Adrift

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(Photo: Laurenz Heymann on Unsplash)

 

They would have gladly helped.

If he had let them.

If only he had found

The key

To what his dreams

Put forth.

If only he had known

How to identify

What were so many

Opened doors.

Instead, they watched,

Helplessly muted

To his ears,

As he fumbled,

Lost,

Amidst a maze of what

Were to him

Opaque,

Endless,

Walls.

Their lifelines loose,

Adrift

In the current

Of his

Half-formed

Words.

 

 

 

For Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt of: Key in 71 words

 

Not Unprepared

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(Photo: Susan Wilkinson on Unsplash)

 

She was up all night.

Words crowded her mind. Piled atop each other, they kept coming

Impatient. Wanting to be picked.

Even the discarded ones pressed behind closed lids, trying to repeat.

A few slipped, surprising and lubricated by unexpected tears.

Of worry.

Of hope.

Of fatigue.

She tossed and turned. She wrote. She paced.

And still words tumbled. Filling every space.

In the small hours she ran the tub.

Soaked.

Prayed to soften the callouses

And the rough edges

Snagging nonsense

In her mind.

As dawn rose, she was bare.

Exhausted.

Script mulled.

Not quite ready,

But word lulled.

 

 

For Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt of: Script in 100 words

 

Impressed

 

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(Photo: Kelly Sikkema on Unsplash)

 

Impressed, she was.

The image etched into her mind.

The angle of his neck,

Head bent over the

Guitar,

Engraved

Onto her heart.

 

 

For Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt of Engrave in 23 words

 

Madam Toole

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Photo: Mick Haupt on Unsplash

 

Madam Toole

Had a rule:

No one sitting

On her stool.

That chair

Was her

Jewel.

 

 

 

For Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt of “rule” in 16 words

 

Unlocked

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(Photo: Deann DaSilva on Unsplash)

 

She knew she never should have let it run

Amok.

Should have kept it

Always

Locked.

But she wobbled

At the sight of keys under the

Rock.

It ran,

Before she could even feign

Shock.

 

 

 

 

For Sammi’s weekend writing prompt of Amok in 35 words

 

Hanging In

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(Photo: Ray Fragapane on Unsplash)

 

They didn’t know then

Or still

What track life will

Bring.

Yet they hold on,

By bootstraps

Hoping

For just enough breath with which to

Sing,

To the sun

That would rise,

To the hope

That would

Cling.

Till dawn will

Another story

String.

 

 

For dVerse Quadrille Poetry challenge

 

Almost Viable

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(Photo: Gabriel Jimenez on Unsplash)

 

She was almost there.

The core of her was almost

But perhaps not quite. Viable.

It took so much of her. To form. To build.

To be.

To sift the valued from the wreckage.

The meaning

From the hurt.

That there was little left.

Yet.

For viability.

Nonetheless it was still in there.

Nascent. Waiting.

For the rain.

For the sunlight.

For the nourishment.

For what had already sprouted and was on its way

To the life

She was.

And could

Sustain.

 

 

 

 

For Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt: Viable in 82 words.

 

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

 

Annum

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(Photo: Jill Sauve on Unsplash)

 

They named her Annum.

For being born just as the year turned time onto its head

To start anew.

Just as the numbers tumbled from the duos to the singles

To the very first

Of firsts.

A new beginning.

Just as she was,

Finally,

For them.

 

 

 

For Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt: Year in 46 words

 

Restashed

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She packed her bag and stashed

Her dreams into the

Locket

That held them

In the past.

She shut the door

And sighed.

She must

Return to what she’d left

Behind.

 

 

 

For Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt: Return in 31 words