(A retelling of the story of Abraham and Isaac)
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.
“This can’t be happening?!” Froggy John cried.
“I can’t believe she hung us out to dry like this! Where’s God? Where’s my agent?” Baby Ducky moaned.
“I feel an existential threat like I’ve never felt before,” Buffy Kitty mewed
Momma Ducky remained quiet.
Fearing the worst, Baby Ducky quacked, “You okay back there, Momma D.?”
“Sure! Once we’re nice and dry, why we’ll be back with little Abe in his playpen again!”
After a long silence, Froggy John croaked, “Nice not having my eyeballs chewed.”
“Peaceful,” Baby D. said.
Buffy Kitty whispered, “I have a plan . . . .”
PHOTO PROMPT © Lisa Fox For Rochelle's Friday Fictioneers at 100 words or less. Join us by clicking on the frog.
Word Count: 100
Genre: Fiction
The False Counselor
“What should I do?” she whined.
I met her vacuous eyes, pleased she always gave precedence to my words over others’.
“Forget her! Leave! She’s made her choices, now let her wallow in them!”
“Her children, my grandchildren. They’re still babies . . . .”
“Listen, dear, what’s she ever done to deserve your love?!” I asked, choking back my philosophical angst: can love be love if it’s only deserved?
Maybe she’d have abandoned them without my uttering a word.
But I did.
Now I walk as one divided, my head shorn, then healed, then shorn repeatedly by Hell’s demons.¹
1The judgment described is taken from Dante’s Divine Comedy, Inferno, Canto 28, in which the poet describes the ninth ring of the Malebolge where makers of discord are condemned.
“So also the tongue is a small member, yet it boasts of great things. How great a forest is set ablaze by such a small fire! And the tongue is a fire, a world of unrighteousness. The tongue is set among our members, staining the whole body, setting on fire the entire course of life, and set on fire by hell. For every kind of beast and bird, of reptile and sea creature, can be tamed and has been tamed by mankind, but no human being can tame the tongue. It is a restless evil, full of deadly poison. With it we bless our Lord and Father, and with it we curse people who are made in the likeness of God.” (James 3:5-9, bold italics mine)
Join the Friday Fictioneers at Rochelle Wisoff-Fields's place and bring your own story (100 words or less) by clicking on the:
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.
A response to “No!” by Thomas Hood (1844)
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."
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.
For Carrie's Sunday Muse #236 weekly photo prompt;
Sammi's Weekend Writing Prompt #285 50 words exactly; using "thalassic"
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.“
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.”
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”!
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!
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.
This Jolly Beggar 