Category: Author

Written in response to Carrot Ranch’s
April 2, 2024 Story Challenge in 99 Words: FLASH

Early evening mist rose from the warmth of the sea water, to dance with the cool fog descending from the sky, heavy with cloud cover.

Sunlight sparkled in the moisture laden air, golden rays arcing chaotically as they bounced among the array of diamond hued water particles, floating translucent in the air.

Alone on the pier, the myriad of colors enveloping me, I stood mesmerized by the performance, before I thought to lift my camera to my eye.

Many shots later, I reviewed the photos. I saw a specter of a man revealed by my flash, hovering, then gone.

In response to RDP (Ragtag Daily Prompt) MERCURIAL

Mercurial is the grand Mississippi
as she winds her way south
toward the ocean and her resurrection.

Slow and steady until she swells to full
spilling her turbulent water onto fields overflowing with the crops of man.

Mercurial is the Wind when it twists
and churns into a whirling tornado,
leaving a breeze of fresh air behind.

Catching the scent of the Sea to carry
inland, stirring the longings of souls
locked onto the land.

Mercurial is the vast Sea around us,
one moment serene and comforting,
the next her turbulent waves destroy.

Listening to the Sea creates peace
within the listener, a wistfulness
as the awesome power speaks to us.

Mercurial are the four seasons,
each borrowing characteristics
from the other unexpectedly.

A bright sunny day in Summer
will quickly borrow from a blustery
March, sending nor’easters and rain.

Mercurial is life and all living things,
at once happy and sad, content and
violent, unloved and loved.

More useless than a useless poem,
which is more than useless to many
and yet so very few.

Promises made are useless
when, never meant to be kept
and broken without remorse.

Useless are plans made for a future
not known until past, when hindsight
is more cruel than innocent foresight.

Disposable goods for quick disposal
by man are useless, languishing in soil
without decay for decade after decade.

Useless is music without a listener,
an orchestra with no audience and
no one to hear, I love you.

A rose drifted by
the color of pinkish pearl
Scarce as a precious gem
in the unusual hue of blue

Landing on the flesh toned sand
it’s petals dusted with a veil of silver
Split to reveal the innermost rose petals
shimmering and glimmering

Deep beneath the shifting sand
a spirit fashioned of clay waits
For its chance to pick a petal
and slip beneath the page again

A prayer whispered in the aged vestry,
drifts across stained glass windows,
rising with the aromatic smudge blessed by a robed one conjuring hope.

Grateful for the seeds of love,
filled with wonder as beautiful
images emerge offering second chances behind jaded, tired eyes.

Mere hours remain waiting,
waiting within the crowded vestibule,
hand in hand the followers
await the preordained gloaming.

Do not pass by me or worse
pull me from my resting place
here within this luscious Earth

A wilted flower I may look to be
with my brownish tint and faded buds
but lots of life is still inside of me

Look again at my deep roots anchored here they are strong and feed me deciduously
I am not dead but only waiting for next year

It’s raining here again,
been raining for days,
my garden’s are flooded
my yard now a pond.

This hairstyle I worked on
for hours and hours,
now nothing but a mass
of frizz and tight curls.

The curls are an unruly, unholy mess,
unruly my curls are, brought on
by the rain because it’s been
raining for days and days again.

The frizzy concoction on top of
my head is unwanted, unloved in fact, despised describes it best as droplets run down the back of my neck.

Baptized by the Earth’s petulant moods, try as She might to remove the stain of my birth upon this contrary little place, where it rains and it rains.

My blood, man’s blood, woman’s blood, none of which can be cleansed
by Earth’s drizzles, showers
and incessant daily downpours.

It’s raining tonight, Earth downpours
her tears on desecrated lands,
spirits fragmented, dismembered hope,
I think it’s time for bed.

A heavy anchor dropped
into a pale sea cursed with debris
stirred up by the low tide

Passing close to starboard
a groggy woman lay in a life raft
her fingers resting on a gun trigger

Before moving further into her space
the rescuing crew had to check
the sunburned woman for life signs

As though waking from a bad dream
the woman presumed lost weeks
ago – suddenly became aware

A bee landed on my arm today
I could have scared it or squashed it
or waved it away

It could have been a sweat bee
or had a jacket with yellow stripes
or a sweet honey bee on a spree

I did not squash it or swipe it away
or run screaming in abject fear
Instead I quietly asked it to stay

Calmly I watched it tickle my skin
it’s tiny antennae and little feet
skimmed myself again and again

I wondered if at first it thought
a flowery treat I might be a new
kind of bee Queen or naught

It’s little head swiveled back and forth

perhaps trying to see me as I sat here
and to gauge my worth

It sat quite still as did I with a smile
the sun shone down as we communed
in sweet harmony there for a while

Then it arose with a flutter of wings
circled my head then it was gone
leaving me in awe of all living things

Waiting for that phone call
for that text that never comes
Wondering what went wrong
all those times we spoke before

Afraid a misstep out of place or
a word said in frantic haste
Fearing a string of jumbled words
could have been construed in error

Left without a single sound or embrace
not a touch to sear you into my mind
Alone in agony covered in distrust
weighing down the reality of now

Waiting for a call or a text in the dark
understanding wanes large in the night
Wondering what went wrong
a discordant song when last we spoke