A Picture is Worth...

Thank you for the instructions. I updated my entry to include the image. Thanks again.

eswaller, you are welcome!

Oh my goodness. Somehow I messed it up (again). Now the poem isn't showing up. I don't know what I did.

eswaller said:Oh my goodness. Somehow I messed it up (again). Now the poem isn't showing up. I don't know what I did.
Dear Es, The link to your entry shows as a link but doesn't show the poem unless you tap/ click on the link.  Otherwise, the photobucket link is working fine.  So let's see what our host thinks once he comes in and takes a look.  It's fixable.🌾

Hello contestants - It seems that having two url links in your entry causes one - the link to your poems' texts - to show up as only a link...

Here's the work-around - if you have - as eswaller has - gotten your photo to appear in the competition, simply copy and past your poem's text into your entry - you can leave the link to your poem in the entry, it will appear as the poem's address; so, if the reader clicks on it, they will be taken to the poem's page.

I hope this helps...

geoff

Yes, that helps and makes sense. Thanks for all of your help. Somehow I got it to work again. I'm now leaving it alone.

And thanks Jade. I got it to work again. No more messing with it now.

http://i1036.photobucket.com/albums/a450/geoff_collins2/8f4baffa-9e69-43f4-ad1c-c68a63d8265b_zps5wx4kuhe.jpg



for those who hear...

       
       
every night I glimpse her world      
melancholic music plays, endlessly      
she transports me with her thoughts      
her life open for review        
laid out before me        
naked        
     
on the edge of her bed        
she’s sits    
an empty shell      
vacant      
staring      
whispering    
     
I watch her, spellbound      
not wanting to move as      
her hopes    
her dreams    
her loves      
come into view      
     
she feels me watching      
sometimes she’ll murmur quietly      
‘I know you’re there….’      
I hold my breath for a second, wondering      
‘how?’      
     
nights, weeks, and months have passed      
she's talking to me more and more      
hoping I hear her words and      
I do      
     
sometimes she’s forceful in what she says      
adamant    
demanding I hear her      
‘remember this…or that…’      
is tacked on to note its importance      
     
I don’t answer      
I just watch
and listen, earnestly      
as though my life depended on it      
knowing I need to embed her words in my being      
aware they’ll help me continue on this path      
a path not chosen by me      
or her or those before her        
but by something greater than us      
way back when…      
when we came into existence      
     
I want to paint her      
in my minds eye she’s there on canvas      
dark as a Rembrandt portrait      
mysterious as Da Vinci’s Mona Lisa      
with a touch of Klimt’s erotica    
 
I want to capture her soul like Caspar      
blending it with the angst of Vincent      
paint it with my reality and      
Frida’s raw simplicity        
     
she is me      
she is all women      
our past, our present, our future      
she’s come to guide me        
as I sail these turbulent seas      
     
for those who hear      
her wisdom is free      
     
     
     
© Kate Adams 9/1/16    
     
     
     
'The Penitent Magdalen' (1877) by Hans Heyerdahl    
     
     
   
     

Phantom Lunch Companion

Stories are told of  amputees
Who when an arm or a leg is taken
They still sense the presence of
The now absent limb as if it were a phantom

My lunch companion
Was excised from my life
Amputated from me
Due to my moronic and insensitive behavior
My inability to control the “Y” chromosome

Now when I visit the places of our former repasts
I can feel her presence there
My phantom lunch companion

Our first lunch, Mexican I think, was fascinating
Filled, at least for me, with the nervous excitement
Of meeting someone new
Our conversation quickly turned to deeper things
I met a soul open to frank discussion of real life,
My absolutely favorite  kind of friend

At the little Italian place on the corner,
Where she spoke orgasmically of their Chicken crepes
We first sat by the window and spoke of
Her passion for spreadsheets
The prettiest geek in the room,

At that table there in the corner, against the wall
We spoke of our love and concern for our children
And our painful childhood memories
And, of course, the seemingly unavoidable
Spilling of something on my shirt

At the table nearest the front
Freedom was the topic
True self-expression
The living of life on our own terms
A skill my phantom lunch companion masters so much better than I

On my weekday bus rides out of town
I can’t help but glance at "our"table in Market Square
Where on a beautiful Winter’s day
We sat and ate Greek food
While she, wearing a bright smile,
Recounted her recent adventures in New York City

Family relationships, kids, work, cupcakes, tattoos, religion
Politics, movies, clothing, sex (not certain though), piercings, French, philosophy,
And so many more were the topics we discussed
While eating at the Chinese restaurant across the street

I think we would have solved all of what’s
Wrong with this world if given a few more meals

My lunch hours, although still enjoyable,
Are spent, now, with prosthetic companions
And one note conversations

These can never feel like the real thing
Though the table and meal are the same
And yet in some mysterious way
I can still feel the presence of my Phantom Lunch Companion
La Fin

(Image: Unattributed-found in Google search}

Thank you, snugglebuck, for your entry and for participating in the competition.

geoff

Thank you, seekingkate, for sharing your words and photo with us and thank you for participating in the competition.

geoff

Thank you, Gahddess_Worship for your image and words and for joining us in the competition.

geoff

Thank you, calamitygin, for picture poem offering and for you adding to the competition...

geoff