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The Sacrifice

(A retelling of the story of Abraham and Isaac)

Abraham and Isaac, Rembrandt (1634)
Abraham and Isaac, Rembrandt (1634)

A weary journey, a wakeful night,
They left their camp before daylight
An old man carrying the weight of years
Wrinkled cheeks wet with tears
At hearing the young boy at his side
Prattle on with childish pride
That he alone had been chosen
To help his father on this mission.

Continue reading “The Sacrifice”

Wrong Place, Wrong Time

Wrong Place, Wrong Time

Friday afternoon’s the dead zone
they warned in solemn tones.

Said I, Couldn’t care less,
loathe to confess
I did.
            Experimentally

one Friday I gingerly
hit PUBLISH on WordPress —
The silence?
                               Momentous.


I wonder, has anyone noticed these “dead zones” or is it just me? When is your most popular time when you get the most traffic? WordPress tells me it’s Thursday morning.

No, but Yes, November

A response to “No!by Thomas Hood (1844)

©dorahak

November threatens forgetfulness
of summer’s desire, the yearn, the yawn, the yes!
of existence, with no! of “no shine,
no butterflies, no bees”

with creak of knees, lines of face
silver hair and brittle nails
and yes! wintry death of all desire
but for the joy in plenitude

carpe diem of eternity summering in You.


“Thus the snow loses its imprint in the sun.” (Dante, Paradiso)

For Cee's FOTD (Flower of the Day), a dahlia;
"No! Vember," d'verse's Poetics prompt, pays tribute to "No!" by Thomas Hood and asks that we take "a line from this poem and use it as springboard for a new poem." I chose "No shade, no shine, no butterflies, no bees."

Shadow-walking

When we came to Shanty’s Cove,
it silent lay; behind black-wreathed
doors no threatening alarms were raised.

Shipwrecked bodies washed ashore
now fast buried lay; the town’s life yet
unrestored, Hemalini and I roam free.

Shadow-walking peaceably where thalassic
currents thrash, we wonder when
we’ll be forced again to flee.

“Edge of a Dream” by Tom Chambers
For Carrie's Sunday Muse #236 weekly photo prompt;
Sammi's Weekend Writing Prompt #285
50 words exactly; using "thalassic"

Landmark

Bone Shard Tree Trunk ©dorahak

Somehow this decayed tree trunk standing upright like a shard of a giant’s bone brought me to a standstill during a recent walk.

Landmark

Unignorable as stone
Is the giant bone that lies
Alone
In a long forgotten zone
Left there by a sullen
Crone
Now she lives in Provolone
Eating cheese upon her
Throne


For Cee’s Flower of the Day: “Don’t forget that my FOTD challenge accepts gardens, leaves and berries as well as flowers.

The Disappearing Man (story)

Genre: Fiction
Word Count: 100

The Disappearing Man

For the hundredth time, he recognizes this as the moment he loses her.

She looks out the window at the restless pecking of a wren, relaxes into its movements.

He sees the colors drain from his world, like an old timey flick on a spool ticking the moments until the screen fades into flecks of black and then, THE END.

It’s the moment to bow out, without fuss. It’s just a social experiment, marriage, though it’s lasted five years.

“Let’s skip the play and stay home,” she says, turning, and he, seeing the colors return, says, “I’m not going anywhere.”


Continue reading “The Disappearing Man (story)”

Your Pipe Tobacco

Your pipe tobacco
Sears like your red beard
Against my skin
Enflaming
Swirling taut nostrils
Your smoky grey eyes
Promising new intrusions
Of incense-breathing flame
As we talk and the day softly fades
Into an Orient-soaked night
Where the moonflower opens and glows.


It’s good to be back at dVerse’s Poetics with guest host Jo who asks us to find inspiration in “a world of common scents”!

Poetry in Prayer: Shadorma #1

The Shadorma is a Spanish poetic form with a syllabic meter of 3/5/3/3/7/5

Thy Peace on Christmas Day

Christmas Day

finds me seeking peace

in prayer

in Your love

surrounding me as refuge

from what is not You


For Cee's FOTD (flower of the day): December 25, 2021
Check out her beautiful Peruvian Lily
Cee says: "Don’t forget that my FOTD challenge accepts gardens, leaves and berries as well as flowers."
Merry Christmas everyone!

