Never Enough

Picture courtesy of Romolo Tavani

In response to Stein Writing’s
Simply 6 Minutes – Challenge: 05/23/2023

I am a goldfish, I’m orange but I’m called a goldfish, instead of an orange- fish. I suppose I’d be rounder and look more like an orange from one of those green trees up on dry land. Sometimes the big, round orange fruit things roll down the hill and into the water; we all get to have some nibbles when that happens. The best part is in the middle, so I always volunteer to go last in line.

There’s nothing golden about me though. My parents had hoped for a bigger, stronger fish I think. They are trying to force me into being something I’m not by strapping this shark fin to my back. Yes, it’s also a floaty. You see, I’m a gold, orange-fish that can not swim. Every time I try, I float up to the surface on my side! I can not stay down, nor can I swim straight.

I’m told that if I can’t swim straight and become more like a shark, I will never make anything of myself. Yet, I like being a lopsided orange-fish who can’t swim straight.

Why can’t they just let me, be me?

Photo courtesy of

A Bird

Photograph by Gypsie-Ami Offenbacher-Ferris

Flew down from a tree
He lit upon my birdbath

His head remained on a
Danger lurked with each manic

Up and down the birds head
Watching alertly slipping into the

It dipped into the chill water and
Watching and listening to every

Two then three dips did he
Shook out his tail-feathers until

Away he went into a tree
Away from my lovely bird-bath


(Adult Content)

In response to bwarren’s
The Sunday Whirl Wordle #606

Submissive heat
red hot
surrounded him

Parched from abstinence
misty past memories
engulfed him

Only the chill
of unending yearning
upset him

Distant memories
and past exploitations
haunted him

🙏Garden Prayer🙏

Photograph by Gypsie-Ami Offenbacher-Ferris

Sun shine down
on my sweet Garden
Feed my plants
help them grow

Weeds keep me nimble
pulling and prodding
Forces old joints to bend
though they do not want to

Rain fall lightly
from the sky
Brighten my flowers
make them shine

Night rejuvenate roots
sending them deep
Nourish the stems
to feed hungry leaves

Day please wake me
to the wondrous sight
My Garden greets me
fed, nourished, watered and right


In response to Sammi Scribbles Weekend Writing Prompt #312 – EPHEMERAL in 43 words.

Joy and love
Sadness and loneliness

Stability and security and contentment
Fear and singleness and discontent

Springtime and summer and warmth
Disease and drought and cold

Cool ocean breezes and seagull calls
Hurricanes and damage

Into the Blue

In response to KL Caley’s Weekly #writephoto prompt! GALLEON

Gone again
into the blue
Away from me
back to you

Awake he will
upon his ship
A rapier strapped
upon his hip

Ready and willing
to meet the day
Good and bad
will he slay

A wife’s bequest
is where he sails
A dowry chest
with golden nails

My love and heart
could not keep him near
Back to her he sails
his message torturously clear

To him she offers
wealth and fame
From me all I wanted
was to bear his name

When Wrong is Right

Picture courtesy of

Into the abyss of deniability
knowledge of the unknown
an unacknowledged known

To enter into a forbidden realm
untethered by constraint
constrained by an invisible tether

When wrong is right
and right no longer matters
matters forego right

Hunger drives the beast
sated is no longer starving
starving and never sated

Moves forward to open the door
illicit pleasures in the dark
darkness releases smuggled illicitness

Just Try?

Image credit: Alisa Dyson @ Pixaby

In response to Sadje’s What do you see #186 May 15, 2023- Mother’s Day

He is relentless. He says his favorite person is just there at the Sweet Stand and is alone, won’t I go with him to say hello?

I hesitate, look down into the beaming face of my son and give in. I always do, when it’s something dear to his heart. He jumps up and down excitedly, the native Englander’s looking up to smile at the behavior of the over-exuberant American boy.

My son grabs my hand, unceremoniously pulling me toward the distinguished looking gentlemen standing at the Sweet Stand talking comfortably with the young attendant. He hears my sons voice and smiles with the warmest, most welcoming smile I have ever seen.

He looks up, our eyes meet and I whisper shyly, “Hello Keith.”


Picture courtesy of

In response to Bartholomew Barker at Living Poetry’s Monday Poetry Prompt:

The deal made in good faith
no hurt no foul the agreement
Walls removed allowed you in
love bloomed vulnerability exposed

Days go by in quiet seclusion
greeted with peace and quiet
Solitude extends into weeks
weeks dissolve acidly into months

Waiting alone unwanted
the past repeated again
Contract aborted words defiled
future bleak and empty

Extreme change unsolicited
breaks the fragile threads
A beginning never begun
major foul measureless hurt