16 Sep
2014

Dust

Damp lashes blink sand from my eyes

As crouched amid stone rubble and splintered olive trees

I envelop my family’s fragile future within my robe, and

Cradle the innocents to my breasts.

Slowly our faith fades and vanishes into despair’s deep darkness.

**************

42 words

 

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7 Sep
2014

Feeding the soul

Twenty seven yesterday. An afternoon spent with parents. And after a thin slice of birthday cake, bitter disappointments and unmet expectations were served.

Driving home, childhood memories mixed with the bile he fought to keep from rising in his throat.

Words regurgitated.

Photograph driving home by Dominika Herszel on 500px

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31 Aug
2014

Out there…

Throughout night-time’s darkest hours,

A city’s constant, neon movements,

Flickering just beyond the frosted, nose-spotted, bedroom window,

Bring dreams of something different,

Hold promises of something more,

And keep the fragile heart,

Of a weary, not yet nine years old insomniac,

Beating.

*************

42 words

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24 Aug
2014

Aftermath

One Sunday morning, after a Saturday of black and purple, you decided.

And just that once, common sense kicked your pride to the curb.

You tip-toed out the door with the clothes you were wearing, and all the cash from his wallet.

******

42 words in response to the prompt: what are we running for?

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5 Aug
2014

The rain and Lizzie

Lizzie counts pebbles and groups them according to size and colour. She’s found a safe place to perform her continuing task. It’s a warm yet shaded spot, under a train trellis bridge where the sand is always pleasingly soggy. She likes the feel of the grains between her fingers and between her toes. She likes the sandbox smell of the sand; the sandbox her grandfather built in the backyard always smelled like this after it rained.

Revisiting her childhood twenty years on, Lizzie wonders about her grandparents and why they never questioned a six year old child content to sit alone in a damp sandbox, wearing her yellow slicker and yellow slicker hat. Lizzie didn’t play with dolls or her miniature plastic cars. She would sit in the sand and consider the large green leaves of the cherry tree, or the peeling blue paint on the side of the garage.

Even back then, Lizzie could tell when a storm would return with banging thunder or when a storm would break free of the too-gray sky. Or she’d think about the bright red beach pail and how it had been thrown by strong winds to its tipped and stuck position in the muddy garden. She’d mull about the worms lost in so much overgrown grass.

The rain and Lizzie had always been friends. But no one ever asked her why.

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29 Jun
2014

I’m on my way to…

Steal your mermaid
Paint the breeze
Cry champagne
Play symphonies on a blade of grass.

Fantastical thoughts fill moonless nights
For my longing has carried you away
Instead of drawing you near.

Timidly, I listen loudly
Boldly, I cannot bear to hear.

**********
42 words

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