Love Stronger than Death

Join us at Rochelle’s Friday Fictioneers.
Rochelle asks that we use the photo prompt © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields
and limit our words to 100 or less. 
Click on the frog to read more stories.Word count: 100

Everyone had left for home. Vikram remained standing by the freshly turned earth until high above the stars lit one by one.

He could no more make his legs stir than make the stars fall with his tears.

“A wedding for a first miracle. Ever wonder why?”

Aanya’s voice. Vikram closed his eyes. “No.”

“That day! That wine! Imagine! Rich, savory, fiery with a love stronger than death. You believe that?”

“I do.” His voice shook. “But ….”

“I’m not where you’re standing. The God that turns water into wine, turns mourning into dancing. Vikram, our dance has barely begun.”


Psalm 30: 11-12
You have turned for me my mourning into dancing;
you have loosed my sackcloth
and clothed me with gladness,
that my glory may sing your praise and not be silent.
O Lord my God, I will give thanks to you forever!

Song of Songs 8:6
Set me as a seal upon your heart,
as a seal upon your arm,
for love is strong as death,
jealousy is fierce as the grave.
Its flashes are flashes of fire,
the very flame of the LORD.

John 2:1-11
On the third day there was a wedding at Cana in Galilee, and the mother of Jesus was there.
Jesus also was invited to the wedding with his disciples.
When the wine ran out, the mother of Jesus said to him, “They have no wine.”
And Jesus said to her, “Woman, what does this have to do with me? My hour has not yet come.”
His mother said to the servants, “Do whatever he tells you.”
Now there were six stone water jars there for the Jewish rites of purification, each holding twenty or thirty gallons.
Jesus said to the servants, “Fill the jars with water.” And they filled them up to the brim.
And he said to them, “Now draw some out and take it to the master of the feast.” So they took it.
When the master of the feast tasted the water now become wine, and did not know where it came from (though the servants who had drawn the water knew), the master of the feast called the bridegroom and said to him, “Everyone serves the good wine first, and when people have drunk freely, then the poor wine. But you have kept the good wine until now.”
This, the first of his signs, Jesus did at Cana in Galilee, and manifested his glory. And his disciples believed in him.

Jesus Christ the Apple Tree

A favorite Christmas carol of mine, full of spiritual food and delight! I first posted this on my sister blog, PilgrimDreams.com

Enjoy!

Dreams from a Pilgrimage

I had never heard this 18th-century Christmas carol until very recently but it has since been playing in my mind, at once familiar & fresh. Penned by Richard Hutchins in 1761, it has inspired music by, among many others, Elizabeth Poston in the last century and another performed by Lee Nelson & the Wartburg Choir in 2013. (I’ve posted both versions below.

The metaphor of the apple tree appears in the Song of Songs, when the bride says of her Beloved: “As an apple tree among the trees of the forest,/so is my beloved among the young men./With great delight I sat in his shadow, and his fruit was sweet to my taste” (Song 2:3).

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The Smuggler of Rainbows

Come along and join in with Rochelle’s Friday Fictioneers.
Rochelle asks that we use the photo prompt © Claire Fuller
and limit our words to 100 or less. 
Click on the frog to read more stories.Word count: 100

The Smuggler of Rainbows

“It’s just a tire shop, Dad! This can’t be where we’re meeting the rainbow-smuggler!”
Inside, a cheerful woman in a colorful sari stood out of the rain, waiting.
“I’d like a rainbow,” Retnam said from her wheelchair. “Where are they?”
“They’re hiding in plain sight, my dear!” the rainbow-smuggler said, shrugging. “Just reach into a tire.”
Retnam did, pulling out a huge rainbow-colored taffy.
She laughed, then frowned.
“But it’s not REAL!” she cried.
“Look up, Retnam!” the woman said, pointing to the rain-cleared sky. “There will always be a rainbow over your head, even when you can’t see it.”


Continue reading “The Smuggler of Rainbows”