Learning about Brasilia

Like the sharp needles  
upon the cathedral 
this virus pierces our world 
and draws attention  
to what we believe in. 
The cross stands proud 
reminding us that we are all 
being watched over.  

Like the arches along  
the Juscelino 
our faith bounds on 
bringing us to a place 
where we find 
our true meaning, 
where we start  
and where we will end.  

Like Os Calangos 
we stand up to this virus 
and to the other  
troubles in our world 
saying we won’t give in, 
we will rebuild, 
we will survive.  

©2020 CBialczak Poetry

Written for Pegman: https://whatpegmansaw.com/blog/

Wordle 449 Mar 29, 2020: The Sunday Whirl

Trapped, stash, hand, maze, land, chatter, wreck, last, crawl, back, armed, saw 

The Escape

As he crawled along the underbrush, the maze of brambles scraped his sunburnt skin. His back still bore the scars of the lashing he received when he first became trapped in this hellhole. His hand had calluses along the palm, evidence of his hard labor. It was a shipwreck that brought him here, what was it? Last year? He remembered the ocean rising above his small vessel, armed with ten-foot waves that crashed down upon the deck. He had tried to stash his valuables in his pockets, knowing he would capsize. Before being tossed into the raging waters he saw a speck of land on the horizon. He had known this was his only hope for survival. And now, trying to escape, all he could hear is the chatter of the other prisoners as they sit upon dirt floors, in the dark, waiting for someone to save them.  

©2020 CBialczak Fiction

Written for the Sunday Whirl: https://sundaywhirl.wordpress.com/2020/03/29/wordle-449/

FLASH FICTION FOR THE PURPOSEFUL PRACTITIONER: 2020: WEEK #13

For: https://flashfictionforthepracticalpractitioner.wordpress.com/2020/03/25/flash-fiction-for-the-purposeful-practitioner-2020-week-13/#like-1160

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The Box

Cathy put her gloves back on, moved her kneeling pad to a new area of the garden, and began weeding a new section which would be perfect for her tomatoes. She had gotten most of the other areas clear and ready for planting. In a matter of months, she would be harvesting her own vegetables, not having to run to the market.  

When she had finally finished that area, she decided she’d had enough gardening for the day. She put all of her tools on top of the kneeling pad and carried them back into the garage. From under the workbench a sparkle of metal caught her eye. Getting down on her hands and knees, Cathy was able to see under the table and see it was an old Skeleton Key.  

“This has got to be the key to that box I found last fall in the shed,” she said to herself. Hurrying into the house, not realizing all the dirt she was tracking in from the yard, she ran into the living room. There, on the lowest shelf of the bookcase was that wooden box. She didn’t know what was inside of it, but now she would be able to finally solve this mystery.  

©2020 CBialczak Fiction

Ninny – Word of the Day Challenge

For: https://cyranny.com/2020/03/29/ninny-word-of-the-day-challenge/#like-52283

I’m no ninny!

What is a ninny, what can it be? 
Is it a sea star under the sea? 
Or maybe a bird up in a tree? 
Or maybe something you’d like to see? 
Or maybe a gift you want to give me? 
Or maybe a zoo animal finally free? 
Or maybe a different kind of a bee? 

A ninny is nothing but some poor old fool 
who probably skipped many days of his school 
who belly flopped into the neighborhood pool 
who tries to balance on a three-legged stool? 
who thinks that glass is some kind of jewel 
who never learned to use a real power tool? 
who doesn’t care if he breaks one more rule?  

So leave me be, I am not a ninny 
I’m not that fat, not that skinny 
just a person who loves things mini 
who loves her pig that is a guinea 
whose best friend is married to Vinnie. 

©2020 CBialczak Poetry

Sandwich: Ragtag Daily Prompt

For: https://ragtagcommunity.wordpress.com/2020/03/29/rdp-sunday-sandwich/

I would love to write a poem like my favorite author, Shel Silverstein. Do you all know his poem, Peanut Butter Sandwich? http://holyjoe.org/poetry/shel5.htm

But, I wouldn’t want to ruin a good poem or copy a great author so I will come up with my own. Now, you all may think this poem is fiction, but it is not!

