Photo: Keith Luke on Unsplash
Eons had passed
Since when they had
Their skins
Stolen
By man.
They learned to love
The life they had
Yet dreams
Cried hope
Aground.
Till secrets told
By men at night
Got heard
And sang
Around.
And off they went
The selkie all
Safe in
Their skin,
Unbound.
For the dVerse poetry challenge: Selkie
Photo: Amitai Asif
There is water
For the thirsty
Even
In the desert,
Where heart and hand
Were put to work
With foresight of what
Must be done,
To hold
What would otherwise
Be lost
To shifting sands
And blazing sun.
For Cee’s Fun Foto Challenge: Manmade
Photo: Osnat Halperin-Barlev
They strung up the hammock, and called it home.
There was a tent.
There was shade.
There was view.
There was fresh air.
And in the morning, sparkly tears of dew.
It wasn’t much, perhaps.
With a long trek to get water,
And so a lot to learn. Anew.
Still, they made do.
There had been little time to plan,
After they got the letter.
It was pay up, in whole,
Or let the owed sum fetter
Their everything into
Being a forever debtor.
So they packed what they owned
And drove away
With broken hearts and eyes the wetter.
At least here,
Even with no walls
There was shelter.
Which was, already,
Better.
For Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt: Home in 114 words
Photo: Smadar Halperin-Epshtein
They didn’t know what they could do. What’s left of what they had.
So they rode the day in minute steps, a hand in tender hand.
They sought the light as morning came.
They danced into the night.
Because they knew no ban could
Fully
Take away
What is allowed.
For RDP Tuesday: Ban
It wasn’t an easy thing for a Bottom-Feeder to achieve Topper status. Most born to the Lower Gradients remained in the dank shadows of the towers, foraging for what could be found.
But Bronson never took the easy route. Not in birth, where his footling position had almost killed his mama and had left him only one usable hand. Not in growing, when he was often the last to be fed and the first to be beaten. Not in young adulthood, when he decided that wit and perseverance would have to do what his physique could not.
He lurked. He flattered. He kept abreast of Toppers’ visits to the LG’s for the vices, and used his nonthreatening appearance to offer guidance, and sometimes, services.
When Lorena’s ankle broke on twisted pavement, he lent a shoulder, led her home, and stayed. Life was better at the Tops, even as a pet.
For Crispina’s Crimson’s Creative Challenge
Photo: Lynn Jordan on Unsplash
Shuttered windows did not
Matter,
For all who lacked knew that
The door remained unlatched
The rusty locks, unfastened,
To let the needy enter
And rest their weary heads
Within,
Their huddled warmth
Steadfast in lieu of
Hearth,
Never closed from
The ancient inn.
For the dVerse poetry quadrille challenge: close
Photo: Osnat Halperin-Barlev
Walk with me
Into nature
Where the fresh air
Flows through.
Walk with me
As we shelter
Under skies
Me, and you.
Walk with me
Hand in hand
Muddy boots
Flowers, too.
Let us breathe
And connect
With everything
That is true.
For the Tuesday photo challenge: Connect
It would be the last place anyone would look, and the first thing everyone would see.
It made it perfect.
She always gravitated toward hiding in plain sight. There was equity in the blinding effect of what people learned to not see or did not know could be there in the first place.
How long would it take, she wondered, for her cover to be blown?
The longest had been almost four weeks. The closest call had her discovered before the first patch of paint dried. She’d almost lost everything that day, and the consequences were brutal, but she’d learned from it. As she had from every challenge and obstacle. Even those that were not meant to be instructive.
That was how she rolled. How she wrest back some control.
For now, this box of aqua perched on sand, seasonally emptied of its contents, was home.
The surf a lullaby.
For Crispina’s Crimson’s Creative Challenge
Photo: Na’ama Yehuda
Small and humble,
It fills bellies,
When there’s no
Choice of grain.
The green leaves,
The tiny fruit,
Pantry for
Times of pain.
For the Sunday Still’s challenge: #Close and #Green
Photo: Smadar Halperin-Epshtein
In the big scale
Of things
Where watershed moments
Froth and fall in
Flush forward,
Each of us but a dot
Drenched in mist
Hoping life
Flows without
A fast-forward.
For the Tuesday Photo Challenge: Scale
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