I heard a whip-poor-will this morning
singing outside my window
and wanting to join the chorus
I stepped outside in the still dark
and found myself on a strong branch
felt the roughened bark
against bare feet
spreading powerful wings
I took to sky and joined
morning dance
we wheeled a pattern clear
then came together circling
round and round

in that exquisite moment
I knew I was exactly
what I was supposed to be
a sense of deep knowing
welling up inside needing
wanting to tell the world
opening my throat
to let the joy escape
but a whip-poor-will can only sing
the song she has been given

Prompt: Kalaidoscope 21 words

royal purple hues locked
scarlet intricate steps
exploding lapis lazuli patterns in
deep forest of mathematical beauty
divided by golden perfection

blinded I could not see
where the road would lead
deafened I could not hear
the call of voices that would save me
but in the brokenness a secret
revealed that can’t be shown
nor sung by any choir
when I would lay down and die
at the very moment of darkness
drawn to light and air a birthing
a bursting of star matter
shrieks forth screaming to sky
to color from deepest red
to softest royal purple
unfurled uncurled stretched
beyond all belief
I rise again and find my heart
in flight sustained
unstained

image credit – deviant art mement_mori_by_sheerheart

afternoon is slowly fading
soon lights inside will beckon
warmly glowing faces showing
smiles and chatter welcome
friends again we gather
sidewalk stepping quickly heading
front door opens waving all in
to the house the home the place
we eat and drink the glasses clink
piano playing softly fire burning
hearth is turning evening chill
of outside darkness into yearning
firelight and memories making
times when we were younger
times when we under spells
of brighter days lighter ways
thought we’d stay forever never
changing stretching on into the future
still I hear the music laughter takes me
back and I am once again sure
best nights sounds sights
held inside that summer night
a glow that rivals evening stars
lives on in friendship hearts like ours

Prompt: immortality

I will be dust
one day and even
my words
will blow away
but I will be a moonbeam
that catches your eye
and leaves you staring into the dark
because you have known my heart

prompt: hankie – constraint – 15 words

learned to stitch flowers
on hankies for
grandmas’ apron pocket
life lessons on
soft cotton

trying for a little more structure…prompt: toxic

You speak a poison with your voice
without a thought for how it spreads.
Unlike a virus, make a choice,
a stealthy creep to other heads.

A covered mouth would save us all,
instead you choose to open wide;
each word spews forth with bitter gall
and ripples soon become a tide.

Unfocused anger, snide remarks,
an upturned mouth now flattened out.
The watch pot is stirred, the fire sparks,
once hopeful hearts now touched by doubt.

I ask the question to the light.
Why is it hard to cling to good,
so easy to lay down the fight
and let a sadness chill the mood.

Oh what we’d hold by building up,
instead of always breaking down;
medicine to an empty cup.
Can peace be catching where there’s none?

prompt: rocking horse, constrain 13 words

there are stallion days
joy jumping barriers
and rocking horse days
going nowhere

a thousand voices raised
emptying hearts on pages
that fly across satellite paths

I dig my pen into the paper
press with rigid anger

ridged paper like braille
this never ending spiral
makes no difference

my head aches with wanting
to feel something other
than nonchalance as though
I am not a part of this
as though I am above
as though I am not enough
I would write a brightness

but there is none in me today

there was a man carrying a cross
in a nearby churchyard
as though we needed a reminder
his faux crucifixion an affront
as though walking around
carrying a piece of wood
could save anyone
or bring on an Easter
bring forth spring

I long for sun
while my heart fills with
dusk

just a cloudy rainy day and a bad cold…maybe it should have been titled “as though”

Prompt: T.S. Eliot “I will show you fear in a handful of dust.”

Sifting dust through clay fingers

I am kin to soil and memories linger

Beginnings in a clod of dirt
Though daily consciousness seems to skirt
soft edges, for my spirit burns

Still from dirt I came
and to dirt return