for all the beauty
celebrate what we have now
gone in an instant
Hiroshima sunrise
humanity – haiku
…says a character to her author
you see me. i know you do. you feel my pain, you know my joy so intensely that you can express it. you understand what i’m going through – you see past the facade.
so why won’t you get me out of this fucking situation? just do it, damn it!
Craving – run-on sentence poetry
When crisply chipping off
bits of crackers and
crunching,
munching,
scratching down the throat
is what appeals,
yet all that’s
in the fridge
disagrees
sweetly and
softly with your craving,
it’s time
to go
to the store.
Creation
Tired of waiting, for you
(whoever you are)
to come into my life,
I shall create you.
I will knit for you, a cape
(made of feathers)
to drape upon your shoulders,
to give you form.
I will dream for you, a castle
(with a dragon)
so that you may rescue me,
and kiss me awake.
I will sing for you, a song
(full of love)
to rouse you into dance,
so that you may hold me.
I will bake for you, a feast
(of drool-worthy delectables)
and get you drunk on wine,
and whisk you away.
Ah, but to knit, a cape
(castle, song, feast)
for a love such as yours,
is a labour of a lifetime
yet unfinished
dilemma
how to string together
the words to convey
how much i love you?
my goal
to linger like the fragrance a strawberry
you carry upon your breath all the day
my hope
to pervade your thoughts
much the same as
the ocean’s waves break relentlessly on the sand
my dilemma
to find a way to let you know
i exist
pretend – poetry
sure
we can pretend
that our differences
don’t really matter
that the drizzle outside
is just a wet blanket
like the one
that covers us
when we try to have fun
and
when we kiss goodnight
we’re not really going
to bed mad
but what good does it do
to make believe we’re happy
they say
love is hard
it’s work
but it has to be
worth working for
we loved
once
i still love you
mostly
but the grass
the drizzle falls on
seems greener
and you
are tired of seeing me
look out the window
#SoCS – Panic
I wanted to go. I was ready to go, to cut the cord between me and my family. Scholarship in hand, I stood with my mom, dad, and baby sister in the cool autumn breeze at the bus station. It was going to be my first time away from them apart from the occasional sleep-over at my best friend, Sharon’s house. At least I had Sharon. She was already on the bus. She knew to give us some space to say good-bye.
I hugged them each in turn and pasted a happy smile on my face. Dad might have bought it, but my mom and sis weren’t fooled. I could tell by their own fake happy faces.
It wasn’t until the bus started moving that the panic began. What if I never saw them again? What if I wasn’t happy at college, if I hated my professors, my courses… my life? I started to cry, but then Sharon put her hand over mine on the glass.
“It’ll be okay,” she assured me. “Just like when we were having sleep-overs.”
She smiled a real smile and I relaxed. Only then did another thought occur to me.
“What if we’re not in the same dorm room? Or the same dorm even? How will I survive without you?”
“I hadn’t thought of that,” she whispered.
We both cried all the rest of the hundred miles to college.
This horribly bleak Stream of Consciousness Saturday post (which is totally unedited) was brought to you by the prompt here: https://lindaghill.com/2016/09/23/the-friday-reminder-and-prompt-for-socs-sept-2416/
and The Daily Post prompt here: Panic
Rain – a story in 22 words
Despite the rain
I will walk slowly by your side
because you’re holding my hand,
and I never want to let go.
Jump
Yours are the hands, mine are the feet.
You extend your arms for an embrace and I walk into them.
You paint a pretty picture and I tap dance around my praise.
You throw a ball of kindness and I run to catch it.
You snap your fingers, I jump.
You screw it on tighter, I chase down whoever can lift the lid.
You grab, I fetch.
You clutch, I scram.
Yours were always than hands that took, mine were the feet worn down to stubs in your service.
Stylish
“What, in the hell, are you wearing?”
Ginny looked down at herself and back up to her BFF, Miffy. “I know. My mom made me put it on for picture day. She thinks it’s ‘stylish’. Can you believe it?”
“We HAVE to get you out of that… thing. What is it anyway? Overalls with a skirt? Your gym clothes would be better.”
“It’s a ‘pinafore.'”
“UGH!”
“I know! She did give me this to put on over it, if I really wanted to.”
“What is THAT?”
“A cardigan.”
“Oh. My. God. Ginny. You’ve got to go home and change.”
“I can’t. My mom will kill me?”
“How would she know?”
“I don’t know. But she will. I just know it.”
Linda G. Hill 