(Photo: Na’ama Yehuda)
The sun shone
As spring gently yet
Resolutely strode
On.
The park evolved into
A luminous
Expanse
Of green
Shoots
And pink petals
Unfold.
A respite
From the winter’s
Cold.
For Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt of: Luminous in 30 words.
They knew they’d need some help. They knew where to find it.
They weren’t very good at building anything, even less at securing it to withstand the snow, the winds, the cops.
Or so they hoped.
It was better to make use of what was already present.
What others, who had better skill and quite possibly better sense, had built.
Sure, some called it squatting. Some found them vagabonds.
But why not when the struts provided good foundations?
It was a pity, really, that so many did not understand.
The cops raided one night. Tossed the tents.
Kept the struts.
For Rochelle’s Friday Fictioneers
Photo prompt © Ted Strutz
(Photo: Lorenzo Fattò Offidani on Unsplash)
They told her to not
Make waves.
That to speak out is
Provocative
And that it is
Unladylike.
Unseemly.
And goes against the word of
God
As interpreted by
Themselves
Who see it as their duty
To
Control
Her.
They told her to be meek.
To atone
For the sins
Of
Eve.
She stood.
Unfurled.
Provocative.
As the Goddess made her.
Herself.
For Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt: Provocative in 62 words
(Photo: Bernard Hermant on Unsplash)
It mattered not how many times he’d pressed the issue, urged she ‘see the light.’
She would not deny her own reality for his. She could not worship his Gods. His requirement of absolute adherence to ideas over facts. Over reason. Over voice.
“It’s not about facts,” he insisted, annoyed by her refusal to acquiesce. “It’s about compliance. The lesson of faith.”
“That kind of faith isn’t in my lexicon,” she said.
“Then pray on it till it is,” he turned, locked the door, left.
For Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt: Lexicon in 85 words
(Photo: Inbar Asif)
‘Tis the season for
Reason.
Time for soul to be
Bold.
Time to oust stale perceptions
And to justice
Uphold.
‘Tis the season for
Reason.
To let true heart
Take root
And dishonesty
Doom,
So the summers of
Tomorrow
May
Sing sunflowers to
Bloom.
For the dVerse quadrille poetry challenge: Season
(Photo: Sandra Grünewald on Unsplash)
He would not ever harm
Another
Soul.
Or so he claims.
He says he doesn’t see the benefit
Of such a
Game.
His very words
Exclaim
Just how incapable he is of
Admitting blame
Or having even the
Appearance of
Shame.
It is clear to her that what
He purports
To be,
Makes him the very
Opposite of who
She will agree
to see.
For Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt: Purport in 64 words
(Photo: Amitai Asif)
They said farewell.
They said goodnight.
They walked into dark
From light.
Their hearts were sad.
Their eyes were bright
With tears that grief will soon ignite.
Her passing’s new
Her suffering done.
They walked with her as
One cycle ended and a new began.
For Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt: Goodnight in 45 words
Dedicated with love to my aunt, whose funeral is across an ocean and a sea tonight. May her memory be a blessing.
(Photo: Jennifer Burk on Unsplash)
She was not there.
Of course, she did the work. She wiped the sinks. She did the wash. She peeled the taters. Washed the floors.
But she was not there.
Not when people stopped by. Not where there were any windows open or any blinds up.
She’d been smuggled to them as a child.
A gift.
From someone.
To the man and lady of the house.
For Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt: Smuggle in 66 words
“So the lower level is buried under and the upper level is inaccessible. Apt. Shouldn’t it say ‘Dung View’?”
Darlene chuckled. Mom wasn’t shy about imparting opinions. Darlene was not all that different, even if she didn’t always find words to be necessary.
Necessary. The double meaning turned her giggle into a guffaw.
“What?” Mom insisted. She hated being left out.
“Nothing necessary…” Darlene’s laughter intensified. She clasped at her belly and tried to point. “Or … perhaps it is…”
Mom eyed the outhouse. Desperate times call for desperate measures.
“Drop your snow-pants. I’ll dig you a chamber pot.”
For Rochelle’s Friday Fictioneers
Photo prompt: © LIsa Fox
(Photo: Pixabay)
The full-length glass was bedecked in heavy gilded glory. A forest of paintings crowded around it, their layered oils glistening in the candlelight.
She stopped and stared back at the faces. Unsmiling figures in stiff postures clad in roiling silk and velvet cloths.
Perhaps they ought to have felt familiar. The line of jaw, the slant of brow, the coil of hair above a hooded eye. She had seen all those before. She could again. If she just let her eyes glide toward the mirror.
She would not.
Know them.
Her ancestors.
Her captors.
Both.
For Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt: Mirror in 95 words
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