Growing Pains - 55

There is treasure all around

but you blacken and turn inward.

You are an ink blot

on an illuminated manuscript

a burning nettle

in a field of wildflowers

a sliver

in the knuckle of a pink finger

Let me help you pack

your blanket and suitcase.

You no longer belong

or want to be here.


This is 55 words for Hedgewitch at Verse Escape.  It's regarding a dream I had two nights ago.

Tracking Time

Take

this day

It is your starting block

to hurtle into tomorrow and tomorrow

and ten thousand tomorrows.

More if

you’re lucky

Minutes, hours may drag

but the years screech past

relentless as a train

Meanwhile, you have these

empty days

to fill with

colors, bright or muted

music,

white noise or a

frantic cacophony.

You choose

today

Apology

In my dreams

I am brave and patient

waiting there for you, always,

to leave me.

I am a pillar

at the shoreline

not moving

not wavering
not receding.

Time does not exist

and we are caught

in the amber moment 
when shadows draw long     

and day becomes night

not inhabiting either,

but balanced between

the two 
together.


Over in the Imaginary Garden we are challenged to write 55 words, PLUS, if we choose, to use this image of Beta Beatrix by Dante Gabriel Rossetti, which I did.  We could also use the words of Canto 17 by Dante Alirghieri.  

On Easter

     Photo by Mary Bach

This morning the moon  

begins to wane

in the lightening sky.

Mourning doves call to

you, you, you

but jays and wrens and barn swallows

are chirping too.

Outside the window

there are ten thousand branches, more

that were dead,

now, near bursting

with a million, million buds.

Don’t tell me there are no miracles.

Thank you for the prompt of a 55 word piece, and the subject of Easter in the Imaginary Garden with Flash 55 Plus.  This is also for Day #5 of PAD.  Happy Easter or Sunday or whatever you are celebrating today.

Sky Light

    image from theguardian.com

You and I, we build

a scaffolding of sighs

reaching to the closer clouds.

Our fears

are not of flying,

but falling

back to earth

with those

who go about their lives

as if the sky was only empty,

as if it did not contain wonders,

as if it was not the threshold

to heaven.

This is a late 55 for all the Toads and other garden dewllers over at the Imaginary Garden.  

Click on the link and check it out!

55

When I go to leave a comment

google tells me,

“choose an identity”

I don’t know if I can fit

such a big idea

inside my head.

Who would I be?

A circus clown? Nope, afraid of clowns

Astronaut?  Nope, afraid of heights

Secret agent?  Nope, hate guns

Novelist?  Nope – I only write 55 

This 55 is for Shay in her lovely Word Garden.