Photo: John Finkelstein on Pexels.com
She closed her eyes
And drifted,
Snug,
Through the safe haven
Of warm arms,
And dreamed of
Milk
And coos
And sun,
And all the smiles
That feed
Her heart
And mind.
For Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt: Haven in 32 words
Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com
The sun will warm
Again
Or far
Too hot.
The water that sustains
Will flood
Again
Or not.
The tenet that prevails
Remains:
This magic of a planet
To protect
We ought,
Or an ultimatum
Spurred by greed
With life as
Afterthought,
Will render what we
Know
And what we for our
Children hoped,
Into a disaster
We had let be
Bought.
For Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt: Ultimatum in 62 words
Photo: Pixabay on Pexels.com
She knew
It had always been
A barter:
Heartbeat
For
Hope.
For Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt: Barter in 11 words
Photo: Amitai Asif
She flitted gently by his head.
The slight bow noted, the sorrow that was there
But perhaps not heard.
She knew he had to hold himself up
All this time
That it was the only way
He’d learned.
And yet she could discern the hidden
Effort that it took
To rise against the gravity,
In times where drought of hope
Returned
Again and again and again.
She understood the energy required for
Making the Herculean appear effortless,
To constantly correct
The wobble under
Winds and strain.
She hovered for a moment
Letting a space of permission
Manifest
Before she landed, feather-weighted and,
Delicate
On his chest.
For Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt: Delicate in 106 words
Photo: Na’ama Yehuda
“It looks like a pharaoh,” the boy commented.
“Hmm …” the girl leaned her elbows on the display case to take a photo. Dinosaurs weren’t Pharaohs, but her little brother was obsessed with anything Egyptian, so it was easier to agree. Took long enough to drag him out of that wing of the museum and into what she really wanted to see.
“Do you think the pharaohs saw one of these and it gave them the idea?”
She sighed. “There were no dinosaurs left at the time of pharaohs.”
“It’s not what I meant!” His nudge made her take a photo of a piece of plaster instead of the fossil bones. “Maybe they found something like this one.”
“Stop it!” She hissed. They’d be told to leave if they fought.
“Sorry.” He was, only sort of. “Is it called a ‘pharaohsaurus’?”
She rolled her eyes.
“Well, it should!”
For Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt: Museum in 147 words
Photo: Amitai Asif
“Every pot can be
A teapot
But not all of them can make
Sufficiently
Good tea,”
He said, and fussed
And set the bag
To rest
On the edge
To breathe
For me.
“I’ll take coffee,”
Said the mother,
Contrary just because
She had the right
To be.
For Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt: Teapot in 48 words
Photo: Inbar Asif
The sweetness will mellow,
Proofed with time,
To become its own rich
Memory
Of ways
To be wise
Be full
Be kind.
For Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt: Vintage in 22 words
“For all the Gods!”
“What is it?” I startled. This was the closest I’d heard Papa get to swearing.
He lifted the milking-pail to reveal a wet stain on the earthen floor. A defiant fat drop fell, confirming.
It was our only pail.
I emptied the soup-pot into our bowls. “I’ll scrub this, Papa. It’ll cool and do till the morrow, when I’ll take the pail to the tinker. He’ll repair it for my comb.”
For Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt: Tinker in 75 words
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: 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
A place to improve my writing skills, and that's all.
We're not thriving, we're creatively photosynthesizing under duress.
History of the Bloomingdale area on Manhattan's Upper West Side
A creative miscellany of mythic fantasies
a weekly flash fiction prompt inspired by google maps
A community for writers to learn, grow, and connect.
To participate in the Ragtag Daily Prompt, create a Pingback to your post, or copy and paste the link to your post into the comments. And while you’re there, why not check out some of the other posts too!
I can't sleep...
Alternative haven for the Daily Post's mourners!
never judge a girl by her weight
original fiction and rhyme
You have reached a quiet bamboo grove, where you will find an eclectic mix of nature, music, writing, and other creative arts. Tao-Talk is curated by a philosophical daoist who has thrown the net away.
A photographer's view of the world - words and images to inspire your travels and your dreams
Life in progress
Straight up with a twist– Because life is too short to be subtle!
WordPress & Blogging tips, flash fiction, photography and lots more!
Light Words
Na'ama Yehuda 
You must be logged in to post a comment.