Spring Melting

image courtesy of southernexposure.com

Spring threatens to melt into us. 
Summer follows soon enough.

Birds will return, seeking seeds and worms,
Building nests for the young to come.
Will the birds remember the songs they sing?
Songs of summer, songs to mate?

Flowers will emerge, warming their petals 
And leaves under a brilliant sun.
Will they remember how to open
Their blossoms?
Will they remember how to dress themselves
In glorious color?

How can the birds or flowers remember
When the world walks a tightrope
Over the abyss
And sunflowers may never grow again
Tall enough to bow their heavy heads to God?

The Sacrifice – Annette Kalandros

As I begin my morning hike, I see the rite of sacrifice has been paid. On the sidewalk before the trail, The butterfly lay dead.   The design of a …

The Sacrifice – Annette Kalandros

A Cave We Build

Photo by Erika Osberg on Unsplash

https://sammiscribbles.wordpress.com/category/weekend-writing-prompt/

Close the blinds 
against the grey light.
Prepare a cave for the soul 
in cold January
as the wind rages.
Contemplation, prayer
like John of Patmos?
This cave
readied, awaits
the apocalypse
devils wish.

Seven Years of Visits to the Garden

image is my own

Each new year brings 
Now this garden grief
Nourished by regret

Each year, this day, here—
Standing, kneeling, sitting—I
Spend tears, words, wishes

All meaningless now,
In the barren garden grief
Flowers never bloom

Seven years gone now--
Nothing roots, though it has tried,
In the garden grief inside

Autumnblings – Annette Kalandros

I have heard praises of all this autumnbling Yes, it is a feast of color, true. Yet, it seems this forest floor Littered with the wings Of carrion …

Autumnblings – Annette Kalandros

I’m honored to be featured on Braveandrecklessblog.com

Questions

Image is my own

Originally written for Sammi Scribbles Weekend Writing Challenge- Using Question in exactly 84 words but I didn’t get back to edit it down until today. 

Questions hang in the air
Like heavy coastal fog
On cool autumn mornings

Eternal questions of humanity:
All the whys, the wonderings--
Never answered prayers--
Laying pressed between the
Pages of a book like brown,
Dried flowers—forgotten,
Having lost their sentiment.

Speak the differences
Among roses, weeds, wildflowers—
Inconsequential answers
For inconsequential questions.

Could sense of counting
Out the hours be sliced 
Like blood, blooming meat
To find truth absolute
Like high priestesses of old,
Scry the answer 
In a blood filled bowl?

Modern Prometheus becomes the Little Stranger – M.A. Morris

Written for last year’s challenge when I still used my pen name.

So now we know, You told me I wasn’t, But I was— Your creation. Said you loved me Just the way I was— But was it true? Yes, I was perfect Just the …

Modern Prometheus becomes the Little Stranger – M.A. Morris

Frankenstein; The Modern Prometheus – Annette Kalandros

I am honored to be featured on BraveandRecklessblog.com

braveandrecklessblog's avatarBrave & Reckless

That is me
I am of my own making.
Rather than ignore, pretend
A pretty sky for my façade—
I chose to make of myself,
A real thing, a living thing,
A patchwork quilt of scars:
Sown together scraps of terror,
Of pain, of suffering,
Of the dark wells into which I fell,
Of the dark wells I clawed and crawled,
bloodied fingered, nails torn off,
Out from the depths,
Of the wealth of human darkness
I have known, of my failures, of my triumphs—
Follow the stitching with your fingers
If you wish to understand
The quilt that I am
Though the batting be made
Of my tears, my blood, my skin,
My scars, bits of my spirit, bits of my soul—
The quilt that I am
Can offer you more
Than any villager can.

Photo by Dhilip Antony on Unsplash

I am a retired teacher, enjoying everything that…

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Consequences of Time

Image courtesy of Pexels.com
Consequences of time

Climb and mount

About the throat,

Following the path 

Of arteries and veins,

And as if by magic,

Enter into the blood

To provide a dram bit

Of bitter choking poison

To the will of moving blood

That slows and stills

In the knowing.

The Woman in Black – M.A. Morris

Written when I still used my pen name. I was honored to be featured on Braveandrecklessblog.com

She dressed in black Since the age of twenty-three. She covered all her insides with The blackest sack cloth. She made sure to let in no light. She …

The Woman in Black – M.A. Morris