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
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.
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
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
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
Photo: Mehrdad Haghighi via Unsplash
Spattered,
Scattered,
Splattered
Like galaxies
Of reversed light
Upon the expanse
Of skin.
Concentrated pigment
On the canvas
Of the body,
They speckle
Like stars
Reflected
In the negative of film.
Beloved,
They dance upon
The nose.
A freckled
Symphony
Of brown and gold.
For the dVerse Quadrille Challenge
Photo: Alex Andrews on Pexels.com
He was an amateur in
Matters
Of the heart.
Oh, he prided himself on being
An expert
Of the physiological
Domain.
And perhaps a tinkerer
In that
He was.
But he was not even
A dabbler
In intimacy.
He lacked all expertise
In the understanding of
Connection
Or trust
Or hope.
For Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt: Amateur in 51 words
Photo: Na’ama Yehuda
I watched its solitary fly by
And wondered if it felt
Lonesome for the many it had once
Belonged to
Yet left,
Or if it was a scout,
Holding a memory of a long-ago-known
Place to land
That others had forgotten
Or had misplaced the
Sense of.
Will it circle back to its own,
Flapping on the wing
In fatigued relief,
To let the rest know
It had found this night’s
Home?
For Cee’s Black & White Photo Challenge: Anything that flies
Photo: Philip Coons
May the words wrap
Around you
In shade and in
Sun.
May a book grab
Inside you
To where stories
Abound.
May good tales sustain
Your
Every heartbeat
And sound.
May you find space
Aplenty
To create
Reading time.
For the Tuesday Photo Challenge: Sculpture
Photo: A.Katz
As the sun’s last light
Paints mountains
Red,
May worry find a safe
For stashing
Dread:
That morning might
Not come
Again,
That homes might turn
From hope
To strain,
And children’s cries
Will sound
In pens,
As they wake
More memories
Of pain.
For dVerse Quadrille Challenge: Sun
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