Coffee and responsibility are beckoning me this morning. I knew last night I’d have to be somewhere besides my patio sipping coffee this morning … early this morning … and so, of course, I barely slept last night. Even the slightest change in routine fucks me up. I wonder if that word will get this post deleted.
The letters were there, from so long ago, beckoning her back to a life that was long gone, that never would have worked anyway. But still they gave her pause – asking her for marriage, for moving to another town to be with him, all the things he could never say to her in person. Married with kids now, both of them, but still, calling to her.
this was it. the voice was back and it was by far the most haunting of the times they’d heard it. the not quite so pipes. the not quite so flute. it was the sound of trees shedding leaves and the moon rising above the water. Jasper and Jamie stopped where they were. The wind had stopped and above the dull twig snapping they heard the faintest tinkle of little bells…
let’s get to the point:
you can’t see the stars
from where i am.
suppose i live too close
to the ground;
you need to have been born
with silver spoons
to have the view from a penthouse.
apparently light pollution
is a thing;
suppose my neighborhood
is at a lack for everything else
that we can’t stand
starving for light too.
our lower class eyes are not those
looking through the hubble;
after a while even photographs
of galaxies
seems almost like another form
of window-shopping.
we see slivers of dusk and dawn,
smile at the moon
when it’s plump and hanging low,
but to see specks
where there should be diamonds
is a brand of hurt
i cannot name.
we will never be the ones chosen
to be shot into space,
to build homes on mars.
our bones will never be allowed
to rot on other planets.
i cannot deny it any longer:
only the rich become
constellations when they die.
Its it a word with good connotation or bad connotation? A beckoning finger, like the wicked witch.
She was beckoning with her eyes.
The teacher
I always associate with eyes
Destiny was a whore. She flaunted possibility at people, rubbing up against them until their potential quivered and quaked, shuddering with want of what she alone could give. She was always beckoning, whispering of the future, of what everyone desired, describing to the last lacy detail where they saw themselves in five, ten, twenty years. Yes, Destiny was a whore, but though she flirted with everyone, she only rarely put out.
Look at the sea and feel the pull of the water on your body, is it any wonder that people spoke of sirens, and serpents? Krakens and leviathans? Mermaids and merrow, their soul cages full of salt-crusted bones.
calling, endlessly calling. once the door is opened, it will never fully close. always left just slightly ajar, the light behind it calling, endlessly calling. it glows softly, tempting the lost. calling, endlessly calling. it will never give up – until you give in. calling, endlessly calling – a soft light of false hope reaching out to the desperate.
All around me lights they fade. In and out. In and out. Inner dreams seem so near, beckoning, beckoning. I know deep down, how much I have left. But nothing will stop me, not now, not never.
This page is beckoning me to write. Well, tap out the words on my laptop. I’m beckoning Raoul to make me a cup of coffee. The outside is beckoning me to leave the house today. I’m beckoning Becky.
come here, sweet children,
and sing your songs of praise
with your voices of pure innocence
and your thoughts worthy of prayer
for you, there is no eternal fire,
no demon to snake his fork tongue around your belly
and shatter your bones from his breath,
only the darkness of childlike ignorance
when the men and women will drown
in their own tears,
you will taste salt on your tongues
and float like lilies on the sea
your prayers are selfish
but your hands are clasped tight
and your hearts so easy to mold
( stay still, my dear, it will be all over soon )
one day you will exchange your wax for gold
and your toys for spears
and your knees will shatter on the marble steps,
singing of praise and for absolution
you are forgiven if
you think that you can love me,
if you will love me
and feed me your prayers and your children
and when you crumble in your grave,
bones shaking underneath the soil,
you won’t feel the cold of my touch
( i am not there; i never was,
you only have yourself in death—
She called to me. She called to me when she needed me most, but there was nothing I could do. She was already too far gone. The drugs had taken over, and there was nothing I could do. Why did she have to rely on me?
Everything about the door was drawing him to open it. The musky sent of flowers that emanated from the keyhole seemed to beckon, and ask him to forget what he had been told.
She stood at the end of the hallway, beckoning me to turn, to come, to follow. As the great dark enshrouded her features, I realized suddenly my feet began to move. It was not home, not nearly so, but it was here. And so was she.
There she was, like some etherial, nightmarish creature in the lamplight, beckoning, always beckoning. Her fingers were long and inhuman, tipped with nails sharp enough to slice through skin. Though in all her strangeness, she still had a certain sort of appeal. But in a dangerous way.
i’ve already written about beckoning
one hundred times before
and i’m usually the beckoner
never satisfied
always searching for more
and around the corner?
there’s nothing
nothing beckoning me but me
always reaching for the next bottle
my next drink
Beckoning me from across the way, it stood there, calling my name. The energy I felt – relentless. Is this what it feels like? To be trapped? Ensnared? We haven’t met.
