I Was, I Am

She stood outside the car, the driver impatiently snacking on pistachio nuts inside. The waiting seemed interminable. She’d come so far for this moment. Found the certificate stuffed in her mother’s journal. Attended the funeral, dry-eyed, in shock. This was her destiny. Would he recognize it as his?

How could a name inscribed on a document, assume fatherhood after a lifetime in absentia? She held the document in shaking hands, ready to show him the proof. She could see the trail of dust far down the road, kicked up by the approaching vehicle. A new reality was about to materialize.

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Written for Friday Fictioneers where the talented Rochelle Wisoff-Fields poses a photo prompt each week. Classified by some as “flash fiction” we are to limit our text to 100 words or less. Word Count here = 100  Photo Credit: Kent Bonham

 

Perpetuity

Come roundabout with me.
Twelve months
January then January,
again and again.
Hours one to twelve repeat
add A to M or change to P.
Teeter up must teeter down
hinged to teeter up again.
Perennials are as annuals will.
Your hands are theirs and ours
to fold, to point, to plant and pray.
Stones cast upon the waters
ripple out toward the morrow.
Time copulates where we are
and when we’re not.
I am. You are. We are will be
small arcs within the world
go roundabout with thee.

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Blessings

When the cacophony of news blares deafening dreadful,
‘tis time to still one’s feet, one’s hands, one’s mind.

Seek the beautiful, but for a moment.
Listen to stillness and you will hear the quiet.

Contemplate the beside you ~
     the chair upon which you sit
     the cold-hot water you may choose to drink, to draw
     the texture of cloth which warms your skin
     the view through glass panes that alternates,
     day to night to day again
     the love you carry within your heart,
     from those who have held your hands.

Inhale. Exhale. Breathe.

Then slowly rise and move deliberately,
into the good.

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It’s Tuesday and that means Poetics at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets. Paul is hosting and tells us about a book, Anam Cara, by Irish poet/philosopher John O’Donahue, which includes a number of “Blessings” poems. Paul asks us to write a blessing, adding “and may our words create ripples in the pond of the world.”  Pub opens at 3 PM Boston time. Come soar with us! Photo taken a number of years ago on our Baltic cruise.

Life’s Palette

Ring me a path round the sun,
rainbow filaments in cloud tulle veil
daffodil slippers, bluebelle gloves
and dew drop rouge.

Kaleidoscope living on a color wheel.
Storm-grey ombrés to brightest white
pale pink to fuscia bold,
my patina glows.




Written for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets where it’s Quadrille Monday (poem of exactly 44 words, not including the title). De is hosting and prompts us with the word “storm.”  Photos of yesterday’s amazing sky in Andover, MA. Artist’s palette is outside a studio in St George, Bermuda. 

Supplicant

She stood at the abyss
stared straight ahead, contemplating.

To gaze down and succumb,
or look up and search the night sky,

seek one shooting star
one point of light, one gift her quest:

a day followed by tomorrows.

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I’m hosting Tuesday Poetics at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets. The prompt for today is to write a poem using the word “gift.”  Consider the many ways the word can be used: gift of gab, a special trait, a package wrapped in ribbons, gifting someone, etc. Photo: Starry Night by Vincent van Gogh. Pub opens at 3 PM Boston time. Come join us!

Traveler’s Guide

Sow seeds of beauty as you travel earth.
Mirror the sun.
Shine kindness upon frozen souls,
splash colors brightly.
Climb as the ivy does,
each dawn higher,
each morn basking in hope.




Written for dVerse where Björn hosts, asking us to write about soil/earth. Photos: Norwegian fjords; gardens in Blarney Village (Ireland); house in Kinsale, Ireland; dawn from the deck of our cruise ship on our way to Dublin. Final photo taken in midst of Norwegian fjords fascinates me — note the shadow of mountains on the mountain — looks like a face!