A Spinning Spin

 

Illustration: Anne Anderson from Grimm’s Fairy Tales (London and Glasgow 1922)

 

He wanted her to spin

Straw

Into gold.

To make the mundane

Magic

To behold.

Though the metal

Nourished

Naught,

And left only

An empty

Cot.

Where with

Better thought

He might’ve

Got,

Riches which

Could not

Be bought.

 

 

Note: A little spin on Rumpelstiltskin

For Anmol’s dVerse poetics: Myths and Legends

 

 

 

Treasure Hunters

SPF-10-14-18Joy-Pixley-3

Photo Credit: Joy Pixley

 

It had been a long trek on an oven of a day in what had to be a replica of hell. I was parched half-way to mummification and about as lively as the end result, but Mark seemed as bouncy as a pixie in morning dew.

He checked the map. “Twenty more feet!”

Either he didn’t notice the forest of thorns (and its likely residents) or didn’t care. He was in his element. I definitely was not.

I’d joined THOR (Treasure Hunters Of Renown) a month prior, on the rebound from a breakup. The local chapter was small but Mark’s enthusiasm was contagious and the prospects were exciting. We compared topography maps with old mining records and discussed unsolved mysteries of lost gold from the bandit days of the Wild West. Hunting treasure sounded alluring. It made me feel brave. From the AC.

“I’m not going in there!” I croaked with a drywall tongue as my mind filled with images of scorpions and my ears strained for rattlers. I was sure I’d heard the cackle of ghosts.

If I made it home alive, the only treasures I wanted were a cool drink, my couch, and my remote.

 

 

For Sunday Photo Fiction

 

What Matters Most

Newborn A YiscaFreeman

Photo: Yisca Freeman

 

What matters most

Are those we wrap

In loving arms

To keep from harm.

What matters most

Are those who hold

All future steps

Yet to unfold.

 

 

For Nancy Merrill’s Photo a week challenge

 

Pensive Park

before i die PhilipCoons

Photo: Philip Coons

 

In a park, on a lawn,  by a

Trail

This board aimless wander

Curtails,

And the question it

Raises

Brings along varied

Phrases.

What would your heart

Assign

If you saw such a

Sign?

 

 

For Kammie’s Oddball Challenge

 

Come Play!

play NaamaYehuda

Photo: Na’ama Yehuda

 

My pink shoes are a mess

But I’m in no distress.

I have been in the dust

For elephants it’s a must.

I’m a fierce one, you see

Will you come play with me?

 

 

For the Tuesday Photo Challenge: Play

 

Care to Observe

Observe OsnatHalperinBarlev

Photo: Osnat Halperin-Barlev

 

It is not

The bruisers

Who denote

Importance

For what one should

Obey or discern.

It is the smallest

And the vulnerable

Who call

True attention

To the biggest

Issues

Left to tend.

 

 

 

For The Daily Post

Ode to a Little Dude’s Mood

1940-50 Philadelphia Phillies Patch

Photo: 1940-50 Philadelphia Phillies Patch

 

(Dedicated with a hug to a little dude in a mood … )

You fret

You toss

You turn

You snooze.

You pray your team

Won’t ever

Lose.

You wake up

Early

Hear the news.

You shout

You cry

You read reviews.

Time for some

Pancakes

To sweeten

Blues …

 

 

For The Daily Post

The Kitchen Sink

tltweek94

Photo: Scott Umstattd via Unsplash

 

The house snored and stomachs sighed content

But pots and pans and ladle, towel, bowl and plate

Slept not a wink awaiting dawn inside the kitchen sink …

 

For Three Line Tales Week 94

“My Eyes Forgot!”

clean-up-messy-room-Switchmonkey

 

The room looked as if a tornado had gone through it: Toys of every size and color dotted the floor, a scatter of crayons peaked from under the bookcase, bits of paper snow-flaked the rug, a shirt’s sleeve and a lonely sock used an open drawer for recliner.

“Rachel!” the mother’s arms climbed to her waist in indignation. She’d cleaned this room that very morning.

The little girl lifted her face from the doll in her hands. Her visage was the epitome of innocence.

“Look at this room!” her mom exasperated.

The girl rotated her head obediently but without conviction.

“The mess!” the mom repeated when the child said nothing.

“Oh,” the child shrugged. One ponytail holder bobbed deeper than the other–it was hanging by a hair. “My eyes forgot to see it.”

 

 

For The Daily Post

Meaning Less

shelter

Photo from: Gentleman Bobwhite

 

Some things in life mean more.

Or should.

To any.

Safety. Food. Clean water. Air. Shelter.

Connection to another.

 

Some things mean less.

Or can.

At least to many.

Money. Fame. Opinion. Power.

They swing in winds-of-value, superfluous.

For they can matter only if necessity already filled

One’s pantry.

 

 

For The Daily Post