PROMPT #216 – PANDORA’S BOX
Photo: Shutterbox – Public Domain
Hey Pandora! What’s in the box? Good or bad, there’s something in there dying to come out. It could be a blessing. It might be a curse. The photo itself may inspire a totally different thought. Use your ekphrastic abilities to let us know. What’s in the box?
MARIE’S REVEAL:
LOCKED
Out of fear
(or worse — indifference)
she waited too long
to unlock the trunk she daily
(habitually)
avoided. Tripped over. Pretended wasn’t there.
Summoning the courage, she unlocked it.
Discovered a long-lost page.
Dulled. Faded. Not easily read.
Less easily understood.
For times had changed,
and, therefore,
the truths that had shaped them.
Right?
As she tried to examine
and understand,
she began to question
everything.
Perhaps wrong paths had been taken.
Destructive habits had formed.
Perhaps what was true, then,
was no less true, now.
Perhaps times change,
but truths remain.
Perhaps it was up to her
to unlock
release
embrace.
© Marie Elena Good, 2018
WALT’S EXPOSURE:
SECRETS KEPT AND HIDDEN, by Walter J Wojtanik
No one knows.
And the best-kept secret remains as such.
How much is it worth to know things
that your heart can confirm,
but you cannot communicate,
this declaration of fact lies hidden.
Distance spanned and water
under the bridge between then and now.
How do you live a life with this burden?
They couldn’t know; you gave no indications,
your stagnation and debilitating fear
brought you here with nary a lead.
But indeed, you have known.
You will carry it until you’ll have grown
feeble and cold, just an infarction from
the chill’s permanence; it hides in residence.
Do you declare to the world and hope the rooftops
can handle your exuberance,
your happy dance long buried?
This fact prompts you to wonder
that if under this guise you can reprise
what your heart conceals, the real feel of its mystery,
your history until now untold and you let the story unfold.
Touching secrets with probing fingers,
the memory lingers. You held the best vantage point
in the room to see all before you,
a chance at a glance always revealed.
Though you were in close proximity,
you chose to let fear dictate and seal your fate.
Never a clue did you expose. You chose to fade,
finding comfort in your invisibility. Indignantly,
you held your nerve and your secret this long.
It can’t be wrong to release your burden and breathe again.
No one knows.
You wonder if your existence evaded detection then.
You are certain that it does now.
Unseen for all these years, no one could know.
Your memories melt flowing onto a page
as you engage your feelings.
Poems written of your smitten past,
and at last you come clean.
It’s not as if these poems will ever be seen.
© Walter J Wojtanik – 2018
“It is by going down into the abyss that we recover the treasures of life. Where you stumble, there lies your treasure.” ~ Joseph Campbell
Hidden
Like a delicate seashell
tossed by a horrific storm
high above the tide line,
she waits alone.
Strength and tenacity,
hold her together.
On the outside, she is worn –
cracks of age belie the
beauty of her heart.
Discovered
He holds her like
a priceless treasure
found after years of being buried
by time and neglect.
In his eyes, she is the rarest of her kind –
creative, wise and loving.
The years of waiting – over –
they polish their love, daily.
© 2018 Linda M. Rhinehart Neas
So lovely in thought, image, and word. Always enjoy the treasures you share with us, Linda!
How beautiful, Linda. I love the titled stanzas of contrast perspectives.
Wow, Linda! That poem was a rare beauty.
Lovely!
An excellent pair to release right out of the “box”, Linda. Always a great lead-off!
Thank you all for your kind words. Marie and Walt…your poems were my muse…following your leads. So many wonderful lines.
Fellow poets…WOW! this prompt really opened the treasury of words we all hold dear. Excellent work, everyone!!
We tend to feed off of each other here more than other venues, Linda. It is a welcoming and supportive, non-competitive place. It may be a smaller group, but very nurturing.
Walt: I’ve read your poem several times. Each time, it totally wows me, and I see something a bit different in it than the previous reading. “How much is it worth to know things that your heart can confirm, but you cannot communicate…” WOW. Such depth. So thankful for your prolific, powerful poetry sense. Always. So humbled to be a part of this with you, here.
That’s me, a deep stinker! It’s all there for what it’s worth.
HA! 🙂
Why, Walt, when I read your poem was there a pirate’s voice doing the reading in my head. Interesting. Nevertheless, a compelling piece of wordmanship. Arrr!
Arrr! Indeed.