There was a time when I wondered what it would be like to have a beautiful woman reach across the bar to me with her eyes, and signal for me to approach. It’s not something that’s ever happened in my life – but the closest I ever came was when my wife-to-be captured me with her eyes.
Waves crash, that’s what most people say. But they rarely do. Most of the time they beckon, or salute, or threaten as if a bajillion Jewish uncles are raising their fists in a curse.
Th paint stool was beckoning me. I could feel it through the wood door. I rubbed my fingers together. They were itching for the feel of a paint brush against a smooth canvas. But should I? Even after…after…
It’s a haunting sort of call. Soft and sweet as it is, it holds a deadly promise. The song in her voice even now sends shivers down my spine. The fact that I’m this close to going to her, to doing as she asks, shows how lost I am without her. Even in death, she beckons me, and like always, I go to her.
Shadows, looming in dark corners at night.
Sliding down the wall are lights, in various colors.
I didn’t hear your song, and I don’t know why you’re haunting me.
But I guess it’s all in beckoning,
how you became my king.
I didn’t long for yesterday,
and the nights come so very fast.
I didn’t think that
forever wouldn’t last.
punched in the face. that’s what he GOT. PUNCHED IN THE FACE. I could hardly believe my own strength when I watched his face fly sideways. When my hand fell back down to my side the blood quickly started flush out the pain I had caused myself.
Warmth, Warmth and love is all I can hear. She’s calling to me softly. I can feel her love all from her quiet voice, I want to go to her. Badly. i know she wants me there with her. But while her face beckons me, my heart knows that what we have isn’t real.
I’m here at you’re beckoning call!
It’s beck and call.
You don’t want my help?
I want you to make sense.
I don’t want to be your friend anymore.
Another friend lost to the grammar police!
Come hither my beautiful one – rising fro mthe seas amidst the crashing waves and turquoise waters. As the arm reaches out to enchant the seagoers the mermaid dances in and out of vision – glittering and dancing.
The green land, lush, rolling.
The cliffs, sharp and non-forgiving.
Crash, crash, crashing of the grey waters.
The land is calling, beckoning to us all, to go where the witch lives.
“Kahlan? Come closer.” the bend of an elegant finger beckoned me forward and, obediently, I took a single step towards the waters edge, my boots coming to rest less than an inch from the pools sparkling edge. After all, she’s never told me HOW close I was to come.
A slight quirk at the corner of full lips told me she knew exactly what I was doing, or trying to do, and the slight arch of a fine brow combined with a flash of white teeth and hint of a small pink tongue made my heart set a dangerously haphazard rhythm against the underside of my ribs.
“Whats he doing?” Miles asked in confusion. Arthur had very mercilessly ripped down a vine from the nearest tree and had began wrapping it around the smaller boys waist. Ben turned to face where Arthur and Elliot had gone. He let out a gust of air before saying, ” I think he just found our way out.” Ben grinned and followed in Arthurs footsteps, ripping down a vine and beckoning Miles over to him. Finally understanding Arthurs plans for escape, Miles stepped toward Ben and let him tie the vine around his own waist. Maybe they would make it out alive this time…
It was beckoning. I don’t know what the draw was but it was there. No sound. No smell. Just the sight of the ocean calling me to come closer. I gave in. Not that I had a choice. I walked closer and realized I was all alone.
He stood on the wall, beckoning at us, shouting something. When a second person appeared doing the same, my father gunned the engine and turned the boat around. There was a man in the water, needing help.
The boy was beckoning his mother to come to him as he needed help.
Call me if you need anything at all. The shoes were beckoning me to them.
The teacher was beckoning the kids to do their work in a timely fashion.
beckoning…right hand coming out from the wall, scaly & dark. Friendly. Can’t process more than one though at a time. If I could, I’d be angry about that. But eventually that will fade and it will all come pouring out, bursting out my pores…
so focus. one thing at a time. reach out for the hand, lean towards the wall: sink in.
Coffee and responsibility are beckoning me this morning. I knew last night I’d have to be somewhere besides my patio sipping coffee this morning … early this morning … and so, of course, I barely slept last night. Even the slightest change in routine fucks me up. I wonder if that word will get this post deleted.
