Like Old Photographs

Image courtesy of expertphotography.com
If only life could be lived 

in shades of black and white
like those in old photographs
where shades of sepia
and the spectrum of white to black blur
edges, cracks, crags,
definitions, delineations
to softened
airbrushed edits
of reality
leaving me able to fall
from the greatest of heights
to land softly
upon a loosely inflated mattress
no bruising, no bone breaking,
no soul shattering hard surface landings
in a life lived in shades of black and white
and sepia
where the sharp edged colors of harness
wash away.

The Body of Christmas

Image courtesy of Patch.com

The body of this day scribed

in the giving of joy,

sacramental life found

in a bowl full of jelly

shaken by the deep belly laugh

of a white bearded fat man,

remember the truth meant

to be kept in the day,

so, turn in mind

to those who cannot share

in the giving abundance–

thus, are paid in the blessings

of holy lip service, the emptied garbage

to fill the landscape with

glittering wrappings of the day’s

leavings to leave a day

of a soulful mask searching for a soul

it lost long ago

in eternal hungering for fulfillment

never filled with ever more consumed.

Small Jars of Jam

image courtesy of https://anitalianinmykitchen.com/apricot-jam/
Your lies hang,

apricots swaying
in the summer air
from the tree
of your despair.
You pick the ripest apricots
to make jam
you ladle into small jars,
gifting them to friends
who smile softly,
touched you think of them
by gifting your small jars of jam
made from the apricots
you pick from the tree
of all your despair
denied.

Winter’s Will

image courtesy of ALEX VASILYEV on wired.com

There is no understanding

how winter comes

for it comes in too many ways

at too many times

often when it shouldn’t

starting at the edges

creeping to the core

snatching away all the covers

driving out the flames

or

slowly, softly

almost tenderly

like a gentle, timid lover

will winter drift into days

as autumn delicately falls

little dip by little dip into winter’s icy arms

then a frozen world is made.

At times winter rides

with sword drawn

into spring

after life has begun

to wreck havoc on all things

green and growing,

make still all hearts feeling the flow of life begin,

at those times, winter rides

until sweated out

in the course of time.

Yet winter may freeze us solid

in the midsts of summer’s heatwaves

as we stand over gaping mouths of graves.

While some breathing in the hope of spring

as others live in winter’s black ice

suffering the bite of hunger and need

winter’s winter grows larger still

beyond Arctic, beyond talk of tundra,

or talk of some kind of permafrost—

but something too many know.

we will not end in fire

nor will we end in ice

in the end,

it will be the lukewarm breeze

of indifference,

the one to do us in.

 

 

Take Both for a Test Drive

Image courtesy of easydatingprofiles.com

https://sammiscribbles.wordpress.com/2021/08/21/weekend-writing-prompt-223-pre-loved/

wk 223 pre-loved




A woman like you,

When considering a pre-loved model,

Will want to think about the year,

The model, the make, how it fits

With your social set after all.

No, not that one. 

You need a more recent model,

One more high end,

Less mileage, fewer scratches, dents,

And no door dings!

Here, look at this one.

Much more recent, higher end.

Fewer miles, scratches. No dents or dings.

Shopping done.

The Wayward: The Tale of Peace, Love, and Charity

Such wayward children were Peace and Love that their mother, Charity, put them to bed supper less every night for many years. But Charity, you see, had been microchipped by Reverend Serpent Woman, who made the ground holy where she walked and planned to destroy Charity and her children.  For she believed them enemies of the true Christian state, and thus, abominations.  However, Reverend Serpent Woman needed money and appealed to viewers’ righteousness, using the 1-800-LET-EM-STARVE campaign.

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.

 

 

Jacob’s Hip

maristmessenger.co.nz
https://sammiscribbles.wordpress.com/2020/11/14/weekend-writing-prompt-183-wrangle/

Wrangle words, twist defenses

Round heart and soul,

You need the bricks

Behind which

You hide, denying

the blackness all see

Of the hate you spit.

Remember Jacob’s hip

After wrestling with God.

The Second Commandment

image courtesy of daily verses
https://sammiscribbles.wordpress.com/2020/10/10/weekend-writing-prompt-178-asinine/

I take the truth

for it is mine,

rolling myself in it until

protected from the acid of the asinine

that drips from the pens, the tongues

of many and power,

of those we call elite,

of those we once called—

friends.

 

I grieve the words spoken

by asinine tongues

and actions taken

by hate filled hearts

that do not comprehend the words

we were taught—

“love your neighbor as yourself”—

The second commandment.

 

In the Secret Place

Image courtesy of Sue Vincent
https://scvincent.com/2020/08/27/thursday-photo-prompt-tokens-writephoto/

I hid them carefully,

The tokens left

In the forest keep

Of dreams sheltered

Far too long from mists,

Giving life to forms

Shifting in shadows

Where once we danced,

Loving for a time

Among the trees

Leaning to hide us

From those

Wishing us harm.

Then I woke.

Human once more.