Early Riser
Thousands
of mornings
have started the same
where you sleep warm
and yet
I rise
the quiet day
nudging me
with gentle thoughts
forcefully pulling
my covers off
and yet
I don’t feel
like rhyming today
where rules
must count
and lines
be broken
so the naked
truth
must spill
or spray
or drip
and dry
until my secret’s
clean
and the mist
of it
forms in the steam
and yet again
I trace
my heart
on the mirror
cold
while in your dreams
you must decide
if you’ll wake
in time
to see.
So I was going to share my favorite part of this piece, but it is the bulk of it, and so seems silly to try. But honestly, from “until my secret’s clean,” through the end? Brilliant.
Wow. The brevity of lines is like a halting but unstoppable line of thought until that last confession of a loneliness that wrenches the heart: “you must decide / if you’ll wake / in time / to see.”. Loved this.
Love your ending on this!
I hardly sleep. So being awake in time to see is a moot point. A lovely piece of expression here, Dear!
Pandora’s Box can be many thing to many people.
Or perhaps it’s not a box at all.
Interesting…….
The Old Me
Safely locked away
Never more to be seen
Hopefully
Nor tempted by
Successfully
My previous life
The old me
Lay waiting for
An opportunity
To pound the walls
And get my attention
That I might open the door
And set them free once more
Old habits
Old vices
Old pranks pounding loud
Dirty jokes
Dirty tricks
Dirty thoughts; I’m not proud
They call to me daily
They whisper and scream
Both in my waking hours
And again in my dreams
They know I have changed
Still they tempt and taunt me
But the door will stay locked
And I have the only key
Why don’t I throw away the key?
I’ve tried, but it is part of me
God, give me the strength to resist
These old sins that still persist
The old me is gone
But temptations live on
Just behind that locked door
The old me, nevermore
© 2018 Earl Parsons
Earl, thank you for this. “Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, the new creation has come: The old has gone, the new is here!” So thankful for Christ, who was tempted in every way we are, yet without sin. Your poem expresses this beautifully!
Earl, yes it’s so tempting to hold on to the key. I think my best bet is to throw away the box. This was nicely done.
Temptation will always lurk, but at least you have the key.
What an important and insightful poem , Earl
“God give me the strength to resist/These old sins that still persist” Amen!
It’s truly great if we could re-create ourselves. Sounds like your struggles are paying off (if even begrudgingly). Love this poem, Earl.
The Box
The box, so beautiful and very old
Ornately decorated in hammered gold
Wood stained dark with pronounced grain
Aged through years of wind and rain
What treasures might lie inside this chest?
I dare not venture nor even suggest
The box, neither large nor heavy at all
What treasure could fit in something this small?
Maybe a map that leads to sunken treasure
Or deeds or titles to riches and pleasure
What riches might lie inside this chest?
So small and so light, I dare not guess
The box; could it be another Pandora?
If so, wouldn’t I feel some devilish aura?
Do I dare take the chance of looking inside?
What if its contents attacked and I died?
What evil might lie inside of this box?
Should I bind it shut with chains and locks?
The box lies unopened just as it was found
With new chains and lock, it’s securely bound
No treasure is worth the risk that it posed
Even though the risk may be mentally imposed
Whatever might lie inside of this chest
Is better left alone; that’s what I suggest.
© 2018 Earl Parsons
Intriguing. Perhaps a short story?
Yes, Marie is right. I can see this as a short story. Good one, Earl.
Like this as well. The temptation is thick.
I love the last two lines.
Precisely! You paint quite the scenario, Earl. Sounds safe under your watch!
Oh, Pandora!
Free music and mora!
To play on my music box!
#seventeenineighteen
HA! Clever!
Pingback: LOCKED | pictured words
Twenty degrees cooler than yesterday. Yawn. I love it.
Dora Explains Her Treasure Map Room
Closed for long enough, boxes acquire
a shine not rising from their design
or materials, not from lines of light-reflecting
gold or glowing radium. What gives
a chained and padlocked coffer, or amorphous
brown and tagless Christmas present allure
is the crime that takes a black cat’s nine lives.
Curiosity, stoked, is a steam engine.
Eyes, mind, feet, and fingers—are the train.
I have been known to feign disinterest, look
into open drawers, more open faces,
pretending a distain for mystery;
but turn away, walk away as I will:
the unknown remains afoot. Irritating
sliver, unidentifiable ping
in the night. Worse than the root of evil.
