(Photo: Ben Rosett on Unsplash)
There was not much to do but wait.
And hope.
The lots were cast,
Though she had very little trust
In such.
It was not for her
To decide.
Now it was just,
The drip of minutes
Through childhood’s hourglass.
Dreams slowly fraying
Into dust,
While growing worries,
Poke trembling shoots
Into her heart.
Will this unknown,
Chosen for her
Husband,
Will he be
Kind?
For Sammi’s Weekend Writing Challenge: unknown in 65 words
(Photo: Martha Dominguez de Gouveia on Unsplash)
He drooped as hours
Lingered
Without any
News.
He tried to read but
Worry clogged his
Views.
He paced awhile but
Found his feet too heavy
As his hope grew
Weak.
The moments stretched
Their languid
Endless
Streak.
“It’s done,”
A soft voice filtered
To him
Through the mist.
“She’s resting comfortably.
So is your newborn son.”
For Sammi‘s Weekend Writing Prompt: Languid in 57 words
Photo: Andrew Buchanan on Unsplash
“It is just a crack,” she said,
“A splinter off of perfection.”
‘Twas more than that, she understood,
Knowing what effort it exacted of her
To keep her direction,
To balance scales just so
They did not tip life
And hope
Into utter disconnection.
For the dVerse quadrille challenge: Crack
Photo: Hongmei Zhao on Unsplash
In the blackest night
She woke
To hear the flutter of her
Heart
Singing melodies of courage
In her ears.
As the hours ticked
Long seconds full of
Ink,
And stretched worries
She had long learned how to
Blink,
She held on to
Wisps of memories
Mirrored in her unshed
Tears,
And recalled the echoes
Of abandon
In the giggles
Of her very early
Years.
For the dVerse Poetics challenge: Black
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
Photo: Amitai Asif
“Almost there!” she sighed.
What had been an orange halo of illumination at the horizon of their climb finally crystalized into evidence of habitation.
She could hear Merri’s labored breath behind her.
“Not long now,” she cajoled to mask her wariness.
Will they be welcomed or will they be turned out again? The other two places were small towns. This was a big city. Perhaps they could blend in. Hide in plain sight.
For Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt: Illumination in 73 words
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
Photo: Amitai Asif
When problems seem to swell up
Overnight
And worry gives a boon
To fret and fright
It can help to remind
That while some puffy mushrooms
Do hold spite
Many are more air
Than actual might.
For The Daily Post
For the child who finally got a clean bill of health, long enough into remission at last, after three bouts of cancer, four surgeries, five courses of chemo, two collapsed lungs, a resistant infection, and more invasive treatments and hospital days than one can count (though I’m sure her parents had counted. Every. Single. One.)
Whew.
We’re so relieved.
You rock, little one!
For The Daily Post
When you fret in worry,
Field misgivings,
Try to still the shiver
Of concern
Of doubt
Of qualm.
Take a moment
To get grounded
And remember what you know
In soul, in heart, in mind:
Sooth exists.
It
Lives
Between the breaths
Of Love’s
Eternal
Balm.
For The Daily Post
tucked away in the mountains
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