Learned Limbo

brown wooden desk table

Photo: Stephen Paris on Pexels.com

 

It has long lain

In limbo,

All voices ebbed

Into dust.

As silent letters

On chalkboard,

Watch the desks

Left to rust.

At one time

Children chanted,

Poems rose

Learned by heart.

But they’d grown

And time hastened.

School-house days

Did not last.

Now it sits,

Heart quite emptied,

And still waits

For the past.

 

 

For the dVerse Challenge: Limbo

 

Towering Time

windows SmadarHalperinEpshtein

Photo: Smadar Halperin-Epshtein

 

Windows blink

Sun and shade.

Emptied glass

Peers ahead.

While the dome,

Ivy wrought,

Towers time

Boggles thought.

 

 

 

For Travel with Intent’s One Word Sunday: Tower

 

A Bell To Tell

bell boy SmadarHalperinEpshtein

Photo: Smadar Halperin-Ephstein

 

What lesson does history tell

Of shattered bits,

And scratched on bells?

Can peals of old

Be heard

Be said

So we not ruin

What’s ahead?

 

 

For the Lens-Artists Photo Challenge: History

 

The Pillar

Photo: Sue Vincent

 

The youngsters always met by The Pillar.

Their parents had. Their grandparents had, and the great-grands before that and on and on till time before time. It was a rite of passage of sort. A congregation-point for those just past the threshold from children to adults.

There was no timetable for how long it was before a set of youths made way for those younger still. Yet the time never seemed to be very long, no matter the outward circumstances.

In olden times such changeover was marked by many youths’ marrying shortly after adult bodies and responsibilities were taken on, as it was believed that matrimony was the lead to sensibilities. Any youths lagging behind in house-making would soon enough stop visiting The Pillar anyway, perhaps as it would feel unseemly for them to be seen hobnobbing with total greenhorns to the adult world.

In modern times, with childhoods that stretched well beyond the bounds any elder would consider reasonable, and with less children in town to nip at the heels of those frequenting The Pillar, youths nonetheless rarely mingled by it for much longer than they would’ve in the past. Just their chronological age had shifted some, from puberty to closer to the end of high-school.

Looking back, few could tell exactly what about The Pillar had drawn them to the location. Sure, the isolation allowed for some actions full-fledged adults would likely frown on (though they’d done the same — and sometimes worse — themselves), but there were plenty other isolated places to find privacy in. Blustery in winter and mosquito-swarmed by summer, the field where The Pillar stood was not exactly the height of comfort. Still by tradition or something more, the youth were drawn to it like moths to light.

It was the fairies, some whispered, magic of the Fair Folk, conjured so they could feed upon the newly discovered energies of youth, necessary to the Fairies’ sustained immortality. Others pooh-poohed the folklore, perhaps unnerved by the notion that anything but their own will had caused them to view as irresistible what later on looked quite the dreary spot.

“It was just the adventure,” the latter would grumble. “Every child in town grew up dreaming of being old enough to go to The Pillar. Of course we wanted to finally do so.”

Still they could not explain what had made them suddenly wish to visit it. Or why it had just as suddenly lost its charm.

When pressed, they’d shrug that “it’s been there as long as anyone remembers.” As if that was explanation enough.

Lore or not, the youngsters always met by The Pillar.

And there The Pillar stood. Slanted by age or forces beyond comprehension. Till another age of the earth would come.

 

 

For Sue’s Thursday Photo Prompt: Timeless

 

Salted

dead sea dry OsnatHalperinBarlev

Photo: Osnat Halperin-Barlev

 

In the cracked curl

Of earth

Baked in sun

And ancient salt,

The Dead Sea

Awaits a

Flawed flow of

Redemption,

Or a whitened end.

 

 

For Cee’s Fun Foto Challenge: Texture

 

Into The Horizon

Australia S. Levenberg

Photo: S. Levenberg

 

There was a gap in the horizon and she was going to walk through it even if it meant a pass into another world. Even if it proved a portal to a completely different side of life.

There was a gap in the horizon and it beckoned her to come inside. To walk away from all she’d known and all she could no longer understand, and into what she didn’t know, but may arrive.

 

 

For the Weekend Writing Prompt: Horizon in 74 words

 

 

Determined

Delicate DvoraFreedman

Photo: Dvora Freedman

 

Rise above

Hardship’s fray

In gentle curls

Of delicate

Pink,

And an underbelly

Of powerful

Orange

Smelted from the

Brink.

 

 

For Cee’s Fun Foto Challenge: Orange and Pink

 

 

Woolgathering

snow view KarenForte

Photo: Karen Forte

 

Pause, and

Let your mind wander

In waking reverie

To the places where

Tomorrow’s seeds

Are sleeping

Underneath the snowy

Ground,

Wrapped in the arms

Of memories

Of days

Long passed

And others

Yet to come.

 

 

For Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt: Woolgathering in 36 words

 

 

 

Chim-Chimney

Chimneys inbarasif

Photo: Inbar Asif

 

Old slate well licked by lichen

And marbled

With moss,

Recalls clouds swirling

High

To kiss sky

With their smoke.

Jagged edges

Of years spent in

Rain, sun

And wind,

Hold with pride

To a chimney

That time hasn’t

Yet thinned.

 

 

For The Photo for the Week Challenge: chimneys and fireplaces

 

 

Fates and Faiths

the old city osnathalperinbarlev

Photo: Osnat Halperin-Barlev

 

In the depths of the city

Where new rubs shoulders

With old,

Uncounted passes of prayers

And woven statements

Enfold,

Fates and faiths of what’s been

And may yet find

Better ways

To be told.

 

 

For Wits-End Weekend Photo Challenge: repeating patterns