I would be a leaf
in Thy kingdom, LORD,
to drink the glory of You.
In the portmanteau
compartments of life to carry
Your photons of life.
Replenished daily
by the fountains of Your love
sky-full, earth-replete.
Dancing in the wind
whose great power tender breathes
Your eternal joy.
Stormed by sorrow, strife
refuged by Your haven-wings;
exulting, there soar.
Haiku 5-7-5 Sammi's Weekend Writing Prompt #228 – "Portmanteau" – exactly 59 words Cee's Flower of the Day (FOTD) - September 26, 2021
Genre: Fiction; Word count: 100 Come along and join in with Rochelle’s Friday Fictioneers. Rochelle asks that we use the photo prompt (© Sandra Crook) and limit our words to 100 or less.
I counted them too, you know: every turn, every curve, every meter. Every pothole, aggravation, near disaster.
For what it’s worth, the load was never the point.
It was where I was going.
My only regret is you were stuck with me for every millimeter of it, and you hated it.
Life was too slow for you.
It was too fast for me.
I had a load to carry: responsibility to those who depended on me.
You were looking for an escape.
I was looking at the journey’s end.
I wish you could know now it was worth it.
Light seeking
In light enfolded
See joy unbounded
In chastening trials
God entrusting
Each dear petal
Leaf and root
Together joy.
For Cee's FOTD, September 2, 2021:See the gorgeous sunflower on Cee's site. Flower of the Day Challenge (FOTD). "Please feel free to post every day or when you you feel like it. Don’t forget that my FOTD challenge accepts gardens, leaves and berries as well as flowers."
Now I know that poetry
is a razor blade
slipped into a caramel
dipped apple of
eve’s desire
sharp and tangy . . .
is as love’s wounding
rigor mortis of bites
ennui-soaked
languid post-mortem
of shamanic rites . . .
is a coroner’s tableau of victims
bodies stretched out on gurneys
for the inquest after the serial killer
slips free of the electric chair
because the judge knew his brother cain
at harvard law . . .
is hummingbirds and bats
dandelions, a lover’s hand
broken stalks, memories . . .
is my heart laid out across the sky
a constellation charted out of unknown
algorithms multiplied
to infinity
dove’s wings
rapidly beating
now.
Today Victoria is guest-hosting at dVerse: Meeting the Bar and asks us to write a "Solilo-Quoi?", paying extra attention to form or other poetic devices in our self-talk. Click Mr. Linky for more and join in.
Dear Rochelle and fellow Friday Fictioneers, This is my second stab at writing for this week’s prompt. I guess I must be out of practice: instead of fictioneering I ranted for a hundred words, posted then banished from inlinkz when I realized a piece of fiction it was not. Back to the photo prompt and finding my muse again. :>)
Genre: Fiction; Word count: 100 Come along and join in with Rochelle’s Friday Fictioneers. Rochelle asks that we use the photo prompt and limit our words to 100 or less. Click on the frog to read more stories.
Andrea gripped her husband’s hand tightly as Grace ripped open the letter. It was from her birth mother. The fifteen-year-old had made them promise to give it to Grace when she too reached fifteen.
You were loved every moment I carried you. Just wanted you to know that. There won’t be a moment when I don’t love you.
Sighing, Grace looked up from the blunt, childish scrawl, a smile on her face.
“I believe her. She could have thrown me away like a piece of garbage. Speaking of which, Dad, can we get back to fixing up my motorcycle?”
Today, make an opportunity to give someone an unexpected treat, someone who’s not expecting it, someone who’s in need of it, someone who’s outside the circle of your usual community.
As life becomes harder and more threatening, it also becomes richer, because the fewer expectations we have, the more good things of life become unexpected gifts that we accept with gratitude.
Etty Hillesum (1914-1943)
For Cee's FOTD
O God, you are my God; earnestly I seek you;
my soul thirsts for you;
my flesh faints for you,
as in a dry and weary land where there is no water.
So I have looked upon you in the sanctuary,
beholding your power and glory.
Because your steadfast love is better than life,
my lips will praise you.
Psalm 63: 1-3
For Cee's FOTD, June 27, 2021: See the beautiful red dahlia on her site!
O my Luve’s like a red, red rose
That’s newly sprung in June;
O my Luve’s like the melodie
That’s sweetly play’d in tune.As fair art thou, my bonnie lass,
So deep in luve am I:
And I will luve thee still, my dear,
Till a’ the seas gang dry:Till a’ the seas gang dry, my dear,
And the rocks melt wi’ the sun:
I will luve thee still, my dear,
While the sands o’ life shall run.And fare thee well, my only Luve
Robert Burns (1759–1796)
And fare thee well, a while!
And I will come again, my Luve,
Tho’ it were ten thousand mile.
For Cee’s Flower of the Day, June 11, 2021
Seeing a rose, I once said that we stand out like that, red on green, and you reply, tongue-in-cheek, you mean like an ambulance at 3 AM in a Mississippi swamp and I shut up, crushed, like you’d said we were an accident that had been waiting to happen, as if crucial to finding the way is this: there is no beginning or end, just a screeching of brakes, a clang of metal, the jolting of bones, and then the long drawn out police report and insurance claims, a ledger of rights and wrongs, and the spindrift pages in the moonlit night where my heart spills and the nightingale vies with a shrike impaled on a thorny bush that ought to have a bloom, a rose, while someone, no one, looks for a medic to resuscitate the dead in an ambulance at 3 AM.
For Cee's FOTD
