(Photo: Brett Jordan on Unsplash)
There had to be a way
To be heard,
Without becoming
What they fought
Against.
They refused to condone
Violence,
Hate,
Or putting others down
To make a point.
Instead,
They turned up
A crescendo
Of truths.
For Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt: Crescendo in 37 words
(Photo: Owen Vangioni on Unsplash)
It wasn’t that
Which killed the cat.
Not inquisitiveness in predawn
Hours
When any decent mind
Would sleep.
Not curiosity about rustling shopping bags
Left
Fending for themselves
Whilst humans fetch more from
The car.
But urgent greed
To speed
Through
All nine lives.
For the dVerse quadrille poetry challenge: curiosity
(Photo: Johnny Cohen on Unsplash)
The sound began
A whisper,
Only to crescendo to
A cry
That made the very
Heart
Howl
In eerie
Resonance
Of pain.
Familiar
Again.
For Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt: Eerie in 24 words
(Photo: Rainer Krienke on Unsplash)
There is a scar ripped open
In the canyon
Of this wound.
Where sorrow has wound time
Around grief tighter than
Some
Assumed.
There are still pools
Of tears
Repeatedly
Bled
As future holds
Its breath.
To broken hearts
Peace has not
Come yet.
For the dVerse quadrille poetry challenge: wound
(Photo: Lucas Myers on Unsplash)
There was little in their heart
But ice
And calculated cruelty.
A wanton abuse of
Power.
Ribald actions of
A misery intended
To inflict.
The wreck they left
Of any who had
Crossed them,
Threatened to hollow
Even the hardiest
Protest.
And yet,
There were still some
Whose souls
Would not give in
To ugly.
Whose light
Resisted.
Insisted.
Persisted.
For Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt: wanton in 60 words
(Photo: Cameron Stow on Unsplash)
They said she was wanton.
That from a child she’s been, capricious.
Her mom would sigh. Her father, frown.
They loathed how she refused to bow.
Ungovernable. Resisting.
She was, to them,
A moral stain.
A failure
In contrition.
They had stopped speaking to her
Till she had learned submission.
The wayward daughter of the tribe.
The one who lost
Her compass.
Only they none of them knew
That,
In shunned space,
She finally
Found
Life scrumptious.
For Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt: wayward in 77 words
It rained. It hailed. It stormed. It flooded.
It none of it mattered.
They laughed. They sang. They danced. They huddled.
They had a chance to reconnect.
In all the ways that mattered, and in some they hadn’t quite dared hope for, yet came true.
Oh, they were cold. And after a time, hungry.
But still the stories flowed. The tears, sometimes. The laughter. Oh, the laughter!
Best of all, the others who would otherwise pass by,
Who would pass judgment,
Did not.
Because the weather
Protective in its dreary wetness
Let them be.
Let them love.
Made it perfect.
For Rochelle’s Friday Fictioneers
Photo prompt: © Dale Rogerson
(Photo: Hans-Peter Gauster on Unsplash)
She has ants
In her pants.
Restless thoughts
Writing plots.
No surprise
Her brain fries,
Daily grind
Flying blind.
For Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt: restless in 19 words
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
(Photo: Inbar Asif)
It was everything
To her
To tend the naked vines that sprawled
Across her soul,
And through the long cold
Winter
To let the sun pour
Over
The sprawling expanse of not-yet-sweetness,
As she hoped
And prayed
For fruit
Ripening amidst abundance
Into wine.
For the dVerse poetry quadrille challenge: Wine
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