Photo: Smadar Halperin-Ephstein
What lesson does history tell
Of shattered bits,
And scratched on bells?
Can peals of old
Be heard
Be said
So we not ruin
What’s ahead?
For the Lens-Artists Photo Challenge: History
A Bell To Tell
Muse and Flow
Keen Green
Photo: Dvora Freedman
Hello there,
How are you, Ma’am?
I’ve missed a spot?
Oh well, oh damn.
There’s no perfection
On the lam
And I’ve really
Got to scram.
Have you seen some
Elves around?
I’ve been told to
Look for rainbows
At the end of
Traffic jams,
(And yes, I know the
Gold’s a scam
But I’ll still give it
An exam).
For Terri’s Sunday Stills: Green
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Reclaimed Royalty
Lord O’Neill’s Cottage, Ram’s Island (from article in the Dublin Penny journal – 1830s)
He’d come from royalty. Or at least from those who should’ve been but history had been too blind to realize their value. He’d seen promise in his older brother James: a lust for power and a need to force his will onto others. But James hadn’t shown enough self-preservation for a prince. A pity … but at least it left no issue of seniority.
Since childhood the conspiring doctors tried to claim him ill with “grandiosity.”
His mother failed to see. “We come from farmers, Thomas. Always have.”
Perhaps she truly believed her forefathers were but serfs to the O’Neills, but he knew better. He’d seen himself in the drawing, and it fit what he’d always known: He was destined for more, a royal progeny.
He’d take the island by force. It’ll make them realize it was past time he reclaimed what was his by rights, even if forgotten by history.
For What Pegman Saw: Northern Ireland
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Have Heart For A Better Humanity
Photo: Monique Laats on Pexels.com
When a place of worship crumbles
Into hell of gore and pain,
And the sorrows of the many
Become what connects us all again,
Know that care can conquer ugly
And that compassion outdoes hate’s disdain,
As long as we eject terror
To heed the better, deeper call,
That anything that harms our kinship
Diminishes the very core of all,
Just as anything that builds it
Can lead humanity to standing tall.
For Debbie’s Six Word Saturday
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A Fleeting Equilibrium
Photo: Tina Nord on Pexels.com
She held her breath and waited for the instant
In time
Where Earth’s equator passed through
The center of the sun.
Imperfectly balanced
As it was
By arcs and tilt and latitudes,
She cared not about
The argument that it could never be
In ideal form,
Or that the exact timing
Varied
With convictions
And perceptions of the mind.
She paused nonetheless,
Determined
To witness the fleeting equilibrium
Of light and dark,
And the shift of balance
That it could,
perhaps today, allow.
For Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt: Equinox in 83 words
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Soul Searching
Photo: Inbar Asif
Would you sell your soul
To sorrow?
Would you reap
Hate’s awful gain?
Would you let go of
Tomorrow
So false power
Rise again?
Will your heart see
All humanity?
What will you allow,
Sustain?
Will your soles
Feed earth
Or hollow
Out it’s wealth
To drain?
Will you leave
Your soul abandoned?
Will you let your spirit
Die?
Or will you hold on
To the morrow
In a world
For you
And I?
For the SoCS prompt: Soul/sole
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At The Gate
Photo: Na’ama Yehuda
For the gate from the old
Must stand guard
Not by sword
But to hold
Off the passage of years
So the lessons of past
May find ways to
Be cast.
For Cee’s Black &White Photo Challenge: Fences and Gates
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Not For Sale
Photo: Artem Bali via Unsplash
I will not be for sale. Not today. Not tomorrow.
Limit not my conditions. Offer no terms for me.
There’s no deal worth my special. Shelves or fly off – I’m free.
For Three Line Tales
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Out Played
Photo prompt: © Anshu Bhojnagarwala
“It’s an effing eyesore.”
“I don’t care.”
Martin balled his fists but Susan just gazed at him.
She said nothing but he knew: Raise a finger on me and off to jail you go. The judge was clear: Anger-Management or prison. Martin took the former but could swear Susan’s infuriating behavior intended to get him the latter.
He inhaled slowly before turning away. “When Sanitation fines us,” he growled, “it’s all yours to pay.”
“Fine,” she shrugged. “Though I think they won’t.”
He glared. “Why? Got connections?”
“Nope,” she patted the rotting piano. “I’ve registered it as street art.”
For Rochelle’s Friday Fictioneers
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Five Years Ago
Carol Hornig: Much loved, deeply missed
Five years ago today
You passed on
Into effervescent light,
Boundless love,
And joyful belly laughs.
It is no wonder, for
You have lived light, even
Through deep pain.
You have breathed
Unconditional
Love
And nourished all you’d met
Along your path.
You have gifted us all with your
Laughter,
Your glorious heart.
You are now
One
With it all,
In the place your soul
Must have always known
As home.
Na'ama Yehuda 
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