Photo: A. Asif
The rough cut
Will conform
Tree to log by
Saw and hew,
So it merges
With others
To build shelter
For you.
For Cee’s Black & White Photo Challenge: Things made of wood
Hewn
Poetry
A Stranger’s Eyes
- Photo: Conner Baker on Unsplash
Her hand clasped the steering wheel and she fought against the tears that threatened to blur the road ahead.
The wheels whirred over miles and miles of black as the stars spread a rotating canopy over her car. A bug atop a line drawn in the sand, she was. A smidgen on the wide expanse of life under the heavens.
She won’t go back.
She could not allow it.
He had her squelched under his thumb for so long that she did not recognize her own face in the mirror. Her eyes had become a stranger’s.
“There are times,” her mother once said, “when a woman must believe herself. You may think yourself broken, but you will love again the stranger who was your self.”
She’d thought it cryptic at the time, melodramatic.
She understood now. “I’m coming home to myself at last, Mom.”
For the dVerse Prosery prompt: Love after Love in 144 words
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Zen Essence
Photo: Na’ama Yehuda
In the moment of the soft swell
Of a calm curl,
The gentle foam
Belays the power of
The waves that lift ocean liners
And cradle whales.
A breath
Before
Exhale.
Thank you, Terri, for this prompt. Perfect for today. For me, the shore is the ultimate calibrator. I took this photo in Ogonquit, Maine, quite too many years ago. Time to go back. Time to go to the beach. Any beach. For breath, for awe, for space, for zen.
For Sunday Stills: Essence of Zen
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Up Or Down
She could go up
Or down
On the path
Into town.
There the low road
Awaited,
Full of snarls and
outdated.
Or she could take
The high
With its twists,
Turns,
And sighs.
She could go up
Or down
On the path
Into town.
So she paused to
Reflect,
How to best
Course correct,
And decided it
Best
To give the high road
A test.
For Crimson’s Creative Challenge
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Locked
Photo: Adi Rozen-Zvi
Life without
Possibility
Of parole.
Robbed of
Freedom.
Wingspan clipped
To the lock
At the end of
A chain
Of events.
Imprisoned
Without fault
But the adversity
And sorrow
Of its birth.
For the Tuesday Photo Challenge: Lock
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Voice Of Song
Photo: Smadar Halperin-Epshtein
There is no
Place,
No space,
Without
Voice.
If the trees of our soul
Fall
With no ears near
To hear,
Silence deafens
Roar into
Lore.
Be the voice
Of your song.
Let the air move
Through lungs
Via cords
To record:
You’re aboard.
For the dVerse Quadrille challenge: Voice
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Up Close
Photo: Na’ama Yehuda
Up close
The purple pinks into the blue
And makes the hues
Shine through.
Up close
You can forget yourself
As edges curl
And bloom unfurls
In you.
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Her Song To Sing
Photo: Jorgen Haland via Unsplash
And so she stood
Among the rocks
That piled,
A pyre of life’s debris,
Like so much refuse
Of what had
Once been
Beloved goals.
And so she sang,
The words still raw
Against her lips,
Her livid
Scar of
Soul.
The song, she knew,
Was more than
A sum
Of her whole,
And beyond any meaning
Voice could
Hold.
And so she stood
Amidst the wreckage
Of her faith
Atop the middling shards
Of hope.
And she recalled
The seeds long planted
In her core,
Beneath the thickets
Of lost calls,
Awaiting, perhaps,
This very annihilation
As invitation
To grow bold.
(Dedicated to all who are feeling broken. May they find the seeds within their core. And grow bold.)
For Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt: Song in 102 words
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Bird Overheard
Photo: Na’ama Yehuda
I’d planned something else
But
Instead,
This pretty bird
Over
My head
Chirped my
Concentration
To bed.
For the Tuesday Photo Challenge: Overhead
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Rectangled View
Photo: Smadar Halperin-Epshtein
Bright light shines
Onto poles
As egrets call
And small hands
Hold
Sight to
Behold.
For the Tuesday Photo Challenge: Rectangles
