Anew

bet-shan

 

She took the bus to near as possible. Then walked. A few cars honked, perhaps to offer a ride. Perhaps to get something she wasn’t offering.

She waved them off. Walked on.

It made sense to arrive by foot. As in the times before.

The times she should have no way of knowing, yet did.

Remember.

They’d tried to put her behind locked windows between soft walls when she first tried to speak of it.

She had learned not to.

But her soul knew.

And there it was. As then.

Almost.

The stone crumbling, yet still her olden home.

Anew.

 

 

 

For Rochelle’s Friday Fictioneers

Photo prompt © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

 

Uncanny

 

There was a mystery

To their madness.

An uncanny sense of

Doom.

But she did not flail

Afraid

In darkness,

Whilst she could spot a petal

Bloom.

Instead, she watched

With rapt intention

As life suffused

Their eerie

Gloom.

 

 

 

For Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt: Uncanny in 39 words

 

By Heart And Hand

desert pool AmitaiAsif

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

 

 

Essentially

bridge over quiet water SmadarHalperinEpshtein

Photo: Smadar Halperin-Epshtein

 

“Essentially, it should just be a matter of putting one foot in front of the other,” Dan noted, raising a mischievous bushy eyebrow and staring meaningfully at the assembled group of aspiring hikers. “Only that for some of us this might be an impossibility, seeing that … well …”

The participants laughed.

The six youngsters had barely five feet between them, let alone the assumed two per beating heart.

Dan had none.

“So,” the bearded guide waved a muscular arm over the skateboard that supported his legless torso. “We do something better.”

He pointed at each of the youngsters and their varied modes of conveyance. “We glide, we slide, we roll, we hop, we drive. We do whatever is necessary, and …” he chuckled, “because lunch will be served at the end of this path, we best get started or we’ll also end up doing it hungrily.”

 

 

For the SoCS challenge: ends with -ly

 

No-Budge Sludge

underground AmitaiAsif

Photo: Amitai Asif

 

There is sludge

That won’t budge

There is gumming of parts

So the muck

Becomes stuck

As so many now fudge

And prefer to hold grudge

‘Stead of clearing the gunk

Of those who claim truth is junk

Who treat lies

As their prize

And demise

As new highs.

 

 

For The Daily Post

Pathways to Hope

path

In times of much uncertainty,

It can be hard to see a path

Worth taking.

A walk unencumbered by darkness or demise

Might seem improbable

Potential tarnished

Possibility destroyed.

For there is so much vitriol. Fear-mongering. Divisiveness. Incitement.

There may seem no way worthy.

No path available; a future bleak with war.

 

There’s hope, however, in paths semi-forgotten

In steps untrodden

In walkways hidden under heaps of misdirection, worry, mirrors, smoke.

There are sturdy lanes to follow.

Not the blathering ones cluttered with false promises or empty bravado

But the ones one forges

With their soul.

These paths, too, are waiting

Ever present, patient, true to form.

 

In a time when paths seem blocked

Futures sold to the highest bidder

The loudest, richest, most shocking

To the very wrong …

There are still avenues

Unmarred,

Open vistas

Brimming with

Clear breath

Kindness

Real growth.

 

So if you find the path a-twisted

If you feel the weight of futures crucial to avoid,

Step yourself away from highways-into-nothing

And take instead a quiet stroll

Into your soul.

Find solitude

Hold empathy

Recall respect for all that is,

The Truths that make life possible:

Compassion, not destruction

An open heart

The step by steps which widens futures

To allow companionship

Acceptance

The brilliance woven into threads of love

For tapestries of hope.

path lit