Endless mantra of your obsessive need–
Recited daily, hourly, till a rope twined,
Weaving a noose around me.
https://sammiscribbles.wordpress.com/2020/08/29/weekend-writing-prompt-172-endless/
Rope
Meditations on Forgiveness
summer hot, humid
kills desire of sweetness
flowers forgiveness
falls decaying death
forgiveness dead leaves lifeless
blacken a gift heart
winter freezing ice
a cold weapon forgiveness
to cut the giver
spring new life begins
forgiveness lifeless, no seed
to plant, grow—never
The bird of flame rises
From the ashes in my chest—
Ash of forgiveness
Never given.
A Crown of Thorns for You
https://sammiscribbles.wordpress.com/2020/08/22/weekend-writing-prompt-171-impact/
The impact of broken glass shards–
A mistake with need to drip blood.
Make a presence known of parts
Marred and greetings sent
For what they would take,
Staking once again the claim
To snatch away, drain
Blood from a soul
Needed to adorn
Her ego’s bleached crown,
A haystack of needles
Pricking the fingertips,
A crown of thorns in reverse,
She claims its softness for you.
Sights of Sunlight and Night
https://onewomansquest.org/2020/08/17/vjs-weekly-challenge-109-what-a-sight/
https://godoggocafe.com/2020/08/18/tuesday-writing-prompt-challenge-august-18-2020/
Eugi’s Weekly Prompt “Night meets Day” August 17, 2020
What a sight the years have been!
Skipped a few heartbeats
walking through the valley,
found nothing new.
I sailed an ocean
didn’t dance as I’d wanted too.
In the desert,
I played a little poker,
winning the game, some money,
but still didn’t know what to do.
Then I thought I’d found a dream,
waking from the nightmare,
I screamed to see
the sight beside me.
Now, I journey onward
to catch the sunlight
as night meets day,
greeting what new sights
I encounter along the way.
Jostled
https://sammiscribbles.wordpress.com/2020/08/15/weekend-writing-prompt-170-jostle/
Grass clippings cling to feet
The sun climbs
Grab coffee
A new day
New way of things
To go and die
Within a day
Yet–
Tiny decisions
Stuffed into a minute
An hour
A day
Jostled–
Sometimes
Too much
Not enough–
Incomplete
Thoughts on a Stone Fairy
I started to write this one when I first saw this photo on Facebook. I did some research to find the true name of the mountain and then wrote down a few lines. Then I saw Eugenia’s weekly prompt was “fairy” and things took off from there.
UPDATE– However, the fact checkers did not have all the facts when I checked, and it seems I was duped. Fact checkers I used (and I used several) only had the name of the mountain as being incorrect, and they all agreed that this was a drone image. However, it seems they have been updated and the image is really the digital work of an artist named Jean-Michel Bihorel. Thank you to Susi Blocks who brought this to my attention. I may remove the post entirely but I will take a minute to think about that.
https://amanpan.com/2020/08/10/eugis-weekly-word-prompt-fairy-august-10-2020/
She rests now,
Snowbound,
‘Sleeping,
Some giant stone fairy of another land,
Another time, when fantastic creatures
Walked with us.
There is in me
Awe, admiration of her peace—
Thinking wistfully of what if’s—
Had I been born a giantess of stone
Or one with fairy blood of snow—
I could have loved her,
Curled behind her,
Spooned for centuries.
No one to care,
Know,
Disturb the peace
We shared—
Till seen from above
By a modern drone—
Then perhaps humanity might again know
Fantastical creatures once roamed,
Possessing magic.
But I am no fantastic being.
Possessing no magic,
I am no match for a mythic wonder.
My blood, without a drop of the fairy kind,
Destine for warmer, ordinary climes.
Lessons in Listening
https://onewomansquest.org/2020/08/03/vjs-weekly-challenge-107-listen/
My lessons in listening:
To a mother’s final words—
Always remember I loved you and was proud
Tossed off, too rushed to leave work
To get to the hospital, to see her,
Always thinking of more days, time.
Not thinking all I’d see,
Her dead eyes.
To all my dogs– little tells
Of cocked heads, whines, barks,
The ways of wagging tails,
To know what meant what–
Hunger, pain, desire to play,
A need for love or to go outside.
Those I’ve always learned well.
To students, the teens I taught,
A puzzle to figure of pieces and placement
What each meant for each—
The lift of a shoulder, how the eyes met or did not meet mine,
The head upon the desk, the work done or not,
The things said, not said—
To figure needs-
Some basic, some not so,
Requiring other safety nets,
Bruised and broken,
Some I could help repair.
I knew what to listen for,
Almost by instinct,
Since I had not been listened to
When I was one of them.
To my child, a whirlwind of cries,
Hunger, diaper, cold, hot, sick—
Each cry different
A knowing, animal instinct,
Some primal thing beating
Inside knew the way
Of my infant’s need.
When a teen—
A different thing,
A new species of need,
My animal and her animal
Had no common language
Of smells, signals, or cries
In the darkened tunnels
We went through.
To my dying wife, my dying wife—
So hard to listen to, to understand
a language no longer including
My daughter or me.
Never knowing for whom
The last coma spoken words–
I’m sorry, so sorry—
Were spoken.
Now, I learn the final lesson of listening,
A lesson sixty years in the learning,
To myself, my own heart, my own soul.
Of Need and Desire
https://scvincent.com/2020/08/06/thursday-photo-prompt-fantasy-writephoto/
So very willingly,
I placed my head into danger’s toothy mouth
When I climbed the Pilgrim’s stairs–
Until dizzy from the height,
And the steepness of the effort–
All done to look upon
A pure crystalline blue sky
Caressing a sapphire sea—
A fantasy of need.
Beneath The Surface
Tuesday Writing Prompt Challenge–August 4, 2020
Beneath the surface of the night
Flailing fitful, restless
A dream slept wrapped
In a syllabic, heavy blanket,
Waking drenched in a sweat
Of moon touched light.
Upon this awakening,
Her shining skin did give
Away no secret of her wings or flight
Beneath the surface of the night.
Gratitude
August–
The resplendent month,
Of sun’s heat and blinding light.
The lethargic month
Of jealousy’s blight,
A thing of loss, not fought.
August—
The milestone marking month,
Of anniversaries, holidays, tears.
The flaming month
Of ashes where freedom,
A rising thing, held dear.
