothing is ever clear. North looks the same as south, and east the same as west. …


Or the gift of the mid-life crisis

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Photo by Peter Conlan on Unsplash

“We will never be here again.” ― Homer, The Iliad

When driving through a dense fog, only the next few feet are visible before you. Everything beyond your sight is unknown.

When we were young adults, the foggy vision of our future loomed before us, vast and limitless, making us feel excited and alive. Our life ahead was mysterious because it was undefined and undetermined, making it full of possibilities.

Eager, we paced restlessly at the gates, listening for the gun to sound so we could race out into the fog ahead, each of us our own spinning galaxy, full of Potential. …


and went to play in the woods instead

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“Red Trail” 7.13.19, photo by author

Last January, I walked away from a job that I initially loved and had worked hard to get. Structural changes trickled down and leadership had a massive turnover. New management came through and the environment became toxic.

I felt lost. I realized that I had wrapped my entire self-image and self-worth into my career. I am not sure, but it might end up being a chip on my shoulder for the rest of my time on this planet. The experience changed me profoundly.

Unfortunately, nearly all of my friendships were work-related. It is rather embarrassing and it hurts to say, but losing the shared atmosphere caused my friendships to dwindle quickly. …


I can’t be the only one

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Photo by Claus Grünstäudl on Unsplash

The writers who write about writing tell you that finding your niche is important. How do I do that? Do I write different topics under different pen names? Use certain platforms for certain themes? I started a WordPress account with this idea in mind.

Apparently- and please, correct me if I am wrong, but it is my understanding that the All Knowing Omniscient Curators of Medium will look at all your work before choosing your piece for distribution. …

About

Rai Marie Hughes

Wanna be wanderer, worshiper of words, writer of rough drafts. Maker of mistakes and strong coffee. Reading you — it’s what I do.

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