In The Blackest Night

hongmei-zhao-tcxmxmnj-SI-unsplash

Photo: Hongmei Zhao on Unsplash

 

In the blackest night

She woke

To hear the flutter of her

Heart

Singing melodies of courage

In her ears.

As the hours ticked

Long seconds full of

Ink,

And stretched worries

She had long learned how to

Blink,

She held on to

Wisps of memories

Mirrored in her unshed

Tears,

And recalled the echoes

Of abandon

In the giggles

Of her very early

Years.

 

 

For the dVerse Poetics challenge: Black

 

 

Preview Warmth

Preview Warmth NaamaYehuda

Photo: Na’ama Yehuda

 

Feel the midday

Glow expand

Sense the gently

Heated sand.

Dampened clothes,

Digging hands,

China they’re intent

To find.

Make the most

Of wonderland.

It previews warmth

So close behind.

 

 

 

For Terri’s Sunday Stills Challenge: Warmth

 

 

Big Brother

Big Brother SmadarHalperinEpshtein

Photo: Smadar Halperin-Epshtein

 

I will go, Big Brother

To the end of the earth

After you.

In spite of fear

I will try to repeat

All you do.

But I’ll still

Just in case

Reach for

And draw courage

From you.

 

 

For the Wits End Challenge: Childhood

 

My Neighbor’s Bike

 

toddler s pink bike near wall

Photo by Afta Putta Gunawan on Pexels.com

 

My first bike

Was a neighbor’s bike.

“Too many hills,” my mom had said

As if topography in any way diminished

The accelerated thrill

Of legs off pedals

From the top of the rise

To our street.

There was no arguing

Or vowing to share and never fight.

We knew her words were code

For “we cannot afford.”

But my sister’s friend across the street

Did have a bike

And with it the absolute power to dispense

Rides, routes, direction, and duration.

There were no training wheels

To ease one in.

There was no question of admitting

Complete lack of experience

And risking an evaporated offer.

So it was guts and trepidation

A stranglehold on the handlebar

And the utter exhilaration

Of flying.

 

 

For Cee’s Share Your World Challenge

 

What’s a View?

ZYView

Photo: Na’ama Yehuda

 

What’s a view

To you?

Memories of times

Long gone

Askew?

The roads since traveled

But still

Due?

The sights you did not know

You will one day reclaim

Anew?

What is a view

To you?

 

 

 

This post is dedicated to memories of all childhoods and sunsets, times gentle and not, and to Frank’s beloved pooch, Ransom.

The Tuesday Photo Challenge

 

Express to Play

train to play SmadarHalperinEpshtein

Photo: Smadar Halperin-Epshtein

 

Take the express train

To a fun-filled day

Recall the awe

Of speed and sway

And hold on to

The gift of play.

 

 

For The Daily Post

Pedestrian

 

1374358_10151714962878406_1569699489_n

Photo: Smadar Halperin-Epshtein

This photo makes me smile.

The vistas and the light and play of shade and stream and sun, yes … But more than anything, the path and the story it tells: the measured step of the dad with the baby on his back, keeping one eye on the older one; the exuberant skip of the boy; the plastic bag tied to the father’s carrier, containing who knows what but probably some leftover drink and snack; the other people in the background, strolling, skipping, taking in the fresh air and the sights.

A timeless story. Set in any place, in every language. Humans walking from one place to another, the oldest mode of transport since we’d swung down from the trees to become bipedal and free up our hands.

 

 

For The Photo Challenge

Caper On

Live life like a kid

On feet or hooves

On two or four:

Jump and jive

Skip and romp

Frolic, gambol, cavort, stomp.

Live like a kid:

Play fully

Dance wholly

Be jolly

Caper on.

 

For The Daily Post

A Good Match

1025350_10151573815968406_730796465_o

A Perfect Match: Photo by Smadar Halperin-Epshtein

 

I love this photo by my niece of her little boy and his uncle’s dog taking a walk on the beach. It encapsulates a tapestry of perfect pairings: sunset and beach, beach and dog, dog and boy, boy and beach, water and light, trepidation and trust.

The soft waves lap at the figures. Both child’s and canine’s play contained by a still-forming bond.

The silvery light with its promise of blush, the speck of island in the distance …

The footprints and shadow on the wet sand behind …

The image is a salve of contented quiet and hopeful calm.

 

 

For the Photo Challenge

Writing in the Snow

Snow is blanketing the East Coast, burying the rulers of measuring reporters, blowing microphones and umbrellas out of people’s hands, stranding motorist on highways, passengers on buses, travelers en route.

And it is COLD.

Too many cars on streets made plows lag in coming. They are yet to transform some paths from the look of dusted by ruptured sacks of confectioners sugar … to gray mushy lines of hiding blacktop. There’s a hush outside. The world stunned by winter’s hold.

People walk gingerly–confectioners sugar it might look like, but up close underfoot this is mighty slippery stuff.

From my window, everyone is a walking story:
Here are the sturdy footers, placing one foot in front of the other in assured steps;
There come the triers, delicately placing one foot and then another, almost in a dance;
The best-spot-placers, scanning the sidewalk for less slippy spots before zigzagging their way along, concentration at the full;
The text-n-sliders, keeping half an eye on the sidewalk and the rest on the small screen;
The unprepared, stepping tentatively in not-quite-appropriate footwear and attempting to ignore physics–a body in flat shoes will sink in snow piles;
And the snow-welcomers, faces upturned to the wind against tugging-hands at their wrappings. Many grasshoppers-size with bookbags and lunch boxes, dismissed early from school, drunk on Snow-Day delight;
There are the careful-balancers, holding canes and walkers or clinging to shopping carts or someone else’s elbow, praying to not throw out backs or hips or knees or ankles, casting yearnful glances at the sure-steppers and grinners, nostalgic peeks at grasshopper magic, and a half-envious, half-knowing shake of head at the texting and unprepared, for their careless take-for-granted health.

From my window, everyone becomes walking story. Stories in the snow.

How do you write stories in the snow?