Spirit of Stone

Photo courtesy of Sue Vincent’s Thursday Photo Prompt Veiled #writephoto

For visually challenged writers, the image shows a green horizon, beyond which the mist veils a hill topped with strange rock formations.

I knelt before God

as the earth was formed.

For ages I have been here,

spirit of stone unmoving,

waiting above the forest land.

I am the tonnage of stones,

living veiled behind swirling mists.

Yet, I am billions of stones,

existing beyond the veil.

I press the earth for meaning

when I hear the children of earth wail

of suffering through centuries.

I rise above the peace of forest land,

lifting the tonnage of anger I carry.

I am the billions of stones now,

moving beyond the veil.

I have risen, the world,

carrying justice

in the weight of stone,

the children of earth will not be moved.

Behind the veil, I am the tonnage of stones.

I will retreat there when this time is done.

 

Finally

On our knees

We have spent lifetimes,

Ages, centuries, and still

On our knees

Are we

Of color

Of gender

Of any difference at all

If you’d so, please

To know the truth

If you’d care

To know

We’d given up hope

Of walking fearless long ago

When you brought out

The hoses and the dogs

We’ve begged and pleaded

And marched

We even, yes, the irony of it all,

We even took the knee,

To respect but protest

The shameful sin

Of how you treated us all

But even in our silence

Deemed too mouthy

By those who wished

Us no mouth at all

You slapped us down

Called us unamerican

For believing, for asking

For the promise

Of liberty for us all

No more on our knees

No more No more No more

On our knees or knees

Upon our backs and necks

No more begging on our knees

We stand straight and tall

The day is here and now

For righteousness

To flood the words with meaning

Finally, finally

Liberty and Justice for All

 

in response to the phrase “on our knees”

Tuesday Writing Prompt Challenge: Tuesday, June 2, 2020

Color Dreams

https://godoggocafe.com/2020/05/26/tuesday-writing-prompt-challenge-tuesday-may-26-2020/

Today’s prompt: End a piece of prose or poetry with the phrase “I miss you”

 

Don’t know what to do

when I dream of you.

Waking, I want to drench

my brain in pure bleach,

soaking it through,

until all the colors of you

out of my soul leach

and no longer do I miss you.

Lessons

Dia de los muertos..makeup by June courtesy of Pintrest.com

This is the lesson of you,

Oh, the things you do teach–

Wearing your blue mantle

Lined in blackness

With your crooked fingers

Tipped in painted red do you reach

Ripping out hearts

Adding to a collection

You keep in a box.

 

Until the day of the dead,

When you light your fake fires

And scented candles,

Spread your blanket

For the time to admire

All hearts in the box of your collection,

Chant your incantations and prayers

To La Muerte for protection

From the evil you spread

And La Llorona for aid

Searching for the newest victim

From whom your red tipped claws long to rip a heart.

 

Washing the World

Image falling into the rain by Moonlight-Rainstorm on Deviant Art
https://sammiscribbles.wordpress.com/2020/05/23/weekend-writing-prompt-158-downpour/
Use the word downpour and create a poem or prose piece in exactly 88 words.  

 

It does begin with whispers of wind,

Steady, slow rhythm of fattened rain drops.

The distant rumbles begin.

Then the slight, quick flashing starts.

Soon the wind howls.

The rain beats as if a beast

Against the windows.

The rumbles, the shouting of an angry God

At the petulant child of a world.

The flashing, the cracking whip

Of our forgotten master.

The downpour is here,

The sobbing of the forgotten,

The hated, the poor,

The ones we were to love.

No ark on this horizon is seen.

The Spider’s Life

Image from Sue Vincent Thursday Photo Prompt

https://scvincent.com/2020/05/21/thursday-photo-prompt-painted-writephoto/

This week’s prompt ~ Painted

For visually challenged writers, the image shows a rather oriental red bridge over a  pool covered with waterlilies and surrounded by trees.

She lived a painted life.

Careful with her brushes

Always touching up

A chip, a mark, a ragged flaw

As she found them.

If she found a rip or tear

In the precious canvas,

It just would not do,

But she would oh, so carefully

Apply the much-needed glue.

No.  Not a single person could tell.

Not a single person knew.

 

No one knew the time

And care and money

She spent on this

Carefully painted life–

Of verdant grasses,

Irises of every shade

Deepest purples

To palest pinks,

The lush canna lilies,

Fragrant gardenias and lilacs,

The splendor of magnolias,

The stately cedars.

 

Everyone speaks of a gentle stateliness,

In the air of her personal dress,

Her blonde locks, and her wounded blue eyes

As they looked out

Upon the careful paint of her garden lair,

A spider inspecting her web.

But her victims knew

Of every rip and tear

And all the rot beneath the paint.

For her victims lay silent, faint

Cocooned beneath

Many coats of paint.

 

Letting Go

Image from pixels.com
Written in response to:

Eugi’s Weekly Prompt “Cherish” – May 18, 2020

Standing at the edge of the sea,

Waiting for the colors of the day

To peek out from the blackness

Of yesterday’s day,

For the moment of breath,

I remember all of us.

Orange and pink begin the chase.

Midnight crawls away.                                                          

Time to walk along this sand,

Feel a weighty slide of cold, wet grit

Between my toes,

Lift my face to the sun,

Warming, cherishing

What now I gain

In the letting go

Of all the stones

Along this way.

Words for You

image courtesy opmat.org.au

VJ’s Weekly Challenge #96: circling

 

Circle through the years of youth

Find the gems along the streams

Of your years, my love.

Collect them in a basket,

Keep them close.

When the time comes

Give each away to your

Young ones.

Make each a gift,

Tied with ribbons

Of what you dream

And all of your

Wishes

For them.

As I have given

All my words

As a gift

Tied with ribbons

Of my dream

Of love

And my wish

Of happiness

For you,

My love,

My gift,

My daughter.

Walking to Race Point

Race Point Lighthouse Sunset Photograph by John Burk

Sleeplessness always told the story

between the back when and now,

what she once thought a game,

tracks leading nowhere.

This last section of living

something not well lived.

A swirl of memory

piercing through knots

too tight to be undone.

She had lived without a plan,

having a heart that spoke in tongues

she had yet to understand.