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
Pensive Park
Priorities
Come Play!
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
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Care to Observe
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
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Ode to a Little Dude’s Mood
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
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The Kitchen Sink
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 …
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“My Eyes Forgot!”
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
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Meaning Less
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
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Overworked, Underplayed
The mom consulted her phone’s calendar.
“She has soccer on Mondays right after school, then she has a pre-reading tutor. Tuesday she has piano after school but I can rush her to you if you have time for a session at 5:30 or so? She’ll be a little tired and maybe hungry but I can give her dinner in the car on the way here or something. Oh, actually, next month she’ll start rehearsals for her recital. Thursdays are really difficult because she has gymnastics and then they have rehearsal training, so she won’t be able to do anything before 6pm. Maybe that’s a bit too late? Fridays she has another pre-reading class. I really don’t want her falling behind. Maybe I can bring her to you after … though she has some playdates scheduled next month. Saturday she does ice-skating. …” Looked up. Sighed, “Do you work Sundays?”
The little girl is not yet five.
For The Daily Post
Na'ama Yehuda 
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