“Show me your cards, the ones up your sleeve too, not just the jokers.” She looks at me with her wide eyes, clear, open, beautiful. “My soul for a follow, my salvation for a like, my heart for my face on screens screaming my name. Will you still have me?” “The devil I will.” She guts me with a sharp, hard smile. “The devil had me at the age of two, tik-tok, tik-tok, and now I only see myself in your desire.” “And when I’m dead?” “You’ll be my partner in solitaire,” and turning adds, “just hit the subscribe button.”
Join us at Rochelle’s Friday Fictioneers for 100-word stories on a photo prompt. Click here for more.
Under the jejeune moon’s wide-eyed stare, idol me not but love, past the sell-by date monogamously magnanimous revolutionizing best-selling hedonism for a kiss that goes on for a lifetime, valentine.
Before the watery wall I stand, a pane of glass between me and flashy schools of myriad fish like sins parading when a hammerhead impales my gaze.
I remember that one, the one I should go to the gallows for, before it pivots from the glass, as if content to bide its time till the apocalypse.
Say, for an instant the earth quakes, the glass cracks and another deluge follows, the shark like avenging justice would seek me out, for all my sins, for each mortal sin,
each like piranhas eating at my soul and one long shark bite to crown the whole, an entrée in the overtaking flood. Would I call to that fool Noah to let me in
to his ark of gopherwood which we laughed to see him build, four by fours, and two by twos, the men and women kneeling to pray, now before a Lamb slain, innocent blood, the promised Son?
The light dims around me, and for a moment, the watery screen is empty, a gray shield, a blank page to write my own fate sans God, sans judgment, sans arks and crosses.
Maybe the fish were being fed on the other side, a reprieve for me, “for my sins,” I laugh and turn, when the hammerhead shoots out of the murky depths and steals my bubbly grin away.
The tea kettle whistles A moth flutters and dies Your mask shatters to pieces A madman explodes the moon A butterfly flaunts a human face You dream of a lion’s rest Birds in-choir in a priest’s robe You fire a revolver on the run
The key to the riddle — Masquerading as fun To the gibbering wags Deaf to the last gong’s sound — Hides like a promise In your broken heart
For image credit please click hereon Carrie’s Sunday Muse #245; Shay’s Word Garden Word List using three of twenty words; and Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt #297 using “key” in prose or poem of 71 words.
A 100-word, six-sentence mystery with apologies to Agatha Christie’s Hercule Poirot.
The Scales Fall
“That one, she has had too much happiness, mon ami,” Poirot said, “it is time for the other foot to drop, n’est-ce pas?!” “Can one have too much?!” I cried. “Maisnon, Hastings, you see her there perched like a bird, but I ….” Springing into a blur of action, Poirot tackled a passerby greeting her, extracting the poisoned dart between his fingers. “I sense the balance of scales, the moment of the tipping,” Poirot said, panting, “and me, I was there to save her!” But I always wondered, had the great Belgian detective planted evidence to make his case?
For Denise's Six Sentence Story ("blur") and Rochelle's Friday Fictioneers (100 words, photo prompt above). Join us!
I walked this life – lonely – Aware of shame – only – Chiding Your apathy – to me – I saw myself – painfully – alone.
In Your light I see – suddenly – Always You are – with me – Walking me home – lonely – Never having left me – painfully – alone.
Psalm 35:4-9 (NIV): Your steadfast love, O LORD, extends to the heavens, your faithfulness to the clouds. Your righteousness is like the mountains of God; your judgments are like the great deep; man and beast you save, O LORD. How precious is your steadfast love, O God! The children of mankind take refuge in the shadow of your wings. They feast on the abundance of your house, and you give them drink from the river of your delights. For with you is the fountain of life; in your light do we see light.
I had two grannies (Not everyone does, you know). One tall and spindly like a soothsayer’s runes And another short and dwarfish like a hoarder of rubies.
If they could have peeled the flesh off me They would have when I was four And grafted their skin on me with their Surgery knives of fleshy steel called tongues.
I remember them: their eyes, and now I wish — I wish I didn’t. Except in those messy fairy tales where Witches get pushed into ovens And children find their own way home.
But they don’t.
Just as an addendum: I never saw my grandmothers again after the age of six when we moved and they diedat a much later date. My dim memories of them are few.
When I walk down the street with you it seems an avenue for the parvenu who glitter and mime like bees round a cru flush with cash, flush with dash, flush with boppity-boo.
I lean in, you lean out, you lean in, I lean out, a flamenco we do, even a samba no doubt while the white picket fences they shimmer and shout “Oh look who! Oh look who!” like old aunties with gout.
