Charlene Sines
Bio
I love creative writing, poetry Edgar Allan Poe and Keats.Odd combination I know. I have found that my best friend really happens to be my dog. Music is also my best friend.
Stories (8/0)
An Old House
Further into the woods I walked. Who had lived there? I wondered to myself. Do I go inside to look at what could have been? I hear the creak of the door, ever so slight in a silent day. I begin to notice not a bird sound could I hear. A shudder runs down by back, yet still I persist. Into the entryway, cold and damp with smudgy dirty windows, not being cleaned in decades. I could barely see out of them. There was enough light to make my way towards the living area. An old broken down fireplace was in a corner .I imagined a warm hearth at some time in the past. I was taken back to a time when I could imagine a piano in an open place, maybe people gathered around in joy. I got the distinct feeling of a haunting.Memories lived here as well as ghosts. I suddenly heard a noise beneath. A cellar I imagined as I walked towards a door in the kitchen, a cellar door leading down. My exploring took on an ominous feeling as I opened the door to the cellar. I was met with the smell of must and dirt. The stairs were old and some were missing. I decided against continuing even though I heard yet again another noise far below. I made my way back from the kitchen to a separate room. A bedroom I assumed as I opened the door. Much to my surprise, there was a modern look. A new carpet, lit oil lamps, a large couch. Someone lives here I thought to myself feelings of fright crept up as I ran for the door. I had assumed with the broken down home facing me from the outside view there could not possibly be anyone near. As quietly as I could I left this home far into the woods with no roads to or from. As I stepped out into the sunlight, birds had begun to chirp. I didn't turn around. I kept walking from the way I had came. I thought nothing could possibly be following me as I made my way home. My relief was short lived. I could hear breaking twigs that matched my foot steps. I stopped, tried to breath quietly and listened. I didn't dare even make a sound. Then suddenly I heard a bird chirp that became louder the closer the sound got to me. I quickly found a hiding place, trying to stay calm I hid in a huge root bound tree. I hid between the huge roots and waited. I could hear him mumbling to himself, "I almost had that one," he said as his voice was closer still. I was amazed! He sounded just like a bird. I could hear him breaking through the woods not bothering to be quiet. He walked past my hiding place, much to my relief. He was tall. His hair long and dark. For a moment in the dimming sunlight he looked like a woman in a cape. I had to look twice seeing him. I was lucky he didn't find me. He made his way up a steep bank right above me. I waited, it was beginning to get dark. I knew I could find my way home no matter how late it got. Crickets began to chirp, still I waited. My feeling was so strong that he was near. I began to get sleepy and tried to keep myself awake. Then suddenly he spoke. His voice was a distance away, as he spoke I left me hiding place since he wasn't as close as he had been. "Stay out of my corn field" "Stay far from my home"
By Charlene Sines3 years ago in Fiction
Earth Song
Earth Song Of mountains laid to us magestically in distant lands so humbly. A horizon seen so distantly our future not so perfectly. If I had known the scarcity of all the cities built for thee, how I would have fought for me and others who of the dread we see. A barren land to our surpise even though the world had been kind and gentle to me. Yet I had taken for granted the waterfalls of distant lands pictured in my soul. There would always be a place for me even if it was cold eternity. The scars we leave on forests both near and far has brought me to my knees. Those in society don't have the time except to look at historical facts of the Earth song now forever changed to a mourning in oceans deep. The currents that ran so gently now have become raging floods, as ice has melted from regions far. Slowly slowing down the ocean to stand in stark contrast of what was. If we had known a freezing night, what is to come when the sun reflects only off unfrozen waters. The Earth song sang a love for us unconditionally. We look to the stars as if a guide we may find,only met with storms that act illrationally. I am not used to this as I hear the Earth song get louder. I cannot stop her mournful cry for she had loved us with rains and sustanance. I feel it is too late to act and not knowing if it is a waste of time, society marches on. I cared too much however late. A desert I look to, as if it will sustain us. A shelter we seek however meek, if I could start over and not take for granted all the riches given to me. We hold in our hands a fragile future, with not much time. I'm afraid the time has past and that is why I hear the Earth's mournful song. How we used her to every advantage.
By Charlene Sines3 years ago in Poets
Winter's Blue
The air a cold blue and a reprieve from summer's heat.If I could see my breath as we speak, instead in awe I look at mountains it's distance felt near.Winter wrens I tried to follow,low looking towards the ground. Tiny prints left as a path to follow. Slowly going out of the trees,no distant cars in my sight.A mist of freezing fog brings an inner warmth. An hour or two as time moves.I know time has past when looking at distant clouds moving slowly across the sky and I think of the most happy thought I can. Then I can't, it's almost as if I had forgot that winter is a rest for our earth.Why I feel like I can't rest along with the changing seasons. I'm too focused on myself. Birds take flight,such an oversight. I can't explain except to think of what I have seen and in a way I think of two small hummingbirds in a summer light. Their energy makes them feel as if I should run for my life. To imagine a bird with such energy and flight gives me hope for future winters sight. I walk slowly back to my car with a feeling of sadness.I don't know where it comes from, except it's almost a guilt for futures sake. I can't walk to this place so long ago when the sky was clear and I looked forward to seeing the moon at night. It had recently filled me with dread. I shouldn't have to live like this, forgetting natures gift. I start with telling myself it is a gift for all of us, even as geese fly past. I look forward to the spring and flowering trees, petals falling in a spring storms wind.
