I need your help,
the crocodile is getting close.
Time just seems to disappear
even on ho hum days.
Please send Tinker Bell
to flit round my head.
I’ll remember then
to think wonderful things.
And the starry sky
outside my window
will look more inviting
when it’s my turn to fly.
lillian
Quickly’s Winter Doldrums Jan 10 Prompt: write an epistolary poem – a poem in the form of a letter.
Gathering place after.
Buffet of chatter and remember whens,
mourning turned noon nosh.
Black suits balance white plates
as coffee urns pour and pour
like earlier tears during amens.
You always could draw a crowd.
Incompetent words.
Faucet drips incessantly,
how can we ignore?
Future world leader?
Embarrassed by his tantrums
playground empties fast.
photo credit: Guillermo Gallege Written for Open Link Night at the Poets’ Pub at dversepoets…..afterall, politics is often a conversation at the bar!
I needed to get off!
Tarmack for an hour. The screaming kid in front of me? Don’t get me started on that. And then the kid behind me decided to be Ringo Starr. Rhythmic kicks like a drum roll until someone mercifully said stop.
Grab the carry on and shove like hell.
“Ladies and gentlemen. We have an emergency of sorts.” Of sorts?
“A passenger’s wife is in labor. He’s trying to get there in time. Please remain in your seats until he’s left the plane.”
That’s it. No connection. Good luck buddy, I’ll remember that excuse for next time.
Word Count: 100 Completed for Rochelle Wisoff-Field’s weekly flash fiction challenge: Friday Fictioneers. Photo credit for this week’s challenge: Michelle Greenwood.
Come meander with me,
a moon walk among scattered dreams
to explore the tantalizing.
Choose the light and join hands.
This shadow of mine shall disappear
as we climb out from the depths.
Secrets one and two shall be no more,
and we shall discover all we need
in that open space created by shared souls.
Our desires shall blend, one upon the other
like rose petals cling to their bursting bud
in the midst of a slow delightful rain song.
And we shall be two as one,
ready for Monday’s promise
this feeling, this exhilaration,
this passion called Love.
Motivated by Quickly’s Winter Doldrums: Create a list of titles – then be creative with them. Sunday’s Invitation includes titles from some of my very first poems (started writing poetry in February 2015) and are some of my very early posts (started site in March 2015). Meander, Moonwalk, Scattered Dreams, Tantalizing, Choose the Light, Shadow of Mine, From the Depths, Secrets One and Two, All We Need, Rain Song, Monday’s Promise.
In the quiet spaces
there is hope.
Like tall city buildings
raising their heads above the fog,
we can rise above the mire
lift our faces to the sun
and dare to make it so.
Photo taken flying into Chicago last month.
She enjoyed decorating for the season
memories gently removed from tissue paper,
placed about the room.
Christmas cards from years gone by
ornaments of glass and styrofoam
some misshapen, now glitter bare.
Each year’s new wreath carefully selected
artificial greens bedecked in happines
meant to last well beyond her window.
And as Epiphany dawned
she readied herself for church
donned this year’s circle of golden stars.
Her wreath of choice, her Sunday hat.
And she wore the Christmas spirit
well beyond the new year.
In response to the Daily Photo Challenge to let a familiar shape, the circle, inspire you. Poem motivated by photo, taken at the White House December 2015.
Last night with you,
there were no eyes.
Touch consumed bodies
souls engaged
and life exploded
as we loved.
“I’d like a cup of hot chocolate, please.”
She’d walked out of the nursing home, no interest in the craft for the day. She couldn’t handle origami and hated working with glitter.
So here she sat on Christmas Eve day. Across from a young couple who chatted quietly, packages beside them. She remembered those kind of stolen moments with Ben. Their kids home with the sitter, last minute shopping done.
She sipped the sweetness, eyes closed, remembering.
“Mrs. Ambrose? You need to come back now.” She pulled the old coat closer to her chest and walked back across the street.
Word Count: 100 Photo credit: Jean L Hayes. Story motivated by Rochelle Wisoff-Field’s Friday Fictioneers photo. Thank you Rochelle, for your work this past year and here’s to an inspirational 2016!
He sat upright
surrounded by canes, walkers
tv guides, checkerboard games,
and the people that accompany them
in a place like this.
He waited patiently
for the last strands of that age-old song,
some high pitched warblers
hunched over the tinny piano
pulled out for occasions like this.
Balloons hovered above his head
as candles dripped life-time moments
onto fondant flowers.
Festive paper plates too thin
for the thick slab he desired.
And so I asked the centenarian
for the secret of his longevity.
Well sonny, I always say,
close your eyes to dream.
Just make sure you open them wide
to watch where you step.
lillian the home poet 