creative writing

This Summer

Like the deciduous tree,
You will regain your leaves this summer,
And every year thereafter.
You will have life again,
As you will reside in my memories.
With every smile,
I will think of you,
And wish I could see
Your reaction too.
I will remember you also
With every tear,
I know how it felt to hold your hand,
And I will hope that you are near.

In memory of my mum.

creative writing

NaPoWriMo Day 8

Green, Victor

The tide was not completely in,
There had been no splashes on the sea wall,
All along the west of the beach.
And yet I heard the moon call.
I saw her enticing light,
But it was not my time.
Still, I lie buried beneath spades of dirt.
And for what crime?
I am fuelled with anger,
I, like the tide, never finished my round.
Now I have no power over you,
I’m just decaying in the ground.
I hope my love will not move on,
There’s no better man than me.
I knew what was best for you,
Tell my story right, I plea.
I never hurt you, never once.
I only taught you right.
Your wrongs were corrected,
Each time we had a little fight.
I can’t bear to watch over you,
When I have no control.
Instead I’ll walk across the sand,
As the untimely waves roll.

A continuation of Vic’s Haunt, a previous poem of mine!

In response to the eighth “Return to Spoon River” prompt from NaPoWriMo.net

Inspired by the poems featured in Edgar Lee Masters’ Spoon River Anthology.

creative writing

A Heart’s Echo

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.

creative writing

Iceberg’s Tip Décima

The problem with a slow dance is,
It’s flawless – besides when it’s not.
Time heals, forgiveness, forgot.
The dilemma with a trance is,
Giving out infinite chances.
March down a disappointing track,
Waiting for your disguise to crack.
Each final straw, each iceberg’s tip,
Expectations finally slip,
And now there is no waltzing back.

Image credit: pixabay.com

In response to Ronovan Writes’ Décima Challenge found here

creative writing

The Fall Décima

When you journey through memories,
Do you appreciate the ride?
Do you find love or hope or pride?
Do those old times put you at ease?
Or are you caught on choppy seas?
Do you close your denying eyes,
And pray for your boat to capsize?
Do you feel anything at all?
Besides the terrifying fall,
From dreamy fabricated skies.

Image credit: pixabay.com

In response to Ronovan Writes’ Décima Challenge #19 found here

creative writing

Remind Shi Rensa Haiku

A single moment.
One we will never relive.
When I fell for you.

When I fell for you,
Everything was simple.
Remind me to love.

Remind me to love.
Help me recall memories,
Forgotten feelings.

Forgotten feelings.
My eyes still drawn to your light.
Remind me to trust.

In response to Ronovan Writes’ Haiku Challenge found here

Rejigged into the Shi Rensa Haiku format coined by Ronovan himself!

creative writing

Shrinking Décima

Poems are best composed when there’s
No words to capture all your cares.
When there’s no light or ray of hope,
When heading down a downward slope.
That’s when words are the coastguard’s flares,
The scatter of birds, March’s snow,
The bowler’s throw, the whistler’s blow.
Alarm bells cry final warnings,
In dark nights, but darker mornings.
Why do we have to shrink to grow?

In response to Ronovan Writes’ Décima Challenge #16 found here

creative writing

Your Hinterland

When I think of you, I find myself looking towards the sky. I wonder if you are looking down at me.  Watching from above, with a pair of angelic wings. I believe that you are seeing heights only one stairway has ever led to.
I would prefer it if you were closer though. Thriving in flourishing meadows, behind the hills. I dream of watching you dance, as the playful breeze rattles the leaves of the oak trees. Just beyond the view from my window; your own hinterland.

Image credit: pixabay.com

In response to Sammi Cox’s Weekend Writing Prompt found here

creative writing

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