By Charlene Sines3 years ago in Poets
Illusion of Love
Before it was known to me that black candles were for spell casting. I had been hearing a distant man's name in my thoughts. I dreamed of voices and black candles.It was an illusion of love given to me.The irony was the innocence I had brought to those dreams.To be met with harshness and perceived deception. Afterall I must have been like all the rest to him. His disdain only compounded in his imagination. It was a failure from the beginning.He suspected sinister motives. I wondered if I haunted him in his waking hours or his sleep? Like a hidden memory captured only in random thoughts pushed quickly aside. I don't wish for him redemption, thats his task. I leave him with a message of hope. Old will seem new again. Ideas will take shape and form.Importance of jewels and stones will be lost in a sight of words touching all of us as a clear water spring. It was a fraility of knowledge,ignore my aloneness still wrapped in hope. Lives will get better in nights and tepid days and be aware of the star even though it's distance far.
By Charlene Sines3 years ago in Poets
Music Sheets
Music Sheets Do better than me. It should be easy to do. Better the world,I don't want to. Make music and sing a tune. After all it tries to be a remedy when life fails us in a certain way. Notice a woman or a man. Make a point to hum a tune. It will get you far from my sight. Remember someone else's past. Forget yourself. Hide between the sage and Rosemary, wade through lavender fields with nature's music by your side. Look up towards a web, there is no spider to seek nor a bee after all they disapeared along with you. Music sheet music, an old song set to notes. Hear her sing some day. I stopped listening. After all you knew of the song that will never be written. It was mixed with the past, present and the future. Often times repeated. Listen to the song, a soft ruby lullaby of a song by a closed door that you walk past. Unaware you had been lost in mistakes I had made in the past. A magical note if you made the time. Look past the unpretty, if truth be known you won't be lost and can if willing lead to discoveries if we were to ever meet. Think of me and I will think of you in musical love and sway to a sight only known in the rambling of thought of music put together, imperfect to one who never hears.
By Charlene Sines3 years ago in Poets
A Fog More Than Me
A Fog more than me as I turn to see crimson trees and silent day. Do I dare look up as I hear a swift moving wings ever so close. Could I catch the feathers that drift down towards me and use them for a charm and maybe flight? What could I see from a tree top view, looking down at fog ever never new. I listen suddenly as leaves swirl about my feet. A sound of footsteps coming towards my way. Yet I can not see who approaches me. I had been looking towards birds high up in trees. Am I alone or not? I wonder aloud. As sounds in clearing have stopped. I stare with intent at a still fall day. Not a breeze does move even a tree. Swirling fog soon comes near, how is that possible with the still in the air. Lifting fog, in a distance so near. I look with glances every way around aware of the forest amid it's autumn crown. Out of the woods slowly coming near, a doe, a small yearling with shades of brown. Large black eyes meet mine. Carefully she moves away from me like I was a hunter. How would she know if I had been friend or foe. Towards a spring of cool, clear water that I hear in a distance I'm sure she goes. What makes her so alone, I think I know. Sometimes solitude is what we seek, other times it is not true. However the circumstance survival alone or as a group we thrive alone or not. Glancing past into the fog I am thankful for this solitude that can't be explained, only felt. Back to the tree tops I go as if I could fly with the song birds who are left.
By Charlene Sines3 years ago in Poets
Get out of your inner thoughts
It's good for all of us to have an inner life.In fact it saves our lives many times. It's not a lonely space to be. It brings about feelings of love, memories sometimes not so good.You know the woulda, coulda shoulda or the worst if you're past 30 If I knew then what I know now thing. Then there are the long way home trips. I've taken them, the lost in myself,thoughts I sometimes for ever look for something new on that long way home. I think when I'm really lost in a past situation that was never resolved and that I kept to myself. We all have some real secrets, that even I hope God will overlook.Anyway I look for a new landmark along the way while driving, careful to pay attention driving but something whether it be a newly built house, or an old stone landmark from a building that had been there years ago. I grasp for change even on that trip of taking that long way home alone.Am I really alone? I know I'm alone with the radio on. Lost in a song.I gotta change my life, this is a first step. Almost if I find something I hadn't noticed before the world might be different. I can get out of those inner thoughts that make me feel responsible for a guy I never met, he knew my name. His phone call to my cell phone was desperate. I could hear it in his voice. I began worrying about a stranger. I called the number back. No luck, invalid number. I should have called 001 first..it was a long number. I accidently deleted the voice mail. Still this lingers in my inner thoughts. Then I think I've been alone for too long. Should I thank Covid? No. That will go away eventually. I'm not saying that having an inner life is bad, I have to remember not to get lost in it. It can be fun, thinking of new ideas when researching for a freelance writing blog. I stop myself and think.Who have I really talked to recently? Not many people. I'm starting to cancel out of my life morning TV. Too much of something, I'm not sure but I'm going to change that for awhile. So taking the long way home feels like I was my own worst enemy. It's still good.I see nothing wrong with a detor every now and then.
By Charlene Sines3 years ago in Motivation
