No Time For That

 

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There was never enough time.

For that.

No time for the things that mattered but were not deemed essential. 

No time for the space that was given no paths to traverse.

None for the slow breath that could have allowed a pause

In the constant

Race.

Because there was never time.

For that.

Too much buzzed already

From the break of dawn to the collapse of night.

No time for

Time.

And so, she stopped it.

 

Stopped time.

 

She let the hands rest.

Let the heart expand inside the fluttering confines of the

Chest.

She let the breeze

Set

The pace.

The leaves, believe.

The ground stretch long and wide beneath

The feet.

The skies expand across

The dawn.

To let

The space that had

Held on,

To finally

Allow itself to be

Redrawn.

 

 

 

For Crispina’s Crimson’s Creative Challenge

 

Spring Unfolds

luminous park NaamaYehuda

(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.

 

Chalked Up

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(Photo: Noita Digital on Unsplash)

 

The swirl of white had gotten

In her eye.

Placed a tickle in her

Throat.

The door would close.

The chairs will sleep with bottoms

Against table

Tops.

There would be no more

Early morns.

No damp sponge

To erase all of yesterdays’

Chalk.

 

 

 

 

For the dVerse quadrille poetry challenge: chalk in 44 words

She Will Not Become

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(Photo: Roberto Martinez on Unsplash)

 

She will not become a mannequin.

Her mother may have images of what a daughter looks like.

Her father may hold his of what she must not, at any cost, resemble.

Her teachers may believe she found bad friends.

Her brothers had supplied them.

 

To all she says –

In mind if not in volume –

That she will not become,

A mannequin.

 

She will find her own way.

Her look.

Her path.

Her mirrors.

 

Enough already lost,

As childhood magic

Left,

And stripped

Her life austerer.

 

 

 

For Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt: Mannequin in 85 words

 

Sheltered

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(Photo: Michal Ico on Unsplash)

 

She trudged up slopes in ice

And cold

The wind bent chilly fingers down

Her coat.

Till finally she saw

Up top

A cave indenting

Ancient rock.

She crawled in,

Grateful,

To take stock.

 

 

 

For Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt: Cave in 34 words

 

Farewell

sunset Ramon Crater AmitaiAsif

(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.

 

 

Glitter Bound

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(Photo: Jackson David on Unsplash)

 

She spun around, with arms spread wide

The tinsel spooling

From her outstretched hands.

Spilling from her golden crown,

And all about her glowing gown,

It glittered and eventually

Bound,

Her body to the very ground

From whence her heart and soul

Made sound.

 

 

 

For the dVerse quadrille poetry challenge: tinsel in 44 words

 

In Every Dawn

New Dawn

(Photo: Na’ama Yehuda)

 

The light spun silent waves

Of day

Into her heart,

Her chambers slowly opening

Their delicate petals

To sing

The morning’s chant.

There is a hope,

She knows,

In every dawn.

Its breath imparting

An oasis

And a coming home.

 

 

 

For Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt: Oasis in 40 words

 

Nourished

(Red Cardinal in Central Park – Photo: Na’ama Yehuda)

 

There was naught

That she needed

But a path

And some green

And a burbling stream

And wide sky

Overhead.

 

So she felt deeply nourished

By the flowers,

And the gift of bird

Who landed by her feet

To share

Her burden

And bread.

 

 

 

For the dVerse quadrille poetry challenge: stream

 

A Morning’s Weave

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(Photo: Anant Chandra on Unsplash)

 

As Sun rose

In the east

It darned

A web of light upon

The leaves,

And sprinkled gold on

Spiders’ orbs

That dangled from

The eaves.

 

The artist watched the dawn

And breathed.

For though her heart

Believed,

She knew her fingers

Do not have the skill

To tessellate this wonder

Into the mosaic that

Her soul

Perceived.

 

 

 

For Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt: Tessellate in 58 words