Barbara, your way of expressing yourself always leaves me with a grin. This piece is just brilliant, and your usual creative take on the prompt! Love it!
Barbara, this is masterful. Esp “Irritating / sliver, unidentifiable ping / in the night.”
Ooh, I love that ping in the night.
I’m not worthy, I’m not worthy…. This rocks to no end! Great one, oh Great one!
Are You Tempted?
This poem is a box
of weathered wood
and rusted locks.
Scares you, dares, you
to open it up–contents
dormant for years.
This poem exploits
your fear. It knows
those creepy, crawly
tingly objects that turn
your limbs to liquid,
your stomach to squash.
If you are not ready
to face your demons,
this poem begs you–
Do Not Open.
Ooooh! Such provocative language and phrasing! Well done!
Thanks, Marie!
Love this!
Thanks, Damon!
Your poems do not scare me! They absolutely delight! Warm smiles from the other end of the state!
You leave what kind of “creepy, crawling, tingly” things lie inside the box! Very evocative!
Hey from under deluge of today. Thanks, Walt.
Love your replies to this prompt Walt and Marie. Daring seems to be thematic to the prompt. Will work on this when I finish Friday’s form.
Thank you Damon! Looking forward, as always, to your input!
Stuff
Not really hidden, available
for all who wish to see,
the things I need the least,
confronting me, taunting,
still visible,
even locked behind wood.
The poems never shown,
tucked away for some future edit,
the painted and penciled pictures,
not suitable for public display.
(or comment)
I must have thought I’d
return to them someday,
but age flattens a man,
life shifts his priorities.
How things were,
even how they will be,
do not matter.
(nope)
There’s only how
things are now.
Mostly I write and paint
to find out
what I’m thinking,
to check my mood,
(the current one)
to tell the truth,
(always)
which does indeed set me free,
but not until it sometimes
pisses me off.
I have a storage unit,
(costs a bundle)
monthly bills higher than
the value of the stuff inside,
including that cedar chest
which holds all the scribblings,
the dabblings.
Who’s to judge, really?
(not me)
Someone besides me will
throw all my stuff away,
(someday)
perhaps a semi-star of
some sort of reality tv show.
They’ll open that chest,
maybe think about the contents,
or maybe they’ll just
bitch and groan, wonder why
anyone would keep such junk.
One man’s treasure…
(oh, you know)
Daniel, I’m sorry that your poem was sent to our “pending” folder for approval. I’m not sure why, as we have it set to accept poems and comments after first approval. We shouldn’t have to approve posts from any given site more than once. Huh…
But anyway, I’m glad we found it! This one is a thinker. This one is a real-life, real-thoughts, real- well, REAL. What especially grabs me is
“I have a storage unit,
(costs a bundle)
monthly bills higher than
the value of the stuff inside,
including that cedar chest
which holds all the scribblings,
the dabblings.
Who’s to judge, really?
(not me)”
REAL.
Love it.
Ha! I know what a “thinker” is now. It’s when I type manically, stream of conscious, working off of a Divine download, and then post without thought or edit.
HA! Well, cool then! Likely what made it real! 😀
Love your remarks on the storage unit!
One man’s junk is another man’s junk if you play your cards right! Love this interpretation, Daniel!
https://foundlines.wordpress.com/2018/09/24/a-coup-de-foudre/
Goodness. And speaking of provocative. Misk, I don’t know how you do it. But that’s part of the beauty of rubbing elbows with so many different poetic minds.
Thanks. I kept it on my blog because I didn’t want ‘provocative’ on here. Didn’t seem appropriate. This is a bit more risqué than my usual waltz through flowers and nature and … stuff.
It’s entirely possible that we could host very young souls on this site. We’ve actually had two in the past, that I can think of. So yes, very thoughtful of you, Misk. We are pretty accepting of most, though. I can’t think of even one time we had to remove anything from here. 😉
Misky, what a wonderful encounter. Loved the opening of a heart over breakfast, the intoned click of this Dutch woman’s key unlocking a peek into the writers heart w just a question.
Left this over there. Now I’m bringing it here:
I hear you rub elbows with poetic minds, Marilyn! That explains the headache I’m having. And the flutter in my heart… love this!
Good prompts produce interesting work, Walt.
Box of memories broken open
Spilled shattered bits of hell
Stories so tattered, so profane
I never meant to tell.
Broken bits and secrets entrusted
to the God who knows and sees,
who poured out grace and set me free,
redeemed worst of memories.
