Where the Song is Moody

Posted: November 6, 2016 in Uncategorized

No Song To Me In The Numb Hours ~ Kenia Cris

imaginarygarden Play It Again, Toads! Imagined By
I Chose  Photography Challenge, featuring Kenia Cris, March 3, 2012


A path leads into the heart
into the wooded chambers
winds along in smoky gloom
that rise from dying embers.
It is, I think, the burnt remains
of smoldering ancient dreams
of love unrequited, hopes cast off,
and plans raveled at the seams.
I meet them here occasionally
to reminisce and lament
then dry my eyes and move on
to where time is better spent.



  1. Susan says:

    Now thats just lovely…..calming..

    Liked by 1 person

  2. What a place that would is… I think you capture that moment on that bench.


  3. Kerry O'Connor says:

    It is, I think, the burnt remains
    of smoldering ancient dreams…
    This perfectly conveys the moodiness of the composition.

    Liked by 1 person

  4. Sanaa Rizvi says:

    Debi, I absolutely love this ❤️ an incredible combination of sadness, longing, regret and wisdom ❤️ not to mention mesmerizing imagery! My favorite from you! Beautifully penned.

    Lots of love,

    Liked by 1 person

  5. Mama Zen says:

    Lovely work, Debi.

    Liked by 1 person

  6. Jim says:

    Hi Debi ~~ I’m liking reading of your “burnt remains of smoldering ancient dreams.” Most who read of how their reminiscence brings the emotions into play. Useless play that we cannot help but have. I would love to write a book about mine. That would entail deep reminiscing, bad for me and who would want to read of it all
    My poem has truth for me, my life. It still hurts sometimes after all these years. I looked it over, song wise. Thank you. The fourth verse or similar might be a refrain.
    I too used Cris’s photo. I enjoyed looking her poetry and the Deviant Art sites over. You might also. The link on the “Garden” post would have us thinking that she had given up writing, and possibly art and photography.


  7. kim881 says:

    That’s a great choice of photo, Debi, and you’ve got to the heart of it with your poem, especially with the lines:
    ‘…the burnt remains
    of smoldering ancient dreams
    of love unrequited, hopes cast off,
    and plans raveled at the seams.
    I meet them here occasionally’.


  8. …then dry my eyes. We all need such a place… (such a red chair)

    Liked by 1 person

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