(Photo: Inbar Asif)
It was everything
To her
To tend the naked vines that sprawled
Across her soul,
And through the long cold
Winter
To let the sun pour
Over
The sprawling expanse of not-yet-sweetness,
As she hoped
And prayed
For fruit
Ripening amidst abundance
Into wine.
For the dVerse poetry quadrille challenge: Wine
(Photo: Andre Hunter on Unsplash)
She was Mary
Quite contrary.
She refused to read what others wrote
And claimed all facts are anecdotes,
And when food was on her plate
She’d allow it to stagnate,
And then predictably complain
That she was made to abstain.
Any piece of news she heard
She declared to be absurd,
And if science dared be presented
She turned extra discontented.
For Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt: Absurd in 61 words
(Photo: Crispina Kemp)
He leaned back and sighed in contentment.
It was never a simple thing, to find comfort.
He sighed again. Just for the pleasure of it.
A bird chirped over his head, and he lifted his chin to greet it.
“You got it, Feathered Friend,” he smiled.
Birds understood the impossibility of confinement. How one needed room. To fly. To move. To preen. To be. To keep balance.
It was not a simple thing, to find space for one’s wingspan.
Especially not for his.
“Daddy Long Legs,” people had called him, and not with kindness. “Spindly Spider Man.”
He couldn’t help his lanky limbs, how his pituitary did something that made his long bones longer and lacked a way to let them know he was past growing age.
How long? He didn’t know.
Limbo sighed, stretched his legs, and rested his feet on the stump.
One day at a time.
For Crispina’s Crimson’s Creative Challenge
It had been extremely close quarters, but after the inferno they’d been through together, there was nothing they could not achieve.
Certainly after they’d had a bit of time to chill.
They were born for this.
Now it was their time to sparkle.
To show off their individuality.
In form.
In shape.
In size.
In decoration.
There they were:
Blue-eyed Ginger.
Two-tone-shoes Jerry.
Red-apron Ginny.
Necklaced Joey.
Snow-mustached Joe.
Green-turbaned Jinge.
Even Ginger-woof put on his finery.
(And, albeit grudgingly, Gin-Cat did so, too).
It was, after all, the grand finale.
The full bling dress-up for the big chomp.
For Rochelle’s Friday Fictioneers
Photo prompt © Jennifer Pendergast
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