Marcy was a woman who had much strength and skill To make her life worth living, to do just as she will Back in the beginning before the flashback came She used the bag of money to gas the pseudo flame The slit in her tight timeline prevented many things The purlieu of her homestead developed yellow rings Although a nifty idea she didn’t want to see How playing a card like the red ace was how her life should be. And so she put the cards back and looked up toward the sky The future she was holding was her pressing reason why.
In a house down the street with an unearthly vibe Desperation is seen in the cracks on the sills A camera click is a sign of the times That discourse is present, not basic thrills The plants all around find nutrition complete in the rot and the moss on each block A cougar could starve as nothing survives but a clever frog under a rock. No variation exists in this beat up old home no more life will be present again but watch for yourself the eery green glow and the voices of ageless, dead men.
I tried to write something for the prompts yesterday but nothing was coming to me, so I closed the computer lid and walked away. I came back today with a fresh set of hands and eyes and this is what I got!?
Can you picture a person in the fresh open air looking up at a plane and you follow their stare It’s a plane on a stick and the stick in the ground My head is now spinning around and around. The essence of pleasure has been taken away It takes one to know one, is what they all say But whether indigenous or found far from here My investigation is becoming quite clear There’s a scroll at the base with a tiny rosette I barely could take notice of words that were set on the thin little paper rolled up with a bow What it might say, I don’t really know. My endeavor is over, my looking is done This plane won’t fly far, it’s just there for fun I envisage myself walking quickly away But I might come to check this some other day.
Despite my abeyance and my reasons to decline Crow started up a rumor, absurdity divine! About a clever swan who lived down in the pond Passing all the little fish to get back to the frond Bodacious lady birdy would collect her tiny babes and circle through the pond like hands on a round clock-face Then snatch up little bits of the leaves she thought delish and deliver them to lily pads she used as baby’s dish. I stopped him with my query, he didn’t have a clue Why a duck would pass up fish, lies no longer ensue.
KL Caley hosts #writephoto For visually challenged writers, the image shows a sign in the foreground with the words ‘Den Building’ on it. In the background is a den made of leaves and branches.
Hiding in a den Hidden from the light Eyes glow in the darkness Giving us a fright No sounds but little ticking from clocks around our wrists Looking for an exit our minds and fears entwist light slowly encroaches diminishing our fears Sounds of puppy panting is music to our ears.
For visually challenged writers, the image shows a pavilion with people flying kites around it.
Perfect ending to the day the clouds are rolling in Children fly their kites so high The highest kite will win. But perfect days must end sometime and going home’s a must They’ll be back again one day In that they truly trust!
For visually challenged writers, the image shows an island across a stretch of water. Upon which you can see some ruins and a white lighthouse.
Some days are harder than others and today is a difficult one. I don’t know what triggers the hard days. I suppose I need this writing to clear my head. Thanks for reading.
For someday I may see you there Standing in the open air Not a figment not a phase Just my son, the one I’d raised For now I wait and cry instead I can’t get sad out of my head Some days are easy some are not I try to be thankful for what I’ve got It doesn’t seem fair to those who live that I don’t have as much to give a part of me was lost that night When you were taken out of sight.
She stood, looking at the small island. How could it be that only years before it was her refuge still attached to the rocky shore she loved so much. She remembers sitting out there, as a child, under the willow tree, writing, drawing, and daydreaming about her future. Now the time was here and she was finally able to come back. She wanted to see if she could get that same creative feel if she sat under the tree again. But, to her dismay, there was now a path of water that wove its way between the land and the new island, making it impossible to cross unless wearing shorts and water shoes. She couldn’t remember water even coming up that high but with the rain increasing as a result of global warming, she assumed it happened without anyone even noticing. Maybe she would come back in the summer when the water wouldn’t be so ice cold. Nah, she thought to herself, it took me this long to come back and look what happened. By the time I come back again the whole island will probably be underwater with a dead tree laying on its side, limbs protruding above the surface of the water.
Dennis stood on the balcony of his suite, looking out over the terrain that led to the beach. The beach didn’t look very busy today, but the sun wasn’t shining either. He thought he could take a taxi down to the landing and then walk on the beach. The resort concierge said there was a footpath down to the beach but it was a ten minute walk and Dennis didn’t feel up to it. A taxi ride would also show him more of the area, as they drove through town. That was it, he thought, and decided he grabbed his phone to call for the taxi.