My Favorite Sandwich

Bologna and some mayo 

On good ole Wonder bread 

Makes the world’s best sandwich 

Don’t try Miracle Spread. 

You can try some mayo 

And let it sit a bit 

Cause once it’s warm and blended 

You just devour it! 

©2020 CBialczak Poetry

Fantasy: FOWC with Fandango

Today’s word is Fantasy: https://fivedotoh.com/2020/03/29/fowc-with-fandango-fantasy/

My Fantasy World

I live in a fantasy world 
where people are happy to live 
where the sun shines on days that are cool 
and the rain comes with water to give. 

I live in a fantasy world 
where nobody hurts one another 
where people can play and be happy 
and you are the same as your brother. 

I live in a fantasy world 
where people don’t get sick and die 
they live ’til their old, they enjoy each new day 
and believe heaven’s up in the sky.  

I live in a fantasy world 
where happiness comes out for free 
where people are kind and are loving 
Oh, what a world it would be! 

©2020 CBialczak Poetry

Sunday Writing Prompt “Dear Diary”

Dear Diary,  

I am in love! I know I’ve said it before but this time it is true! His name is Dave. We met at a party last night at Susan’s house. Her parents were out of town, so she had just about the whole high school there. Tons of kids were really partying, getting drunk and stoned, but I can’t do that like them. I hate the feeling of having my mind separated from my body. Well, Jennifer was running around looking like a fool and Ben was chasing her laughing, I think he was trying to get her to throw her in the pool. I was just walking around looking for someone to talk to. Anyhow, it was almost midnight, and everyone was pretty wasted. I went around the back of the house and saw this guy standing there just watching everyone like I had been doing. I kind of watched him to see if he was wasted but he didn’t look it. Then he looked at me and it was love at first sight! I know, I know I’ve said it before but this time it’s so true! He has the sweetest face and nice straight teeth. Oh my God, he smelled so good! We talked until like three in the morning just about everything. It turns out he doesn’t go to our school, he goes to a private school, that’s why I didn’t know him. He seems so smart and nice. We are supposed to get together this coming weekend. He said he can borrow his dad’s car and come pick me up. He didn’t even try putting his hands on me! What a gentleman. Susan is going to be so envious when she finds out! I hope I can find something nice to wear when we go out. What if he thinks I’m too fat? Oh God, I had better wear black, so it hides some of my rolls.  He’s supposed to call me later today. I totally know this is the one for me. I can totally see myself marrying him and living the rest of my life with him. Imagine the cute babies we will make. A boy and a girl. I hope he wants kids! I didn’t even think of that yet, I’ll have to ask him. Anyhow I think I would give up a lot of my ideas for him. I will update you next time I talk to him. 

Sammy 

Written for https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2020/03/29/sunday-writing-prompt-dear-diary/

Words and pictures poetry challenge 2

Written for https://janedougherty.wordpress.com/2020/03/25/words-and-pictures-poetry-challenge-2/comment-page-1/#comment-121606

Michael_E._Arth_-Moscow_Metro-_oil_painting,_1980

The Man

I look at the man who walks with a limp 
I don’t think he’s pretty, he’s big like a blimp. 
I can’t help but follow the things that he does 
He isn’t like papa, his face filled with fuzz. 

The man over there has clothes on his cart 
he moves very slow, if he even can start 
I don’t think I like it, I’m nervous, a shrimp 
I look at the man who walks with a limp 

I bet he is harmless, maybe part nice 
but what if he has a head full of lice? 
I feel sort of bad, thinking just like a wimp. 
I don’t think he’s pretty, he’s big like a blimp. 

I’ll try to stop staring right at that man 
He probably does all the things that he can 
to live a good live, his hair cut in a buzz 
I can’t help but follow the things that he does 

I feel kind of bad that I stare like I do 
I try to look down like I’m tying my shoe. 
He is just a man, born like another man was 
He isn’t like papa, his face filled with fuzz. 

©2020 CBialczak Poetry