The letters were there, from so long ago, beckoning her back to a life that was long gone, that never would have worked anyway. But still they gave her pause – asking her for marriage, for moving to another town to be with him, all the things he could never say to her in person. Married with kids now, both of them, but still, calling to her.
this was it. the voice was back and it was by far the most haunting of the times they’d heard it. the not quite so pipes. the not quite so flute. it was the sound of trees shedding leaves and the moon rising above the water. Jasper and Jamie stopped where they were. The wind had stopped and above the dull twig snapping they heard the faintest tinkle of little bells…
let’s get to the point:
you can’t see the stars
from where i am.
suppose i live too close
to the ground;
you need to have been born
with silver spoons
to have the view from a penthouse.
apparently light pollution
is a thing;
suppose my neighborhood
is at a lack for everything else
that we can’t stand
starving for light too.
our lower class eyes are not those
looking through the hubble;
after a while even photographs
of galaxies
seems almost like another form
of window-shopping.
we see slivers of dusk and dawn,
smile at the moon
when it’s plump and hanging low,
but to see specks
where there should be diamonds
is a brand of hurt
i cannot name.
we will never be the ones chosen
to be shot into space,
to build homes on mars.
our bones will never be allowed
to rot on other planets.
i cannot deny it any longer:
only the rich become
constellations when they die.
Its it a word with good connotation or bad connotation? A beckoning finger, like the wicked witch.
She was beckoning with her eyes.
The teacher
I always associate with eyes
Destiny was a whore. She flaunted possibility at people, rubbing up against them until their potential quivered and quaked, shuddering with want of what she alone could give. She was always beckoning, whispering of the future, of what everyone desired, describing to the last lacy detail where they saw themselves in five, ten, twenty years. Yes, Destiny was a whore, but though she flirted with everyone, she only rarely put out.
Look at the sea and feel the pull of the water on your body, is it any wonder that people spoke of sirens, and serpents? Krakens and leviathans? Mermaids and merrow, their soul cages full of salt-crusted bones.
calling, endlessly calling. once the door is opened, it will never fully close. always left just slightly ajar, the light behind it calling, endlessly calling. it glows softly, tempting the lost. calling, endlessly calling. it will never give up – until you give in. calling, endlessly calling – a soft light of false hope reaching out to the desperate.
All around me lights they fade. In and out. In and out. Inner dreams seem so near, beckoning, beckoning. I know deep down, how much I have left. But nothing will stop me, not now, not never.
This page is beckoning me to write. Well, tap out the words on my laptop. I’m beckoning Raoul to make me a cup of coffee. The outside is beckoning me to leave the house today. I’m beckoning Becky.
come here, sweet children,
and sing your songs of praise
with your voices of pure innocence
and your thoughts worthy of prayer
for you, there is no eternal fire,
no demon to snake his fork tongue around your belly
and shatter your bones from his breath,
only the darkness of childlike ignorance
when the men and women will drown
in their own tears,
you will taste salt on your tongues
and float like lilies on the sea
your prayers are selfish
but your hands are clasped tight
and your hearts so easy to mold
( stay still, my dear, it will be all over soon )
one day you will exchange your wax for gold
and your toys for spears
and your knees will shatter on the marble steps,
singing of praise and for absolution
you are forgiven if
you think that you can love me,
if you will love me
and feed me your prayers and your children
and when you crumble in your grave,
bones shaking underneath the soil,
you won’t feel the cold of my touch
( i am not there; i never was,
you only have yourself in death—
gods were meant for the living )
beckoning, she was drawn to the ice cream parlor
all shook up she could not float.so she whipped up another thought on sundae
She called to me. She called to me when she needed me most, but there was nothing I could do. She was already too far gone. The drugs had taken over, and there was nothing I could do. Why did she have to rely on me?
Everything about the door was drawing him to open it. The musky sent of flowers that emanated from the keyhole seemed to beckon, and ask him to forget what he had been told.
Calypso at the bottom of the sea in all her boiling rage, beckons to all her minions, “The time to surface is at hand.” Beware the red tides.
She stood at the end of the hallway, beckoning me to turn, to come, to follow. As the great dark enshrouded her features, I realized suddenly my feet began to move. It was not home, not nearly so, but it was here. And so was she.
There she was, like some etherial, nightmarish creature in the lamplight, beckoning, always beckoning. Her fingers were long and inhuman, tipped with nails sharp enough to slice through skin. Though in all her strangeness, she still had a certain sort of appeal. But in a dangerous way.
i’ve already written about beckoning
one hundred times before
and i’m usually the beckoner
never satisfied
always searching for more
and around the corner?
there’s nothing
nothing beckoning me but me
always reaching for the next bottle
my next drink
I am beckoning it! I’ll do it beckoning Mary.
Beckoning me from across the way, it stood there, calling my name. The energy I felt – relentless. Is this what it feels like? To be trapped? Ensnared? We haven’t met.
