Song of My Sisters

Image courtesy of Storytrender.com

A daily battle with memories,

Offering emptiness,

Even the sparkle of gem like happiness,

Leaving small smiles for the moment—

Before tears begin.

Standing separated

From the ashes and earth

We once kissed and touched so tenderly,

All we embrace now—air,

Some ephemeral being of memory

As voice and smile and laughter fade.

Some of us,

Too many, told too often,

By those once precious, counted family,

Our grief, less than, less meaningful,

Really nothing more than dust,

Containing no rawness of a bloody heart.

Thus, I voice, singing the lament

Of my sisters in widowhood,

As we wait for our souls to soar–

To take flight once again.

When each in her turn is ready,

Able to begin,

Renewed,

Emerging, uncurling, however slowly,

From our blanketing storm clouds of grief,

Wings wet, drying in the sun.

Angels Call

Image courtesy of PixelsTalk.Net
Weekend Writing Prompt #197 – Call | Sammi Cox (wordpress.com)

 

angels call, singing for a while,

watching us,

aping things they’d heard, saw,

obsessing over things                                            

we tossed away–

time, primarily–

angels lost feathers, attempting to understand

our tossing away time like used tissues, soiled food tins–

when we held little.

 

 

The Trophy #writephoto

Image from Sue Vincent’s Thursday Photo Prompt
Thursday photo prompt: Deeper #writephoto | Sue Vincent’s Daily Echo (scvincent.com)

 

 

Staring deeper into the center of the pool,

The wisdom of a street wise Athena

Forgotten, ignored, stripped away,

She stood readied for the flow of molten metal

To form customized links of chain, binding forever

Spirit and soul into a trophy of destruction.

 

Thus, she stared even deeper,

Praying for escape,

As molten metal seared her wrists,

Her ankles, her soul,

Chaining her forever to the stone,

Making of her a possession, a trophy of destruction,

Displayed for an ego never sated.

The Price

Image is my own

Weekend Writing Prompt #194 – Beguile | Sammi Cox (wordpress.com)

Wish I could rest beguiled–

Believing willingly in soft whispered lies

If only for this little while of rest

As if slipping easily between

The waxen petals of lilies

And curling round the sweetened smell

Of wonderous blossoming softness—

Yet the price, the price of choosing

The rest of such beguilement

 

Guarded Trail

Image courtesy of Sue Vincent
Thursday photo prompt: Guarded #writephoto | Sue Vincent’s Daily Echo (scvincent.com)

Give me a minute.

Let me have another cup of coffee,

Will you?

Before I slosh on after,

Down the trail–

Again– maybe.

You say, a guard now stands there,

Of the newer variety,

Who advises of the locust thorns,

The kind that pierces the shoe

And can go straight into your foot?

Could have used that advice–

Once or twice

Maybe thrice

In life.

But now I’ve rubbed my thumbs

Over the sharp tipped thorns of regret

Until callouses formed.

Then I moved on to other

Fingertips until bloody, raw,

Proving to myself the sharpness of thorns.

So now, you say this stony guardian warns

Of all the thorns

Along the paths and trails?

Might this guardian advise of a thornless trail?

I really wouldn’t care, but the soles of my feet

Are without callous, and I’d like to keep them so.

Send me down a muddy, sloshy trail where

I might just fall and break my neck.

That would be simply fine,

If the soles of my feet

Remain as soft and unmarred

as a baby’s behind.

Tiny One

for our foster dog who was a brave fighter

You wake this morning,

My Tiny One,

Your morning of sun and warmth,

Mine of damp, dense fog.

Yet, I know,

Know you’ve found them all,

The squirrel hunter,

The gentle soft one,

The lion-hearted protector,

And the human,

The human I told of,

Whose pockets contain

Tasty treats,

Who is a warrior, like you,

Tiny One, like you,

Whose body now whole,

No longer wasted at all,

Now strong.

This human can throw the ball

All day long for you,

And you, my Tiny One,

No longer standing on shaking, wobbly,

Wasted legs which seek to betray,

Can chase and chase and chase

That ball all day,

Returning it each time

To the human who

Like you, my Tiny One,

With battles fought and done,

With all the wars won,

Runs, runs free now, Tiny One. 

So now, my Tiny One,

All your battles done,

All your wars won,

Run, run free, Tiny One.

Bloodied

Image courtesy of Reddit.com
Weekend Writing Prompt #193 – Faction | Sammi Cox (wordpress.com)

Factions of the past

Still here–

The many monsters,

Gods and Goddesses all,

Worshiped and created

By a thousand wars

Humanity fought

Against itself

And fights still

Against the poisons

Standing on the battlements

Within humanity’s own

Bloodied heart.

The Sixth New Year

The year ends with heavy rains

As if to wash us all clean

Of the leavings and grime.

 

Now, standing with each year

For each foot of earth

Between us forever—

I gather to me

Broken pieces of colored glass

And think of—

 

Just after midnight,

An early morning

Long before dawn—

The third day of a new year six years ago,

You left in blinding, flooding rains.

 

If only on this third day

Of this new year—

I could open the earth

And roll a stone away,

Bringing you back from under

This six feet of earth.

 

But I have neither the strength

Nor the talent

For miracles great or small

When most days

There is not enough

Left over to become

A mosaic of brokenness.

 

Among the Ruins

Image courtesy of Pinterest.com
Tuesday Writing Prompt Challenge: Tuesday, December 22, 2020 | Go Dog Go Café (godoggocafe.com)

Walk with me among the ruins

I will show you the points of interest–

Notice the weeds grown up

between the cracks of stone,

the chambers filled with mold,

the temple fallen, the altar cracked,

seeming to fold.

Imagine who may have walked here

once so long ago,

wracking havoc with fire

upon those who called this home.

The fires burning to spite

the cold winter rain.

Those who survived left

staring into winter’s

icy back eyes

in the heart of it all.