Haiku

Magpie 26
 

Drip Drop Drip Drop Drip

You are the watering can

to my thirsty soul

My Sanctuary

The Thursday Think Tank
Poets United will put out weekly poetry prompts in hopes of inspiring great poetry. We will attempt to do so every Thursday. This is not a requirement of our members, it is merely a way to provoke our creative urges.

PROMPT #9:
Sanctuary: a place of refuge
 

My Sanctuary

 

My sanctuary lies in a musty church basement.

It is decorated with uncomfortable metal folding chairs and smells of strong, black coffee.

My sanctuary doesn't have a choir.

In fact, instead of hymns I hear anthems of despair.  Anthems of desperation and, at times, surrender.

I don't find angels either. 

The voice of God sounds exactly like the stranger sitting next to me.

In my sanctuary i find my fellow tribe members.  And they will keep me safe from the visions in my head for a short while.

I am sheltered from the monster that whispers, "This time you can handle it."

This church basement holds

laughter and tears

hope and redemption

death and life.

 

My sanctuary is no longer in the shape of little white pills.

Now my sanctuary is in me.

Ten Little Piggies

Hey all! Welcome to Thursday Tales.

Here, every week on Wednesday/Thursday, we offer you a photograph to base a short story on, and no, you don't have to write thousand words!! The rules will be put up in the prompt too. And we hope you shall have fun writing on the basis of a picture.(It's harder than it seems.) Any one who participates will be added to our Tales Train.

Tale #19

Ten Little Piggies

       The ancient mermaid had finally earned her legs after 575 years, exactly.

       As she walked down the beach for the first time, the granules of sand squished between the stubby tentacles on the bottom of where her fins used to be.  (It kinda hurt actually.) She instinctively felt under her breasts for her gills and was met with hard, stony ridges instead. The new airholes in her head felt very small and inadequate indeed.

       The sun seemed angry up here, beating on where her scales used to be and slapping her face.  There were strange beasts swimming overhead in the light blue expanse of sky.  She missed the dark blue comfort of her home.

       It was extraordinary not to have to use her arms for movement.  She quite didn't know what to do with them, first holding them out parallel to the sand and then folded them into her torso.  Being human was a such a complicated ordeal!

       She had been told that she only had about 3 days before this body would break down from lack of feeding, so she decided she must begin looking for sustinance at once.  But where to go?  She was alone and a feeling of dread washed over her.

       Maybe this wasn't such a good idea, after all...

Ashes

Microfiction Monday #42

Only the crumbling walls remember now.


Only they recall the screams of the small children.


The burning of flesh and the witch’s maniacal howling.


The oven that held dark secrets was gone.


The very last gumdrops


Had long ago melted in the unforgiving sun.


New growth had sprung up, covering the dilapidated peppermint stairs.


Only the crumbling walls remember now.

Saturday Centus

Saturday Centus #13
100 word meme using the prompt highlighted in bold.

The summer breeze flowed through my fingers spread out like a starfish, as we drove last weekend.  Randingo and I were checking the local garage sales for hidden treasures, and I had just disclosed the fact that I had started a blog a few months back.


“I don’t get it,” she says, “I’ve told you before that your poetry is good. What’s different about hearing it from complete strangers?”

“That’s just it…they don’t know me. Their comments therefore have to be sincere, right?” I explained.

“Yeah, they don't know you," she pondered. "Now i see that’s why it meant so much.”