She sees the glances,
hears the comments
and muttered names.
It is not who she is.
She does what is necessary
for survival — takes, scavenges
or … other things.
It is not who she is.
She runs with this band
of orphans, the safety
found in numbers.
It is who she has become.
for the Trifecta writing challenge
to use the 3rd definition of ‘band’
Shared at dVerse.
he stood outside
hesitating, once more,
before the gate
unable to tell through
which stones the ravens
for the Poets United ‘verse first’ prompt
inspired by this fantastic image.
the clouds refused
to allow the moon’s glow;
spiteful and wicked were the clouds
the shadows grieved
for their hidden matron;
lost and hopeless were the shadows
hunters were still,
unsure of where to lurk;
silent and fearful were hunters
the timid prey
ventured forth in the dark,
hunters having no where to hide
she fled from me,
leaving naught but a note,
knowing I would not notice till
Cloudy Moon (Photo credit: jbelluch)
an experiment in form,
yes, I know, I do not generally
do “form”, but that is what the
lady asked for in her prompt.
This one a chain cinquain which
is perhaps a bit overdone on the ‘chain’ part.
Somewhere there is a shore
where she rides painted ponies
on the sand,
each day starts with beach
walks and a multi-colored
each one ends with family
It is a place where dogs
never grow old
and children and grandchildren
always live next door.
she has found
on the shore.
Carousel (Photo credit: mrpbps)
There is still a thrill
in watching the storms form
on summer afternoons,
sitting in the sun while
the clouds build
on the horizon,
clear moments before.
A breeze begins,
precursor to a stronger
gale, lightening flashes
across and through the
darkening scene as the skies
transform from blue
to a greenish hue. The echoes
of thunder sync
with the electrical outbursts,
and in a blink
the power of water
The fights are almost
worth it, to be able
to witness the storms
in her eyes.
Note the sick pallor of the second man —
standing just behind and to the right
of the first — compared to the dark,
healthy complexion of the other.
One has to wonder if they are together
as friends — surely not, as visibly
different as day and night — or strangers
who happen to stop for rest at the same spot.
You made an assumption — whether or not
you care to admit it — about the character
of each, based simply upon their appearance,
and your own skin-color-based bias.
What if they should leave by a similar path,
and harm should come to one; will you
assume it to be the fault of the other,
even though you now detect no animosity?
Our two subjects ignore each other, even
in such close proximity, each assuming
the ill-will, or indifference, of the other,
neither makes a conciliatory gesture.
But — here you should be careful dear student —
do not entertain the mistaken logic that the color
of one’s skin will translate into some insight
Into the intent of their conscience, furthermore,
while the apathy and ambivalence of each
towards the other may indeed be symptomatic
of our societal ills, they are, in and of
themselves, not malicious, nor criminal.
For the Sunday Whirl wordle
perhaps not the best topic for today,
not likely to be well received,
but this is what came from the words.
shared at the dVerse pub
It took a minute for her
to process the implications
of me being there —
you don’t just ‘drop by’
in Maryland when you live
in Georgia — then she bypassed
joy, went straight
from shock to panic.
Sedation and waiting were
the only options offered;
kidneys failed, ravaged
by chemo and radiation.
She was ‘made comfortable’
for five days, while her last
words echoed through
the silence of the sterile room,
Don’t let me die,
don’t let me die…