https://sammiscribbles.wordpress.com/2021/06/26/weekend-writing-prompt-215-ink/
Its flow
From the tip of my fountain pen—
Not smooth enough–
Fails capturing anything
Within this labyrinth of senses
Now alive
The Smoothness of Ink
Category: poetry
My Silent House
My house is a quiet house,
Always various shades of silent—
Though Etta blows silky smoke throughout the rooms,
Though Nina tells me that I know how she feels,
Though Storm Large with Pink Martini might ask me to come sway with her,
And, at times, Freddy proclaims we are, indeed, champions,
While the evening news drones mundane atrocities of the world each day
And the dogs may bark, trying scare the workers across the street away—
My house is silent through it all, echoing noise in its quiet way,
An orderly, meandering contented existence does it hold.
Heaven?
Tuesday Writing Prompt Challenge June 15, 2021 | Go Dog Go Café (godoggocafe.com)
Have I seen Heaven in her eyes? You ask.
Can anyone see heaven in the eyes of another
Is what I must ask.
I have seen love, the soft one,
Take a seat and
Settle comfortably
In the eyes of others.
I have seen hatred, the snake,
Uncoil and dance,
Spitting venom at everything and everyone,
From the eyes of others.
Too often, I have seen death, the thief,
Steal all the treasures from the eyes
Of those I loved,
Leaving them hollow and emptied out.
I have seen other things
In the eyes of others
Along these long years
But heaven—
I don’t really think so.
I may be too old to see such a wonder
Or too young yet to know it
When I see it.
So, to answer,
I would have to say, no.
No, I have not seen
Heaven in her eyes.
The Rabbit
https://amanpan.com/2021/06/10/eugis-weekly-prompt-nature-june-10-2021
When trying to respond to Eugenia’s prompt this week, this poem, which I posted a couple of years ago kept coming into my head, and no matter how I tried, it would not go away. In this reposting, it is my hope that it serves some purpose. Perhaps, someone will gather something from it.
A rabbit stilled,
Motionless, as if frozen
In the summer grass
Only her nose twitched, flared
The scent of wrongness–
A touch upon the air,
And she knew
Only flight carried safety
Flight, the right choice to make—
If she could only still move.
But she could stand only statue still
And standing so, the trap sprung
Steel teeth clamping down,
Slicing through skin,
Chewing through chunks of muscle
As she struggled,
Daring not to scream
As screams would bring the predators.
This she knew too well.
The trap now biting into bone,
Her struggles stopped.
Her panting calmed.
Her head rested upon the grass.
One eye looked to a cloudless sky.
She prayed for strength to chew
Through bone.
Morning
No words in the moment.
Just touch,
Feeling.
No adequate metaphors
To be found.
No fancy turns of phrases
To be made.
A breath.
Watch the sun rise.
No dance of words
To map the moment.
Simple really,
A heartbeat close.
A breath.
A touch.
A feeling.
A moment.
Captured.
Crescendo
https://sammiscribbles.wordpress.com/category/weekend-writing-prompt/
Crescendo, sun rise,
Swells an upsurge of color,
Fades too fast for me.
Ever loudening,
The business of the day trades
Scenes of memories.
Diminuendo comes,
An end, a small death of colors
As day slowly fades.
Dawn
Clouds drift in night’s sky,
Stretching,
As if yearning,
To touch the horizon,
Dawn yet hours away–
She neither “walks in beauty
Like the night” as Byron wrote
Nor does she stand upon a scallop shell
Riding the sea foam to shore
As Botticelli painted—
No, nothing so over done
Simply, she rises, flaming
Over the desert mountains.
The Willow Trees
https://onewomansquest.org/2021/05g/24/vjs-weekly-challene-trees/
In the stillness of days between,
The willows long to reach across the stream,
Breaching distance impossible.
Without the breeze,
Their branches hang in solitude,
Their leaves nearly tears,
Longing drips with want heavy in the air
Until finally—thunder—
Lightning— A breeze teases,
Limbs reaching,
Almost, nearly touching—
And then the wind begins,
Whipping one direction,
Then another, almost swirling,
Limbs, leaves touch
Across the stream
Solitude breached.
Lingering
The silk of waking
To dreams yet dreamed
Linger in the sky
Adrift in gray clouds
Carrying visions of possibilities
That yet may be
The Great Heron
I greeted the Great Heron
With a hello.
Then asked for some wisdom
Or some secrets of the earth.
But the Great Heron
Didn’t bother with a no.
Just a fluff of feathers
Before turning away
Without being troubled
To even look at me.
The red wing black birds
Chittered away in laughter
As the gentle doves
Cooed soothingly.
The crows cawed,
Rather obnoxiously,
About time running down.
I said I knew
And was aware of the beauty
In lessons along the way.
Even in the lessons so painful
You thought they might
Break your soul in two
Held a beauty in the end.
The crows disliked what I said,
And they couldn’t disagree,
So, screaming out a caw,
Flew away.
Turning his eyes to me,
The Great Heron shifted on his log,
Before opening his wings
And flying away,
Letting me know
He had nothing to say.
Hearing The Mermaids Sing 