Category: The Sunday Whirl: Weekly Wordles

The Sunday Whirl: Wordle 433

Girl on fire

There she is lecturing me, like my life is a story that she cannot stomach, and I listen, trying to choke down the last few bites of my pasta. She apparently always has to feel like filling the space with talk, even though I try to enjoy the people watching. My hunger had been satiated bites ago but I am unsure of what we will do when the meal is done. I really should draw the line with her and tell her I am not open to this type of lecturing. On what grounds does she have to judge me and tell me how to live? She acts like her life is free of all sin. I would love to fly out of here on the broom she makes me feel like I have, that or jump from this high-rise window! I am not mean, not a witch at all, just a girl on fire, wanting to move ahead in this world! 

Sunday Whirl: Wordle #432

Sitting in a coffee shop 

As I sit here in disguise, like a villain being hunted by the hero, I resign myself and decide to stay, tucked in the corner of this coffee shop, hoping to avoid any conversation. And I write, chain smoke, and decide how to rally against the negativity which will envelope me when I go home. I know it will happen. I left in the middle of an argument. I don’t feel any shame though as I know positivity will reign. That is what divides us, the outlook, and how shade on a cold day is the same as shade on a sunny day, both beautiful yet so different. If it weren’t for the words, the way I shoot my mouth off, when I feel I am in the right, there wouldn’t be this separation, this hiding, this avoidance. My wish is that the anger will dissipate and all arguments can turn into conversation.  

Sunday Wordle #430

As I walk along, I hear the crack of the dry branches under foot. With the soft light of dawn, I see a mist that licks just the tips of each blade of grass along the inner curve of the path. This single miracle brings the feeling of imminent peace on an otherwise rocky walkway. No, I do not mince my words when I talk of my journey, walking with the rhythm of the breeze, till I find my love again.

Christine Bialczak, 2019

The Sunday Whirl #427

Jimmy Joe

Jimmy Joe was ten years old and such a smart young boy 

He didn’t have much time to read or even use a toy. 

Jimmy Joe would use a light to probe his mom and dad 

For finding a new book on crime he knew his parents had. 

The book would be about the tricks that mobsters used to do 

To rob a bank or steal a car or hijack you-know-who.  

He went to bed at night at nine and woke up on one side 

He’d struggle to find where he was in the dark, he rarely liked to hide. 

His parents designed a new sort of game that Jimmy Joe did love 

He had to start with both his hands inside of just one glove.  

He’d go and ask his grandma for a nickel and a dime 

He’d take those coins and shake them in a bottle full of slime.  

Conducting labs with salt and coins was such a silly time 

He had to finish all this mess before he heard the chime.  

The chime was there to tell him that he had to finish up 

The slime, he’d pour it in his hand and then into a cup. 

The moral of the story is that Jimmy Joe did find 

That making a mess and cleaning it up was on his parents’ mind.