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In Honor of Dr. Martin L. King, Jr. Day

I have a dream he said in his speech
The bustling crowd cheered
While the outsiders jeered

Tell them about your dream, Martin
Called Mahalia Jackson above the crowd
And so he did tell us strong and loud

He called for peace among people
Of things foreignly obvious
With intelligent words and quiet solemness

The crowd grew so still, every ear turned to hear
He said go home and wait there with care
Change was soon coming and not to despair

He said that one day these children of ours
Could walk hand in hand
All over this land

Within these Lands he quoted so sweetly
From that hallowed document
That all of God’s people, all men should be equal

To become a great Nation the future must change
For the red, white and blue
We have to be true

True to those gone before us in suffering and strife
To lead us from the dark valley’s of isolation
Into the the loving arms of honeyed redemption

That all of us, men, women and child
Must rise up together and speak
Voices now strong and no longer weak

Even today his words are still heard
In his voice we still ride
For the glory of equality’s pride

The silence broken by the muted shuffle of her slippered feet

Powdery puffs of sugar waft past her right shoulder manifestations materialize again

Memories slip through her mind nearly forgotten flipping the golden pastries again and again

She slid the savory wraps onto the silver tray slices them expertly with her blade takes a moment and takes a stand

In response to Cee’s Photo Challenge: FOTD January 15, 2023🌹 ROSES🌹

One-thirty in the morning
and you are not here
I reach for your pillow
it’s cold and it’s bare

This bed grows bigger
each night I lay in it alone
Beneath mounds of covers
and still chilled to the bone

Three-thirty has passed
it’s now close to six
These little snatched moments
playing life’s pick-up-sticks

In the script I had written
the one for my life
It was me who you’d chosen
in life as your beloved wife

Like the saddest of movies
the most tragic of all plays
Only in our memoirs
will these be the good old days

Too old to look for love
too young to stop looking yet
A date is set the time confirmed
she said to her this could be him

Trepidation feeds anxiety
what to wear and not to wear
Casual clothes baggy and comfortable
dressy clothes constrict and itch

Silky blouse washed and ironed
comfy blue jeans will have to do
Top it off with a matching sweater
key in ignition it’s time to go

The man arrives ten minutes prior
there’s still five minutes to spare
Last look into the dangling mirror
struggling inside the aging car

At the bar he drinks his cola
doesn’t notice when she walks in
Twice she had to say hello
then introduce herself a bit too loud

His eyes grow dull as they rake
her body head to toe and back again
Obvious he has dismissed her presence
not what he had hoped to find at all

Awkward dinner barely eaten
stilted conversation or none at all
An hour later back at home
wrapped up within her favorite shawl

It was the constant munching and twittering that did it. He had tolerated it for as long as he had been able to, he thought. He’d been driven past any humans endurance and felt no remorse, now. Many times he had politely asked her to move her menagerie of bunnies, but she had ignored his requests.

He lifted the heavy lid of the cast iron pot. Waves of savory scented steam rose from the bubbling brew, his stomach rumbled in anticipation. He added herbs, a few more spices, stirred and returned the lid, heat wafting from the big top.

In response to Sadje’s WDYS prompt
What do you see #168
January 9, 2023

Never the same
always different
caught in the middle
of others statuesque beauty

Molded differently
rougher hewn
sharper edges
unfinished pockmarked surface

Unstable untied to a base
unlike they who never wobble
strongly molded together
forevermore encased as one

Untouched in their concreteness
facing war weather and time
side by side in their cemented bonds
a weed inserts itself fighting to survive

The Master laughs as each one of his three chosen is sent back into their individual rooms down in the castle dungeon. Each student is reminded not to touch the door handle until the end of the session. They are instructed not to chatter among themselves.

Each of the three learned comrades is given two glasses of water, a scrap of food and a wooden rod. The moment the sconces are turned down and darkness spreads through the underground prison, a large rat slips into the first students cell. The student is sickened and enraged by the filthy creature and beats it away with his rod.

The fat rat scurries into the second dungeon cell where the student has created an intricate trap using bits of scrap food and cash. He plans to catch that rotund rat and have himself a nice, tasty dinner.

Undeterred and even less fooled, the old fat rat slides into the third and last alcove. The third student looks up from where he sits cross-legged in the center of his cell, meditating. The scrap of food cut in half, divided evenly in front of him.

“Welcome,” said the student to the large rodent, “I’ve been waiting for you. Please sit and join me in repose as I very much would like to hear your stories of old.”

The rat transformed back into the aged Master who smiled broadly at his third and best student.

“You have done well my son. You have passed the ultimate test. You are now the champ, you are the Rat King.”

She slipped from her trailered cage
into the cool waters of Dutchman’s Creek without a splash
sliding without a sound

Her heavy bottom keeping her stable
amid the obnoxious wakes
created by those less considerate
than she on her maiden voyage

Waves chased each other to shore
the tide racing the wind to the sea
and back again to caress her sides
her rudder vibrating in delight

The wind held its breath
teasing her new sails
until they lay listless
against the thick steel of her mast

At the moment of her surrender
the air moved gently against her
lifting her bow with the strength
of it’s force against her virgin wing

Salty spray sprang from beneath
the arch of her pointed bow
her release burst forth
the wind full force set her free

Barbs land true in the night
fired behind vicious words
wrapped in silken bed linens

Cool tufted comforter caresses
bodies fueled by hurt and anger
spew poison darts meant to injure

Thorns imbed deep burrowing
past thick skinned barriers
beyond years built steel walls

Monsters hidden emerge
obscured by the face of one
once loved beyond all measure

Ties are pulled apart and broken
bonds unravel the ends burned
beyond a braiders healing abilities

Backs turn in anger
neither relinquishing the last word
the line is drawn and quartered