And I’m so gorgeous and you’re larger than life and if you’re honest, you’ll make me your wife; but this world is so public and with catastrophes rife its cerulean sky could change into a razor-sharp knife.
Would you stay with me, forever and a day when the zinnias of summer turn a wintry gray? When we walk beneath cottonwoods, will you turn and say, “I’m glad you and I chose to go another way”?
Photo by Adam BirdContinue reading “A Walk With You”→
When, in a word, I write my Contentment as a city Founded by His Spirit Whose boast is the cross
Whose streets are the Lord’s Whose enterprises are the Lord’s Whose possessions are the Lord’s Whose provisions are the Lord’s
A city in which all is quieted in the Lord All concerns are submitted to the Lord All desires are centered in the Lord All hopes are in the faithfulness of the Lord All joy is found in the love of the Lord All trust abounds in the goodness of the Lord
Then my soul glories in God my Savior alone As enemies rail futilely against its walls Fail to supplant the reign of the Lord Every extremity under His sovereign control Every lack a gain in grace upon grace Every worry cast aside for the security of His promises Every treasure in heaven stored from moth and rust and thieves
Then I am free to be satisfied in the Lord Free to be satisfied with myself Free to be part of the mystery That is, Christ in me, the hope of glory.
It’s just this way, she agonized, and I won’t end where I’ve begun. It’s the dream I’m waking up to.
I wonder, he antagonized, what if today becomes your cannibal past tomorrow, feeding on today’s life, keeping itself alive, demanding its pound of flesh?
She knew his aim. It was to lead her in circles, to origins, not beginnings.
But each cross-road meant progress, a royal one, or common as a pilgrim on a well-worn track, peculiar as a dream
singular as a vision, a glaring blaze of glory, immense as a grain of sand sparkling in the New Jerusalem.
A three-prompt medley is the tune I'm playing off with Rochelle's Friday Fictioneers photo prompt & 100-word challenge, dVerse's Poetics: Visionary Poetry, and GirlieOnEdge Six Sentence Story ("lead"). Join us!
A little fun combining three prompts: from dverse where I chose to use all the podcast titlesto compose a poem (Articles of Interest: American Ivy, I Was Never There, Legacy of Speed, Not Lost, Pivot, Reveal: After Ayotzinapa, Rumble Strip, Serial, This American Life, Ghost in the Burbs); Rochelle’s Friday Fictioneers (100 words or less using the photo prompt below); and GirlieonEdge’s Six Sentence Story (prompt word: VISA). Does the story poem succeed? Well, you be the judge!
“It was a stark surprise of loss,” she wrote, and then she stopped, her hand stilled on the backlit keys her eyes glued to the screen
where suddenly the lines misted, metamorphosed in rain, the world becoming watery, a deluge full of pain.
She wiped her cheeks, she rose, she paced, she spun about the room, though memories of a dream-like shore outran her pleas for peace.
Into her words she’d poured her heart, into the poems she wrote but from them she no longer found the comfort that she sought.
None came but one, a fiery flare that lit the distant sky as if it came in search of her, a foundling lost to claim.
“What joy is this, what Guest on high has chosen this black night, to show His love, to set alight my dark and stormy heart?”
She cried, and in her joy she found a new theme to set down by psalm-borne winds she softly sang of things divine, unseen.
Christina Rossetti, painting by John Brett, 1857 (Oil on canvas Private Collection)
Old and New Year Ditties by Christina Rossetti(1830-1894)
1.
New Year met me somewhat sad: Old Year leaves me tired, Stripped of favourite things I had, Baulked of much desired: Yet farther on my road today God willing, farther on my way.
New Year coming on apace What have you to give me? Bring you scathe, or bring you grace, Face me with an honest face; You shall not deceive me: Be it good or ill, be it what you will, It needs shall help me on my road, My rugged way to heaven, please God.
2.
Watch with me, men, women, and children dear, You whom I love, for whom I hope and fear, Watch with me this last vigil of the year. Some hug their business, some their pleasure scheme; Some seize the vacant hour to sleep or dream; Heart locked in heart some kneel and watch apart.
Watch with me, blessed spirits, who delight All thro’ the holy night to walk in white, Or take your ease after the long-drawn fight. I know not if they watch with me: I know They count this eve of resurrection slow, And cry, “How long?” with urgent utterance strong.
