Scruffy is an unmade bed,
But it’s so inviting on a cold morning.
It’s nostalgic- takes me back
To being told of heart-warming
Tales from the past –
From before I even existed,
When the old were once young,
And as a child, I insisted
On voices, impressions,
As you proceeded with the saga.
I shared in your laughter,
And envisioned the drama.
Often bringing a pillow,
To cushion my head,
As I prepared for more stories
On the vast double bed.
Image from pixabay.com
Listening to the sound of rain
Busy minds tune into the lull.
A provoked tranquility:
Calm enough to ease,
Loud enough to dispel
Wish them farewell.
A raindrop is silent,
Until it splashes.
Like his internal plight,
Before he turns to ashes.
Image credit: Pixabay.com
In response to dVerse’s Rain Poetry Prompt found here
I sat beside a charming stream,
On the trunk of a fallen tree.
A perfect place to peacefully
Reconsider my latest dream.
I admired the water gleam,
Watching courageous ripples ride,
Toward the rocks, and then collide,
Meandering around the bends.
It taught me changes are not ends,
So I can drift, no need to glide.
In response to Ronovan Writes Décima Poetry Challenge Prompt No. 7 found here
The cheetah perched by the lake,
Cleansing her paws.
She scowled at the water,
For reflecting her flaws.
She rubbed at her spots,
But they wouldn’t disappear.
She loathed her matted coat,
And she shed a sullen tear.
An elephant came along,
And sat by her side.
“Just look at my wrinkles,
I wear them with pride!”
“How do you find the strength?”
The cheetah enquired.
“I found more to life than beauty,
And that’s all it required!”
Image Credit: Pixabay.com
In response to Wrinkle Writing Prompt: Sunday Scribblings #3 found here
There is no need to sever the atmosphere,
Which lingers like smog, between you.
Instead, swallow the bitter taste of fury,
Or let it lie stagnant in your heart, festering.
It will only grow tough, unshakable layers,
As it will not disintegrate.
Is anything better left unsaid?
Why don’t you put these fumes to bed?
Every morning, Eleanor would ride the bus to the beach. Something about the narrow aisle, uncomfortable chairs, and window seat would act as a social catalyst.
She would always use the journey as an opportunity to make connections with the other passengers. She would delve into their past, ask them questions about who they are, and where their ambitions would take them. She would always remember to ask for their birthday.
When she arrived at the beach, she would scribble everything down, under the headings of star signs. She would try to find matches, and make links… Where there weren’t any.
It took years to gather enough information to realise that everyone is unique, and all those years of chasing after her own horoscope had only led to loneliness.
Eleanor did not dwell on this for too long. Instead, she developed a whole new system to match people, and by the end of the week, she had set up her own dating site. She could make some strong conclusions about lifestyle choices, complimenting personality traits, and love.
Her most successful match was her own. Eleanor managed to find her own love story within the pages of her website. As soon as he appeared on the list, she knew their paths would cross and connect.
When things are not going to plan, be flexible. Adapt.
We arrived on the island together,
Your hand in mine,
You gestured towards the palm trees,
Along the shoreline.
I ran off ahead,
The widest smile spread from cheek to cheek.
I threw my head back with laughter,
As I began to sneak.
You still hear the crack of twigs.
Suddenly, I freeze.
I hide among the branches,
Behind the trunks of the trees,
I wait a few seconds,
You’re not in my sight,
As I peak between the leaves,
I begin to feel fright.
I run to the beach,
Trace the footprints in the sand.
I see four enter the forest,
But two return across the land.
I don’t know what to think,
I just feel so naive.
Did you take me on that journey,
Always with intent to leave?
I make my own way back,
Frustrated and alone.
I had let myself fall,
But now I think I should have known.