Photo: Maria Teneva on Unsplash
He thinks himself a cavalier:
Aristocratic,
Well revered.
In fact he is
Just cavalier:
Disdainful
Petty
Quick to smear.
He thinks himself
A cavalier:
A man whose word all
Must adhere.
In truth he is
Just cavalier:
Dismissive
Hurtful
Full of sneer.
He thinks himself
A cavalier:
Someone for everyone
To cheer.
Yet he is
A racketeer,
And they want him
Out of here.
For Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt: Cavalier in 64 words
Photo: Ishan @seefromthesky on Unsplash
When the light
Aligns just right
And the ebb and flow
Combine
To sheer insight,
She breathes in
To allow
The soul expanding
Syzygy
Of hope and
Love and
Heart.
For Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt: Syzygy in 30 words
She rose with the sun, her brow still damp with the essence of dream. Soon enough her feet were, too, from dew and from the small drops of silence that mornings bring.
There was little to say, and much space to accompany.
It was a good day.
It had to be.
There will be time much later on, for all the things she might still need, and all the words she may still say, and all the sorrows she no longer wished to borrow.
In the meanwhile, she walked on, crushing dandelions, breathing lavender.
The fields stretched ahead as the disc of light leaned hot against the sky. The air shimmered, dancing in the sun.
Or wavering.
It would not matter, in the long run.
She walked on.
Eventually she’d have to turn around, retrace her steps, return into the pace of tending, bending, sending, lending, fending.
And it would still be a good day.
For the dawn poured the generous morn into her, washing her, filling her, scenting her soul. Step by breath by step by breath, immersed into the longest walk her present moment could recall.
Photo: Na’ama Yehuda
“You see those?”
“I sure do.”
“Well, that’s where they’d come through.”
“Don’t think I believe you.”
“Well then, just wait and see.”
“Until when would that be?”
“Sometimes ‘tween two and three.”
“What? Are you kidding me!?”
“It’s the city, my friend
And this is not West End …
Alligators won’t poke their head
Till the green light’s delayed.
Sure, they value the park,
The reservoir in the dark,
And the nice scratchy spark
From a bit of tree bark …
But you’d agree it is best
To let most traffic rest
‘Fore you poke scaly breasts
Onto Central Park West.”
For Rochelle’s Friday Fictioneers – Thanks for picking my photo of my ‘hood’!
And for those who want more … about this snippet of lore about Alligators living in the tunnels underneath the city … click on the ‘gator below …
Photo: Izabelle Acheson on Unsplash
She will not elucidate.
She won’t expound.
She won’t make plain.
There is, in her view, absolutely
Nothing she needs to
Explain.
There is the plate.
There are the cookies.
There was her mouth to entertain.
So, what does any of that
Have to do with dinner
Or with waiting for dessert
Again?
Photo: Markus Spiske on Unsplash
You are not welcome.
Here.
Or anyplace that we hold
Dear.
You are unwelcome
Here.
Because you lack
The right color
Or veneer
Or gender
Or conviction,
And because you have far too much
Proclivity toward
Fear.
You are not welcome.
Here.
Though if you come,
Subservient,
Kowtowing
To us
Year by lingering
Year,
We might allow you
To remain
As long as you
Humbly
Adhere,
To our need to aggrandize
Our wrongs,
And as long as you
Declare you will
Never rise
Above a state that
Holds us as
Premier.
Note: Dedicated to all who fight ingrained injustice, racism, hate, brutality, and the historical realities of too many who bolster themselves by believing they are somehow ‘premier.’ For the record, there is nothing ‘supreme’ about anyone who claims ‘supremacy.’ There never was.
For Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt: Unwelcome in 91 words
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: Noah Austin on Unsplash
Gallivanting Gary liked to roam about
In town.
He refused to let a passing hardship weigh
Him down.
He took his time to get things done.
He rambled on and on.
But once the dinner bell at home was rang
He’d lift his feet
And run.
For Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt: Gallivant in 46 words
Photo: Rene Bernal on Unsplash
We are,
All the colors
Of this earth,
Broken into
Pieces of
Humanity and
Mixed together
To make into
A kaleidoscope
Of hope.
For Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt: Kaleidoscope in 23 words
Enslaved persons cutting sugar cane on the Island of Antigua, 1823, (The British Library)
She fed them well so
They would
Sleep,
And silently
She gave the slip,
To all she knew
Yet did not sweep
Away the bite
Of whip.
She fled,
So the child in
Her belly’s keep,
Would not writhe, helpless,
In another person’s
Grip.
For the dVerse quadrille challenge: slip
(Note: Dedicated to all who suffered and still suffer under the yoke of injustice, discrimination, racism, and pretense. We can do better than this. We must do better than this.)
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