Story Buds

budding NaamaYehuda

Photo: Na’ama Yehuda

 

Fledgling stories

Flap immature wings

In my mind,

Inchoate plots

I don’t yet

Understand.

They unfurl

Like the leaves

From a still tight closed bud –

A surprise

For the growth

That awaited

Inside.

 

 

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Meandering

horse shoe stream Shiloh AmitaiAsif

Photo: Amitai Asif

 

When life turns back onto itself

When flow seems stalled

Or slogs to mud

Hope still remains

A promise curled in gathered clouds

For though they hide the current sun

They still meander

Toward a future

Of fertile streams

To guard.

 

 

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Beauty From The Rough

carver OfirAsif

Photo: Ofir Asif

 

Carve beauty

Out of woe.

Hew purpose

From the rough.

Sculpt meaning

To make good enough

What wasn’t

And yet

Somehow was

All you could

Know.

Carve beauty

Out of woe.

Find you

Inside

The flow.

 

 

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Undulating Resolve

Maine NaamaYehuda

Photo: Na’ama Yehuda

 

When resolve wobbles,

When your heart

Worries at

Goals

And your fingers

Forget

Their own

Flow –

Recall how

Every wave

Oscillates

To and fro,

How

The ocean

Itself

Undulates

Onto each

Remote

Shore.

 

 

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Knit and Purl

Knit and purl

Photo: Na’ama Yehuda

 

Knit the yarn

Click and purl

Weave and braid

Loop and curl

Blanket beds

Shelter heads

From the cold

Up ahead.

 

 

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Wacky Loo

 

PottyLaugh SmadarHalperinEpshtein

LEGOLAND, Deutschland; Photo: Smadar Halperin-Epshtein

 

It may not be the best planning

(Though extra points for depiction geared

For universal understanding …)

To include such giggle-making signing

Right where many are aligning

With legs already crossed in short queue pining …

 

 

 

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Mini Picasso

 

“This is a big big big mountain and it have a train and it go ‘choo-CHOOOO!’ round and round and also flowers but you see them fast because it a train and rainbow and my name.” (J.N, age 3:4)

 

mini picasso

 

 

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Birth of Hope

magic-etsy-com

 

“I didn’t think it was possible,” she said. Her hand hovered close over her heart, a tremor perhaps mirroring the flutter inside. “I never dared to even hope.”

A budding of something long buried illuminated her face, softened the crows’ feet around her eyes, smoothed a line of worry that had etched itself, preemptive and ever-wary, onto her forehead.

It’s been such a very long road.

“Can you believe it? At my age?” She shook her head, amazed.

She lowered herself to the couch and patted her own knee in self-comfort or maybe to convince herself that she was real and wasn’t dreaming.

Her voice whispered wonder. “He loved it. Bought it on the spot. My baby. My first sculpture, sold.”

In reverse

“I don’t like cleaning up,” she complained. The floor was strewn with blocks, mini-figurines, doll’s clothing, crayons, plastic tea-set, make up kits, paper bits, and other detritus of a long afternoon.

Her brother frowned. He’s been occupied with his tablet instead of playing with her and while it was nice to have the chatterbox quiet for a change, he did not relish the prospect of doing the work or facing the dressing down he’d get if his parents returned to see the living room drowned under mountains of little-girl paraphernalia.

She glowered back, lower lip already quivering in preparation for what he knew all too well will be a battle he would lose.

“It’s not cleaning up,” he started.

“What?” she squinted, suspicious.

“You see,” he enticed, “it’s like magic …”

“Magic …? ” She still wasn’t buying it.

“Yes, magic! You’ll be making a mess in reverse!”

 

For The Daily Post