Quietly rocks the garden swing, swaying in time with the autumn breeze. My eyes fixate on the seat, clutching to the chains, longing to see delicate fingers wrap around them once again.
The porch door clatters as the cat shoots through the hall, stealing my attention. As my eyes wander back to the garden swing, I see it lift up with a gust of wind, as if a child had leapt from it, up into the air, grasping for freedom.
Footsteps. Sodden footprints and bits of tarnished leaf are scattered through the kitchen, leading to the lounge. I follow the trail, forever hoping it will lead to you. I miss you so much that my heartache echoes into my every thought.
Tag: creative writing
Birthday Haibun
I woke up on my 20th birthday with a sore head. I remember the clinking of glasses, the vibrations of the speakers, and the roll of the dice across the breakfast bar, from the night before. I smiled at the thought of celebrating late into the night with my friends.
It was time to smarten myself up ready to catch the train back home. I smeared foundation over the bags under my eyes.
Upon returning home, I saw a giant balloon with a hand-written 20 on it. I enjoyed a buffet with my mother and grandparents. I smiled at the thought of celebrating all day long with my family.
My mood is lifted,
Contrasting celebrations.
I smile at the thought.
In response to dVerse’s Birthday Haibun Challenge found here
Mood Haiku Sequence
Painting lines on lines,
Masking feelings with colours,
Burying lost strokes.
Carefully painting,
With a cold, stormy pallet.
Comforting blanket.
Moody skies console,
Beautiful blue smudged with grey.
Uplifting sadness.
In response to dVerse’s Haiku Sequence prompt found here
A Magic Flight
Add fuel to the golden fire,
To make us go higher.
We took flight with no wings,
Only colourful rings,
Clutching a woven basket.
It took a while to grasp it,
But once we were suspended,
It could be comprehended,
That there is more to life,
Than war and strife.
Our view is panoramic.
There is such a thing as magic.
Though with each refreshing sigh,
We draw closer to ravens in the sky.
Image credit: pixabay.com
In response to dVerse’s flights of fancy challenge found here
Self-Destruct Haiku
Frantic fingers dance,
On the self-destruct button.
Only when we’re caught.
In response to Ronovan Writes’ Haiku Challenge #316 found here
Little Dreams, Strong Will
Back when I was little,
Unworthy and insignificant,
I was a drained and lazy lizard,
With dreams, so magnificent.
My dreams of a eutopia,
Became so real and recurrent.
Though they brought little euphoria;
I was trapped by a sea serpent.
Old leather boots struck terror,
Deep within my shielded heart.
Potpourri reminded me of home,
When my world was torn apart.
My escape from him was easy,
Once I climbed over self-blame.
Now I don’t count every penny,
Nor lower my head in shame.
I’m making myself a life I love,
Where I won’t feel homesick.
I’m yellow with contentment,
Like the earthy turmeric.
In response to the Paint Chip Poetry Prompt Challenge #30 found here
A poem for anyone who is made to feel small, to give them hope for a brighter future.
A Two-Tanka Treasure
At the lost and found,
Unnamed, unclaimed, unworthy.
Jewels all around.
Once loved perhaps, once cherished,
But now a forgotten gem.
A patchwork teddy,
Not mine- but I see stories.
Stitched and stuffed again.
The tattier the treasure,
The more loved is the relic.
Shared with dVerse for Open Link Night #270 found here
Whispers Décima
Some say we are a puzzling pair.
Some say we are one of a kind;
We’ve a similar state of mind.
It is confusing that you care,
About the thoughts that others share.
Do you think that the grand oak trees
Listen to whispers in the breeze?
No, they stand tall and proud, and live,
They know what they can take and give.
There’s always one who disagrees.
In response to Ronovan Writes’ Décima Challenge #15 found here
Telephone Tanka
I am a gossip.
For I am the telephone.
I narrate stories,
Tales of the day. Need me?
I am just one call away.
In response to dVerse’s I Am prompt found here
Empty Nest Décima
Hear the squawking of mother bird,
Chased by the devilish kittens,
Captured in their furry mittens.
Ears pricked. The silence was stirred,
But her pleading was quickly slurred.
Bringing emptiness to mourning.
Her baby bird awoke, yawning,
And longing for the feathered quilt,
Mother’s wings in the nest she built.
The baby sensed a shift dawning.
Image credit: pixabay.com
In response to Ronovan Writes’ Décima Challenge #14 found here