And all that in the box was hidden
finally drawn into the light
though horrific and forbidden
were, by grace, somehow made right.
Shelly, this is nothing short of lovely, uplifting, and amazing! It’s so hard to believe you are just now trying your hand at poetry. Such a natural, and getting better with each one.
I’m glad you are now on WordPress, and I love your name. Grace Anchored Soul, indeed! ❤
For those who happen to see this post / poem, and don't know, this is my friend Michelle (aka Shelly), who began posting here on a blogger account, and just made the switch to WordPress.
Shelly, I am now following you! Yay!
Thank you!
though horrific and forbidden were by grace somehow made right.
Oh, amen!
Seems we ‘ve made a real poet out of you, Michelle! This is outstanding!
Thanks!
Shelley, this is a marvelous turn from despaired shame to forgiven-ful restoration. Beautiful.
Mind of a Dog
The eyes,
the begging eyes,
always, always watching mine,
waiting for a key to turn
to unlock her wanting.
The pleas,
the gentle whines,
sounding on my human ears,
though I can’t hear what she can hear,
a squirrel’s scurry up an outside tree.
The sad-eyed dread,
the nagging fear
I might decline,
I might demand
she lay back down
ignoring what she knows is true.
The wag,
the honest pleading wag
to let her joy be mine,
begging my confession that
I truly count
her happiness my own.
The yes,
the glad relenting yes,
appears in the air between us
like a poem’s unexpected line.
I grab the leash,
go to the door.
I don’t know, ever,
anymore,
who really turns the key.
© Damon Dean, 2018
(oops…. first line is Title. Lost space somehow)
What a creative take on the prompt! I am always drawn to creative outlooks on any given prompt. Love this, Damon! Especially:
The yes,
the glad relenting yes,
appears in the air between us
like a poem’s unexpected line.
I can really relate to this one, Damon. I have two, and they never let up.
Creative capture of a dog’s mind. Made me smile this morning.
If it’s the key to your heart, it is definitely the pup that holds it! A sweet write, Damon. (And I gave you your title!)
Old trunk
Long forgotten
Left behind by one who
Set aside for another day
Then left childhood for more substantial games
A treasure map awaits inside
For a child to venture
Yesterday’s paths
Today
Darlene Franklin
Nice!
A trip down that lane always, Always, ALWAYS stirs memories and emotions. This is superb, Darlene. I am reading this in sepia tones which we all know is the color of memory!
Walt, thank you. I had to look up “ekphrastic.” I write historical fiction, and that is what this picture stirred in me, that of an old time traveling trunk.
Walt, even your comments are poetic, “reading this in sepia tones.” That’s what I saw in the photograph, brown on brown. Love it!
Yes, Darlene, this is such a vivid ‘photograph’ of a waiting treasure. Loved it.
Nice one, Darlene!
Walt and Marie, both your poems were incredible!
Thank you, Sarah!
I’ve said it before and I will say it again. We are merely reflections of the brilliance with which we surround ourselves. We are incredible because you are all incredible! Thanks for the support and contributions to this beautiful place!
Hear, hear!!
Walt, Marie, is there a place I can contact you off the website? I wrote a poem today from my own prompts that I would appreciate input on. Nothing to do with this prompt, however.
Try here, Darlene:
poeticbloomings@yahoo.com
And here’s more of a Pandora’s box poem:
Word Box
Pandora’s box opened and words escaped
Spreading feelings in their wake
Dulling my ears by all I did hear
Out my mouth beauty, hope, lust cascaded
But tendrils of hope whisper in the air
Sweeping up the mountain stairs
Sealing my shredded heart so dear
Words reaching rarifed air
The word box opened and I almost died
Thet weighed on my soul, leaving me blind
Look to the prism as His light nears
The word and all words in my abide
Darlene Franklin
” … words escaped Spreading feelings in their wake”
I like this visual of a truth we too often forget.
The Box
The Lord held out a large, old, dusty box.
I looked at it and wondered, “What’s inside?”
He smiled and gave me keys for all the locks.
“So open it,” He said, his smile was wide.
What if I wasn’t smart enough, if tried?
Or could it injure me along the way?
Perhaps it would strip me of any pride.
I stood there, still not knowing what to say.
A guessing game is what I’d like to play,
or see the future instantly and clear.
Should I dare open up the box that day?
If so, how would I conquer every fear?
I didn’t have to know what was in store.
Just had to know and trust my Savior more.
Your final couplet gets a huge “amen” from over here!