a babe

a babe, they said —
born of woman, but not
of man —
would rule the world,
a king of kings,
righteous, wise and just.

a child, they said,
shall teach them and show
the way,
wise beyond his years,
instructing scholars
and giving true knowledge.

a man, they said,
will be created to suffer,
and die,
hands and feet pierced
by his enemies
to bear the price of our inequity.

a Lord, it is written,
will be a savior
for us all,
babe, child, man, God,
born to die,
so that we all may live.

 

for the prompts at Poetic Bloomings and The Mag

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I Saw it in a Frosted Window Pane

Lights glitter and shadows move,
glasses clink and children laugh
though snow frosted windows.

Each lawn is covered in a blanket of white
and through every window I peer
lights glitter and shadows move.

I imagine laughter and singing by a fire —
while children explore beneath a tree —
though snow frosted windows.

Memories whisper of late night embraces,
slow dances and wishes granted where Christmas
lights glitter and shadows move.

Decisions force a change of perspective,
like the difference between looking out or in
through snow frosted windows.

The sky is clearest on the cold nights,
the stars close enough to hold.
Lights glitter and shadows move,
though snow frosted windows.

.

a villanelle, of sorts; stanza structure without the rhyme
scheme. Which, I guess, is not a villanelle at all. Anyway,
written for Kellie Elmore’s Free Write Friday prompt.

Return to the Garden

I have been too long away
from this garden.
I have forgotten the feel of the living
earth in my hands,
the feel of dew soft on my
fingertips,
the sound of birds greeting
the new day.
Mostly, I have forgotten
the feeling of belonging,
the morning walks
and the conversations,
and the sound of a voice
so sweet,
the birds stop their singing.
The joy, that none other
could ever know …
yes, it is that joy I have
missed the most.

 

for the ‘garden’ prompt at Poetic Bloomings.

Tides and Lies

The moon pulls at the waves,
ruling the tides for eternity,
a simple process of gravity,
the push and pull of uncontrollable forces.

The cover of night gives way,
the dawn watches as the pair
on the beach moves apart,
knowing there are things you cannot fix.

It is often impossible to snatch
truth from the wings of an angel
when the clay of your making
has been stored in the bottom of a box of lies.

 

for the Sunday Whirl

Cutting Out The ice

Winter has claimed the lake
and the men are busy
collecting the only harvest
this season allows,
ignoring the bitter bite
of the extreme cold,
thankful for the work.
Would that I could cut
you from my soul
as cleanly as they remove
their blocks of ice.

.

for the image prompt at The Mag

Sudden Changes in Temperature

There
was heat
in the night,
the painful heat
of words exchanged in misguided passion,
lovers — inflamed by pride — sleeping alone.
The morning sun
revealed a
heavy
frost.

Questions and Decisions

the flock comes
and I know all are hungry,
but I only have food
enough for one.
will you judge me harshly
if I only feed one,
when I know all are hungry,
even if enough for one is all I have?

the flock comes
and I know all are hungry.
How do you decide which
to feed
when you only have food
enough for one?
whose need is greater
when all are hungry?
could you make the decision,
to feed one mouth from
your hand, then look
to the others with empty
palms upturned?

I will feed one, though I do not
know which, for I only
have food for one.
you will judge me harshly
for only feeding one,
and condemn me for the choice
I make,
and the one so chosen.

.

for the image prompt at The Mag

From Song to Wind

There was song here once,
…and dances filled with wanton abandon.

We loved the same way,
…uncaring of consequence or future obligation.

Each room bloomed with memories,
…roses found from foyer to bath.

Now, rot rules this ruin,
…a shell of dust and vines

even the ghosts have abandoned,
…where only the wind is heard.

.

Found in the prompts of Margo Roby who asks
for the use of the word “Abandon” (which led to 
an extensive exploration of images of abandoned
places), and Samuel Peralta at Diverse where he 
wanted a story in 55 words.

Absurd Solutions to Self-Created Problems

One idea:
we line the road with our forces —
who receive little thanks —set fire
to the border, and make
an issue of who crosses.

A second idea:
we focus on the plight of those
who circumvent the rules,
come to depend on their labor,
create a crisis to secure their votes.

Another thought:
instead of trouncing the word of law —
our foundational principle — we could
find a solution with insight into
the problem, not merely the symptom.

.

for the words at the Sunday Whirl.
I intended to avoid politics, but took
the easy way out. Hey, she did take the 
words from the evening news. 😉

angel

the hue of her wings
is a reflection
of your expectations,
distinct of any conscious act
of intention.
angelic or demonic
most often being
the judgement
of the beholder.
she does not exist
to please you,
or to fit your definitions
of propriety
and virtue.

.

for the image prompt at the Mag