The day turned cold and dark. We went to bed.
Our eyes closed on a starry, winter’s night.
Visitors appeared and we were led
Through lost, forgotten, ancient, truer light.
Their messages grew clear with inner sight.
When morning showed the brightness of fresh snow,
Those secrets we uncovered we let go.
Text: Linked to dVerse Poetics. Lillian is hosting with the prompt word “visit”.
Photo: “Covered” by the author taken last winter.
Santa’s crunching on the snow.
Children want to see
Reindeer, sleigh and Santa, so
He crunches merrily.
Some complain that he’s not real.
Some pick on his weight.
Some complain no matter what,
Ending every praise with “but”,
So long as he’s not late.
Text: Linked to this week’s dVerse Quadrille where De Jackson (aka WhimsyGizmo) is hosting and the 44-word quadrille must contain some form of the word “crunch”.
Photo: “Waiting for Santa” by the author.
This funk I feel will heal somehow.
The textures of my mind are strange,
But they will change and even now
I feel those textures rearrange.
I’d rather think the world’s sublime
Than whine about each little thing.
I’d rather waste my time with rhyme
Than worry that I cannot sing.
Photo: “Three Textures Somme Woods” linked to K’lee and Dale’s Cosmic Photo Challenge and trablogger’s Mundane Monday.
Mark loudly rang his own doorbell. “Thank you, Santa!” He heard Julie’s feet pitter-patter as she rushed to the door. “Have a nice day, Santa, in your snowy fairy glen at the North Pole.”
Julie looked outside. “Where’s Santa?”
“Sorry, Julie. Santa’s gone. He left gifts for you.”
Eventually someone would have to tell his daughter about Santa, but Mark couldn’t do it. She’ll have to cure herself even if she breaks her own heart.
Later that day Julie answered the door. “Santa! Back so soon?”
“Who was that?”
“Sorry, Dad. Santa’s gone, but he left you this present.”
Text: Linked to Sue Vincent’s Thursday Photo Prompt and Charli Mills’ Carrot Ranch Flash Fiction Challenge with the prompt “self-care”.
Photo: Sue Vincent provided the photo for the prompt.
What’s real does not bounce particles
Nor swim with random waves.
Its surface swings an open door,
Predictably behaves.
The real’s beyond the object.
Love lifts it, lets us see,
Sustaining every now we know
While veiled majestically.
Text: Linked to dVerse Open Link Night. Grace is hosting.
Photos: “Overlooking Lake Michigan” by the author.
If you don’t have a heart there’s always a good reason to give someone hell.
Linked to Linda G. Hill’s One-Liner Wednesday.
Robert Frost called it the “sound of sense”. I bust that phrase into two and think of it as “sound” and “sense”, but Frost more accurately describes the reality of poetry. Still he doesn’t completely describe poetry, because no one can. That’s a good thing. It gives the rest of us and our descendants for the next hundreds of millions, or billions, of years something new to do.
My view of sense is taking me into two different directions. After reading Jane Kohut-Bartel’s “Song of the Nightingale”, I want to understand better the 8th century Japanese collection, the Man’yōshū. After reading Debbie Roth’s Forgiving Fridays, I want to learn more about Hafiz (and Rumi) and the theme of forgiveness. Along these two ways of sense may the sound that’s right appear.
TWO PATHS LEAD AHEAD
SNOW HIDES SUMMER’S LEAFY WAYS
BOTH LOOK NOW LIKE ONE
Text: Linked to dVerse Haibun Monday where Toni is hosting asking us to write about our plans.
Photo: “Future Mystery” by the author.
Who is looking back at me
When I’m walking by?
Who is smiling curiously
When I wonder why?
Photos: “Rock Wall Downtown”, above, and “Small Town Downtown”, below, by the author linked to K’lee and Dale’s Cosmic Photo Challenge with theme “downtown” and trablogger’s Mundane Monday.
The weather is too cold, too hot, too wet, too dry but something, since there’s room, if only rock, may call it home and welcome passing waves of water, air and other life although what comes may soon move on. Its welcome doesn’t mind the moving on. It’s glad to serve as ground.
We build out there where weather’s hot or cold or wet or dry like plants that cuddle sheltered by the cracks from waves of water, air and other life. It’s bleak but something calls this pure space home and some proclaim this home a sacred place.
Text: Linked to Sue Vincent’s #writephoto prompt and as a prose poem to dVerse Meeting the Bar where Amaya Engleking hosts with the prompt “jazz poetry”.
Photo: Sue Vincent provided the photo for the prompt.
Just because smart guys tell you they will be able to dump you into a computer some day, given enough funding, does not mean they will ever, ever be able to do that.
Linked to Linda G. Hill’s One-Liner Wednesday.
Poetry, Short Prose and Walking 