This micro-poem was inspired by this challenge at Real Toads and the photo below, found at Fandango’s flash-fiction #29.
Why must a wide road
Cut // through the forest?
Sentinel-trees line the highway
Watching people destroy
The natural spaces // and themselves.
We try to fill the empty parts
With painted, dead asphalt,
But Nature whispers to return
To Nature, and to her Creator.
I am sharing this with the Tuesday Platform, as it is a late response to this challenge. I chose to try the extended metaphor (an old challenge originally found here).
What happened, that we are now
Like two bookends,
Part of a set but now
On opposite sides
Of a divide,
Separated by so many
So much space between
And the end?
Her face turns, the petals stretch toward the sunlight,
She stands tall, and ready for the nascent day,
Already seeing that the possibilities are bright —
She teaches me by showing, as her silent words say,
Stand, bloom, let worries not destroy,
The true light on your face will impart joy.
I could not resist writing a poem about this sunflower that I saw in the garden this morning. Shared with the Tuesday Platform.
For the weekend prompt here, we are writing about water. The original post included the research of Masaru Emoto, who observed the effects of positivity and negativity on water molecules. I was inspired by that.
Such pretty crystals
The word “Love” —
And the molecules
“You disgust me,”
Even look unhappy.
Water is necessary
For all of life,
And each living creature
To know love.
For Real Toads, the prompt this weekend is just one word: halved.
Two burdens shared create a burden halved,
The weight is greatly lessened with strange math
That proves itself to be bizarre but true:
Love has the strength to carry me and you.
This is a pastoral poem about the evening, in response to this challenge from Real Toads.
Evening comes and people
Close the blinds but
Open the windows.
Evening comes and dinner
Is served, steaming, made
With love, ideally —
Evening comes and around
The dining table is idle
Evening comes and the
Smallest children yawn, tired
From their day outside.
This was written in response to this prompt from Real Toads’ and was inspired by an old photo of me.
The little girl sits tranquil
At five years old, looking out
At a placid lake, looking vast
As the sea, surely, to her young
A beautiful snapshot of a beautiful
Spot, that photo was taken
Twenty-one years ago, a mere echo —
Does her mother wonder how time
Traipsed by; does she tell her daughter
In her mind
“I like for you to be still?”
Shared with the Tuesday Platform, on a Wednesday. I tried to find something to share that wasn’t too depressing, not sure I succeeded. Regardless, I hope you enjoy.
Sometimes I feel alone,
Though needed help is near,
Response often unknown,
So help me then to hear —
I call with all my heart.
I call with all my heart,
So Savior, fast reply,
I will to do Your will,
So Savior, hear my sigh,
My heart is breaking — still.
For Frank Tassone’s haikai challenge this week, about the desert rose. I am also sharing this with the Tuesday Platform, so be sure to visit and read other great poems!
On dry, rocky ground
Small desert rose somehow grows
A splash of color
Shared with the Tuesday Platform.
“For I am like a growing olive tree,”
Declares the psalmist in his ancient words,
“I trust forever in God’s great mercy” —
Even today his poem of praise is heard
And echoes in the hearts of faith-filled ones,
With the same root, they too grow tall and strong,
Not as mere trees but as daughters and sons
Of the Most High, who shall not lead them wrong.
They may feel pressed like precious olive oil,
But with lamps lit there’s rest after the toil.