(Photo: Na’ama Yehuda)
Look yonder and you may see
What has, perhaps, become
Of me.
The good, the bad, we could
Agree,
Had gone to bed and woke up
Free.
Look yonder
And you will find
A key,
To what helps us
Grow
From one, to we.
For Sammi‘s Weekend Writing Prompt: Yonder in 44 words
The farmer pruning rows of trees,
The seller in the market.
The hens that daily lay their eggs,
For tomorrow’s nest (or basket).
The driver navigating streets,
The postman carting packets.
The parent shepherding a child
In mask and zipped up jacket.
The nurses, doctors
Plumbers, pets,
Who have become our mascots.
The slower pace
The seeking gaze
In meetings held in tablet.
The smaller gifts
That bloom in hearts,
As parks in flowers blanket.
The ebb and flow of day to day
The births, the hope, the caskets.
The love that feeds
The good of deeds,
The evenings’ clapping racket.
For as so many things are stalled,
Kindness grows in ranking,
And we are really not at all
Out of joint in thanking.
For Linda Hill’s SoCS writing prompt: joint
Photo: Guyana, by Joshua Gobin on Unsplash
“Have we always been here?”
“‘Always’ is a long-winded word,” Papa’s melodic voice told me a story was coming. “Some people lived here before our ancestors. Some had come after we’d already been here. The land and the water were here before any humans had come. The word ‘always’ does not mean one thing.”
“Moses said we’re not from here. That we were brought here as slaves.”
“Are you a slave?”
“No, Papa.”
“Are you here?”
“Yes, Papa.”
“You and I are Guyana born. Have you worked this land, swam in the Essequibo, witnessed Kiaeteur Falls, walked the savanna, ate manioc?”
“I have.”
“So you have your answer, Son. We’re all children of land and water. All born of wombs filled with water, all depend on water, and will one day become rain and go over the falls. Your ancestors got here. You’re here. Where else would you be from?”
For What Pegman Saw: Guyana, South America
Photo: Na’ama Yehuda
Serpentine line
Undulates across planes
Amidst the snowed patches of
Rugged terrain.
Spread below
To horizon
Of blue onto blue
This one planet
We share
All of us –
Me and you.
“They bow, you see,” Mir explained.
The child held on silently to his hand.
Mir peered down at the small head, so uncharacteristically still, the red curls shining like molten gold under the sun.
The quiet lingered and Mir did not break it. More words would not change how there was only so much one could say about some things.
A bird fleeted close. A bee buzzed by. Somewhere a donkey brayed and a dog’s bark answered.
Still the child did not move.
Mir let the air in and out of his lungs mark the passage of time, even as he knew it would not be measured in the same way by the child. Nor would it matter. Time is rarely what it seems to be, anyhow.
The air shimmered. The scent of smoke wafted from someplace beyond the fields, and in it mixed the faintest hints of manure and baking bread.
A caterpillar inched its way atop a blade of grass.
“There is no wind,” the child finally noted.
“There is not,” Mir confirmed.
“Are they tied together?”
“They are holding limbs.”
The child looked at her own hand in her grandfather’s. She did not look up, but Mir could feel the connection being made as it wove a thread of understanding between the two of them, between them all.
A hush fell. Then a sudden breeze rippled through the field and whistled an unnamed sound as it passed through the stacks. The tips nodded.
The child bowed back.
For Sue Vincent’s Thursday Photo Prompt: Wicker
Photo: Pixabay on Pexels.com
When the world hollows out
And the sun cooks up blame,
Don’t forget there were times
When we’d known
The con-game,
And yet chose –
To our shame –
Truth’s very core to
Maim.
We allowed
A shell-game
To carve the Earth
Up
In flames.
For dVerse Quadrille Monday: Up
Photo: Na’ama Yehuda
The skies aren’t falling
About our ears
In a squall
Of rain,
Nor in white flakes
That slough off
Of clouds
Again.
These skies are falling,
Bit by bit,
In tears
Orphaned
By pain,
And lost in hollows
Fed by
Hate
That’s allowed to
Remain.
For Linda Hill’s SoCS prompt: Fall from the sky
Photo: Ofir Asif
Note: On the eve of Holocaust Remembrance Day, when we mourn so many lost to deliberate ugliness that nurtured systemic cruelty and harm … and when some try to deepen horrors by claiming the suffering hadn’t even happened … May we find a path out of hate and violence, and away from whatever catchy slogans used to justify a pseudo-superiority. For in reality, we are all one, and the terror of racism leaves none of us unharmed.
For Linda’s One Liner Wednesday
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
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
tucked away in the mountains
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