There was a time when I wondered what it would be like to have a beautiful woman reach across the bar to me with her eyes, and signal for me to approach. It’s not something that’s ever happened in my life – but the closest I ever came was when my wife-to-be captured me with her eyes.
Waves crash, that’s what most people say. But they rarely do. Most of the time they beckon, or salute, or threaten as if a bajillion Jewish uncles are raising their fists in a curse.
Th paint stool was beckoning me. I could feel it through the wood door. I rubbed my fingers together. They were itching for the feel of a paint brush against a smooth canvas. But should I? Even after…after…
It’s a haunting sort of call. Soft and sweet as it is, it holds a deadly promise. The song in her voice even now sends shivers down my spine. The fact that I’m this close to going to her, to doing as she asks, shows how lost I am without her. Even in death, she beckons me, and like always, I go to her.
Shadows, looming in dark corners at night.
Sliding down the wall are lights, in various colors.
I didn’t hear your song, and I don’t know why you’re haunting me.
But I guess it’s all in beckoning,
how you became my king.
I didn’t long for yesterday,
and the nights come so very fast.
I didn’t think that
forever wouldn’t last.
The darkness was beckoning.
At first you are able to ignore it, indulging yourself in work; burying yourself under layers of enthusiasm and fake smiles.
Time goes on.
Your cover wears thin.
The light shatters.
The darkness beckons, and you are consumed.
punched in the face. that’s what he GOT. PUNCHED IN THE FACE. I could hardly believe my own strength when I watched his face fly sideways. When my hand fell back down to my side the blood quickly started flush out the pain I had caused myself.
Warmth, Warmth and love is all I can hear. She’s calling to me softly. I can feel her love all from her quiet voice, I want to go to her. Badly. i know she wants me there with her. But while her face beckons me, my heart knows that what we have isn’t real.
Aching pains throughout
wanting all but getting none
A slice of happiness
A glimmer of solitude
Is all that is needed
In this time of despair.
Why Can’t they just understand,
Even though I appear bitter
I’m only wanting to lend a helping hand.
I’m here at you’re beckoning call!
It’s beck and call.
You don’t want my help?
I want you to make sense.
I don’t want to be your friend anymore.
Another friend lost to the grammar police!
Come hither my beautiful one – rising fro mthe seas amidst the crashing waves and turquoise waters. As the arm reaches out to enchant the seagoers the mermaid dances in and out of vision – glittering and dancing.
Calling to you, like a siren song. A double chocolate cake just sitting there on the counter.
The green land, lush, rolling.
The cliffs, sharp and non-forgiving.
Crash, crash, crashing of the grey waters.
The land is calling, beckoning to us all, to go where the witch lives.
“Kahlan? Come closer.” the bend of an elegant finger beckoned me forward and, obediently, I took a single step towards the waters edge, my boots coming to rest less than an inch from the pools sparkling edge. After all, she’s never told me HOW close I was to come.
A slight quirk at the corner of full lips told me she knew exactly what I was doing, or trying to do, and the slight arch of a fine brow combined with a flash of white teeth and hint of a small pink tongue made my heart set a dangerously haphazard rhythm against the underside of my ribs.
“Whats he doing?” Miles asked in confusion. Arthur had very mercilessly ripped down a vine from the nearest tree and had began wrapping it around the smaller boys waist. Ben turned to face where Arthur and Elliot had gone. He let out a gust of air before saying, ” I think he just found our way out.” Ben grinned and followed in Arthurs footsteps, ripping down a vine and beckoning Miles over to him. Finally understanding Arthurs plans for escape, Miles stepped toward Ben and let him tie the vine around his own waist. Maybe they would make it out alive this time…
It was beckoning. I don’t know what the draw was but it was there. No sound. No smell. Just the sight of the ocean calling me to come closer. I gave in. Not that I had a choice. I walked closer and realized I was all alone.
He stood on the wall, beckoning at us, shouting something. When a second person appeared doing the same, my father gunned the engine and turned the boat around. There was a man in the water, needing help.
The boy was beckoning his mother to come to him as he needed help.
Call me if you need anything at all. The shoes were beckoning me to them.
The teacher was beckoning the kids to do their work in a timely fashion.
beckoning…right hand coming out from the wall, scaly & dark. Friendly. Can’t process more than one though at a time. If I could, I’d be angry about that. But eventually that will fade and it will all come pouring out, bursting out my pores…
so focus. one thing at a time. reach out for the hand, lean towards the wall: sink in.
She gazed out her window at the grassy fields blowing in the wind, the autumn breeze was beckoning for her to escape.