Central Park NYC, Photo: Na’ama Yehuda
In the heat of summer,
‘Neath a lamp
O’er green
Park’s ablush
Tickled pink.
Tuesday’s Photo Challenge
Tickled Pink
Quotes
Mismatched Delight
Ethiopia (Photo: Dvora Freedman)
Silt and mud, oozy streets
Too much fun
To resist.
Mismatched shoes
Do not blight
Sludgy mushy
Delight.
For The Daily Post
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Un-Lurch
Photo: Inbar Asif
Unzip yourself from wild-ride news
From tilt-a-whirls of media.
Seek peace amides the reeling waves
Of turmoil and tragedia.
Carve islands of no pitch or roll
So a calm breath can fill ya.
For The Daily Post
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The Words
Photo: Inbar Asif
Recite the words you want to hear
Those your heart dreams to
Follow
Recite the words your soul still seeks
The ones that soothe
A sorrow
Recite the words you know are true
They will bring forth
Tomorrow.
For The Daily Post
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Solitary Call
Photo: Atara Katz
If you heed
Your heart’s need
To silence
The fretting discord
That bestrewed your soul,
You’ll hear
The gentle chime
Of each breath
Reverberating
Its solitary call.
For The Daily Post
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Berry Prickly
Berry Prickly
Gavin (age 4) is picking berries with his mom and grandpa in the woods outside his grandpa’s house. He’d picked a few himself but encountered a thorn … and now is quite content holding the bowl, nursing his owee finger, and ‘directing traffic’ to the “good ones.”
Gavin: “I know why it called a Berry.”
Mom, intrigued: “Why?”
Gavin: “Because it berry prickly!”
For The Daily Post
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Spice of Life
Photo: Dvora Freedman
For those who like spice
There’s a place of delight
For the taste of good life
When the sun warms you back
And the chilies, your belly.
For The Daily Post
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Casual Pomp
Photo: Smadar Halperin-Epshtein
In a massive hall of pompous busts
And naked marble edge
One must
Take time
To rest one’s head.
For The Daily Post
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Partners
Guatemala Duo; Photo: Inbar Asif
When shut-eye weighs your lids
Yip patrol
Comes on call
While the third wheel can perch
On the sill
‘bove the bench.
For The Daily Post
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Broken Tea (“Emilia” excerpt)
“…When the little girl was finally sleeping, Marion put her to bed and tucked her in and sat on the edge of the daybed for a long while, looking older and more tired than anything that could be attributed to her eighty-five years. Pushing up from the bed, Marion began collecting the child’s clothing to fold for the next day, only to toss the lot on the floor, swipe a book and a half-empty mug off the table, and storm out of the house. The mug lay shattered on the stone floor, tea stains splattered. KayAnne stared at the ruined cup, reluctant to clean up and somehow needing the brokenness to remain: She wanted to demolish something herself.”
Excerpt from “Emilia“
For The Daily Post
Na'ama Yehuda 
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