Watch with me, Jesus, in my loneliness: Tho’ others say me nay, yet say Thou yes; Tho’ others pass me by, stop Thou to bless. Yea, Thou dost stop with me this vigil night; Tonight of pain, tomorrow of delight: I, Love, am Thine; Thou, Lord my God, art mine.
3.
Passing away, saith the World, passing away: Chances, beauty and youth sapped day by day: Thy life never continueth in one stay. Is the eye waxen dim, is the dark hair changing to grey That hath won neither laurel nor bay? I shall clothe myself in Spring and bud in May: Thou, root-stricken, shalt not rebuild thy decay On my bosom for aye. Then I answered: Yea.
Passing away, saith my Soul, passing away: With its burden of fear and hope, of labour and play; Hearken what the past doth witness and say: Rust in thy gold, a moth is in thine array, A canker is in thy bud, thy leaf must decay. At midnight, at cockcrow, at morning, one certain day Lo the bridegroom shall come and shall not delay: Watch thou and pray. Then I answered: Yea.
Passing away, saith my God, passing away: Winter passeth after the long delay: New grapes on the vine, new figs on the tender spray, Turtle calleth turtle in Heaven’s May. Tho’ I tarry, wait for Me, trust Me, watch and pray. Arise, come away, night is past and lo it is day, My love, My sister, My spouse, thou shalt hear Me say. Then I answered: Yea.
This poem was originally published in Goblin Market and Other Poems (Macmillan, 1862) and appears in The Complete Poems by Christina Rossetti (Penguin, 2001). It is in the public domain.
I wrote the top poem in honor of Christina Rossetti whose poetry stirs readers and poets alike with their psalm-like appeal, as “Old and New Year Ditties,” on the cusp of a new year. Join us at Denise’sSix Sentence Story (using prompt word “surprise”). To my blog visitors, have a Happy New Year, one full of love and peace.
A short story of 100 words (for Rochelle’s Friday Fictioneers using photo prompt) and in six sentences (for GirlieonEdge’s Six Sentence Story, “knot”).
Remember the bell-ringer, Sundar! Mummy, just now I’m trying to find . . . !
There once was a bell-ringer whose job it was to . . . ring the bell at dawn announcing Christmas.
He was born without . . . no, born with a heart of gold that shone . . . and stomach in knots he’d walk remembering Christ Jesus, all alone, in the dark town past sleeping people.
Look up, Sundar, you’re almost there and . . . I can see you, Mummy, I can see you!
——— NEWS ALERT: Elderly man found dead in church bell-tower.
O LORD, sheer joy with you, Israel, in exile Homeward bound From among a people of strange tongue Gone forth in sheer joy
Shouting Hallelujah! Out of Egypt have I gone forth with you, True and Faithful by name In sheer Joy!
How heavy the moment Is with eternity, Lord Jesus, Yet each flows after the other Like water escaping The hand that captures The eyes that see The thoughts that would knot Them into a jeweled chain To be adorned not as memory But as presence
Cradled birth, my life in your hands: Tenderly kept as shepherd with lamb Hurrying at angelic proclamations of peace Heavens ringing hallelujahs Your delight brooding over the waters Breaking over this new life, moments Spirit-born
When come the magi bearing each — On a camel fresh out of the box Of ornaments and sweet scents Frankincense and myrrh unpacked — Mystery like knots unraveling sheer
Joy, O Lord! You give each new Moment flowing rapidly bringing you Nearer, sheer joy as I await the Long-awaited coming in sheer joy!
I wept and You heard me I cried out and You helped me I knew no rest, only loss; to You O LORD, I stretched my hands:
“I have no words No pleas to offer The wind is strong My breath is gone
There is the desert Where there’s no succor Here is the sea Where I will drown
Unless You come To deliver The world will take The life you own.”
So I cried and in love You answered You came down from Heaven’s splendor Down, down, down as it was written, Born of virgin, clothed in flesh.
From cords of death You unbound me Shedding Your blood to release me Nailed to a cross my guilt You bore for me From the grave rising my life You saved.
Now I stand on solid ground Upon the Rock You set me on All the darkness flees before me As with Your light I abound.
Like a deer upon Your holy mountain New heights of glory I can see Though rising waters still pursue me Lord, my eyes are set on Thee.
Come, then, Jesus, as once before You came Your children to deliver Now return and never leave us On that Day when all floods cease.
Staggering in boot wise Through a warm doorway Enormous and puny with grace I measure myself By snowflakes, heavenly stars On Christmas mittens Now red with tears
Image credit: Madison Inouye (Pexels); linked to dVerse MTB:zen poetry)
Dreams from a Pilgrimage 