Peaceful Protest

I shudder at the fury
our differences have wrought;
I’m saddened by the hatred
dispensed without a thought.

Are we so different, you and I,
that words can not resolve
the arguments surrounding us,
will our conflicts not dissolve?

This chasm that’s between us
wasn’t made by you or I,
and yet we cling to it instinctively
as though in letting go, we’d die.

This fire all around us
was started long ago
but we faithfully add timber,
and stand transfixed before its glow.

The world will end in fire,
and maybe then we’ll realize
we aren’t so different, after all.
The smoke will clear our eyes.

And in those last few moments
as we’re struggling for air
the dragon that’s consumed us
will crawl back into his lair.

Our world reduced to ashes,
He’ll know his job is done–
We’ll realize we’ve been fools, us all,
Each and every one.

Not quite sure how to end this, so it’s a draft. As I said, I want to work on rhymes, but it all sounds so immature. I’ll just keep on keeping on…

Yuppie’s Lament

They say karma’s a bitch,
but I can’t stick it to the Universe
so I guess I gotta let this one go.

My minivan got a flat tire
and some asshole tore off
the daddy stickman so now my husband
wants to go to marriage counseling.

I wanted to get frozen margaritas.

My favorite yoga pants ripped
which I didn’t realize until I
happened to look in the mirror
during downward dog.

The smoothie shop was closed for construction.

When I got my pedicure the water
was cold and the massage chair
was broken.

I made lasagna for dinner
but we were all out of truffle oil,
so I had to use regular old
olive oil.

I was so mad I baked brownies,
but dropped the pan and the hot
gooey chocolate scattered across
the floor.

It was a terrible, horrible,
no good, very bad day.

My husband says some days are like that.

Even for yuppies.

Walk with you

I like to look along the ocean,
to find the place where blue meets blue;
If I could just swim far enough,
perhaps that’s where I’d find you.

Or walking through a garden, too,
while marveling at the blooms,
I inspect a gentle petal
to see if it bears a note from you.

Standing outside in early Autumn
when a cold wind chills my bones,
I look to the sky and pray you’re there,
as I’m so weary of being alone.

Some believe another world lies beyond our own–
but I know naught will wake the dead.
You loved to be in nature, though, so
I’m content to walk with you, instead.

My goal for this year’s NaPoWriMo is to 1) actually write a poem a day, and 2) work more on rhymes. I’m a huge fan of free verse, but I like the idea of forcing myself to treat this more like an exercise in writing.

Blades

His family once visited an old castle. He was unimpressed at the time, never suspecting he might one day long for the softness of moss under his feet.

There are certain things one expects of prison: lumpy cots, unpredictable tempers. Others have to be experienced firsthand: the stench of body odor mixed with bleach, the boredom, and the sore feet. Virtually every step taken since the verdict had been on concrete, and damn, those feet hurt like hell. He massaged them at night while dreaming of the castle, and could almost feel the blades of grass scratching his bare ankles.

[WORD COUNT: 100]

roger-bultot
Photo prompt @ Roger Bultot

Written for the Friday Fictioneers, hosted as always by the wonderful Rochelle. Disclaimer: I have never been to prison, so forgive me if the descriptors are inaccurate.

Boots

There’s this book that says get rid of things that don’t make you happy, which was damn near everything in my house. Except for these hiking boots that are nearly as old as me. Gran and I used to camp all the time when we were young, but then just sort of stopped. Life got too busy, I guess. Makes more sense to hike now, anyway; the way I see it, when Death comes, I’ll be ready to go the hell to sleep.

My daughter looked up from the letter and snorted. “He isn’t missing, Mama. He’s taking a hike.”

jan wayne fields
@jan wayne fields

 Friday Fictioneers! (Although it is Wednesday. Forgive me!) Thank you, Rochelle, for the prompt, and the fun opportunity to tell a story in 100 words!

[NOTE: Ending was slightly altered to incorporate helpful feedback from a reader.]

 

Fire and Stars

It is all on fire, she said matter-of-factly,
smoothing the blanket over her thin legs.

What’s on fire, Granny,
I asked, as I searched for flames.

The world, my love;
The whole world is on fire.
Passion, good or bad, is a fuse.
If it is lit, it will explode;
that is what it was made to do.
The fuse has been lit.

I don’t see it, Granny;
I don’t see the fire.

You don’t see it yet, my love,
You don’t see it yet, but you will.
You will feel the heat and the anger.
The smoke will burn your eyes and
steal your breath.

Don’t scare the child, Mama,
there’s no fire.

Granny leaned closer to whisper,
“But behind the clouds, my love,
behind the clouds are billions of
beautiful stars.
Look for the stars.
You will see those one day, too.”

first draft
8/22/17