Literary Lion: Sun and Water


The sun is high in the sky when I awake. A summer sun that leaves you aching for days on the lake, houseboating, cabins, and beaches. I arise with tanned skin from my days vacationing here. Sylvan Lake is a wonderful little place in Alberta. It’s a place that crawls with locals and tourists when the sun first hits it and warms the temperature to a toasty twenty-six degrees celsius in June. The hotter it becomes the more people who roam here. They sit on the grass by the lake, young people in bikini’s and boarder shorts. Also, families with little kids running around and eating the famous ice cream. It melts down their bare torsos in rivulets of color, whatever crazy flavour the kid chose– tiger or bubblegum maybe.

I am neither those young people anymore, nor am I a family. I am somewhere in-between. Young but not college age anymore. I came with a couple of friends and we haven’t been here in years, since those days of campus shenanigans. We are lying on towels on the grass and the sun beats down on us, thirty-five degrees celsius. It’s a hot one today. My pale skin is red from the rays that beat down on me. I never notice sunburn until it is too late. But at least I noticed soon enough that I won’t have blisters or second degree burns such as I had as an eight-year–old in the Okanogan.

I put on my shirt so my shoulders won’t burn anymore and walk out into the lake water which is lukewarm. I walk until my hair goes under. Then  I float gently in the water as the sun hits the afternoon crowd with its rays. Kids are floating on little rafts and blow up crocodiles. I hate the lake but it is a balm to my sun burn. I hate the things that live beneath its watery veil. The fish and God knows what else.

I’m out pretty far out in the lake when something pulls on my leg. I swim towards shore but the thing keeps pulling at me. I am closer to shore and swimming faster than I’ve ever swum. My skins aches from the burn of the sun underneath my t-shirt. Then I’m pulled under the water, again, and again. I’m yelling and screaming, but my friends just wave. They cannot hear me. And then I’m pulled down to the depths of the lake. I’ll never see the sun again, the water was my fate.

Thanks to I Smith Words for the prompt sun.

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Poem: You


Remember me? I haven’t gone much of anywhere.

I told you I was in my own world, I didn’t mean it.

The things we say that have no meaning, that are taken literally, too literally.

Remember me? You use to stare and we’d wave at each other.

I remember only liking you, no one else would ever do.

It took too long to get over you, and now you’re just a fragment;

Of those crazy years past by long ago, when we were young and barely adult.

When passing tests and writing papers were big deal breakers; 

And some student’s cried when they realized they couldn’t make the mark,

But that was not me or you, and I’m not writing this to moan about what could have been.

I knew you’d be great, find your niche, you are a charmer, that personality spreads like butter. 

Now, I am here and you would never recognize me, at least I hope you wouldn’t 

But I am me, no matter my size, and I live such a different life.

I don’t think we’ve ever connected, I was just a stopping place on your road of life.

Remember me? Never do. I am looking ahead; and I’ve brought with me all the past I need. 

They are here; not you. 

Writing 201 – Ode/Metaphor – Promised Land


To praise the softness of your skin would be a noble pleasure.

But the mounds of muscles that anchor on your chest are a struggle of roads and paths that make skin so soft, hard underneath.

You are a safety haven, a place that I call home, you are the soldier of the open road coming back to me.

And I travel down the pathway of your arms and pause a moment at the roads of muscle, my fingertips on your back.

I stop a moment at the nape of your neck and kiss a trail up to your earlobe and suck on it, an apple from the tree knowledge.

Running my fingers through your hair, the tug and pull is aimless, it smells like citrus, wood, and a place I call my own.

Your lips are a valley I often travel, the palace of a kingdom; a warm and wet holiday in a place of intense hot weather.

Your eyes are the blue that see through me, they reflect, and they are a mirror; they make me feel I am a jewel, the most precious of all stones.

But deep inside your heart beats and your soul is a hungry vessel; I know the dangers of this journey, of here there could be peril.

You are a map to the hidden kingdom, and I am the only one who knows the way – you are my soul and my heartbreaker, my own promised land.