I picked up a
handful of marbles,
perfectly round,
smooth, cool,
clinkety clunky in
my wrinkled grasp.
Brightly colored,
variegated blues,
yellows, reds, plus
an amber cat’s eye,
a shiny steelie,
and a swirly snaky.
There was nothing
particularly
notable about these
colorful orbs.
Other than they
exist simultaneously
in the worlds of my
present and my past
as only childhood
playthings can.
Peace, people!
A trip through life with fingers crossed and eternal optimism.
Doing the best I can with what I have
kind of sad, but not so bad with cheese. cheese not provided.
My streams of thought meet here
Conceptual Photographer and Writer
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Life in a flash - a bi-weekly storytelling blog
MARK PETRUSKA | WRITER
Short essays about novels and other fictional works
By Ian Garrabrant
Home of Micropoetry, Literature, art and philosophy.
Just a fiction writer, trying to reach the world.
I'd curtsy but I'm drunk.
Praying for Eyebrowz 
Gently profound…liked it. Do you know where the phrase, ‘Lost his marbles’ comes from?
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No, I don’t.
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The ‘Lost Boy’ Tootles from Peter Pan lost his marbles and became fixated at the loss…in later life he would go on and on about them to the extent that these days we refer (well some do) to the bewildered old as having ‘lost their marbles’!
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😄
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really enjoyed the sensory images. they are strong enough to bring back memories from 60 years ago of playing marbles. — michael
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Glad you liked it!
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Nice final thought
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Thank you! Are you feeling better?
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Yes, much. Thanks, Leslie
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Good news!
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