Skeletons

The Sunday Swirl-Wordle

When the mouth
does not keep step
with the head
skeletons may spill

change is possible
as a gift in the present
but when the moon
is wired does it explode?

Islands Of Childhood

The Island of Dr Moreau

The Island of Blue Dolphins

The Island of Okinawa*

Islands of my childhood

Showed me immorality

loyalty, cruelty and peace

As an adult the Islands stayed

Leaving me to prefer

The company of animals

Imaginary Garden With Real Toads'

Sunday Mini-Challenge:  Islands

*My dad was a World War II veteran and this was one of his many "tours".

Winter Is A Big Cat

walking softly
on tip toes
stalking slowly

in February

it pounces
sinks its teeth in
and holds tight
'til spring

For a creative prompt at

Imaginary Garden With Real Toads
and Open Link Night
at dVerse...Poets Pub

Using The Words

Birthed face down was a miracle in itself

But a strong heart beat in this tiny sprout

Far from shore a drizzle began

Turning the future into a ripe silhouette

While lines deepened on faces

That had traveled this path before

The Sunday Whirl

Time

Weekend Mini-challenge 

For Imaginary Garden With Real Toads

With picture prompt from Mindlovemisery's Menagerie 

sharing with Poets United Poetry Pantry

After midnight we turn
into what we were
party's over
masks are dropped

Locking ourselves
in rooms of regret
we question the realities
of time after time

Like Alice the sign says eat
we do
the hands drop from time
as Poe's Raven screams Nevermore

Bickering Could Be The Death Of You

Asleep on the floor

I hear your breath

separate in the bed

waiting for a signal

bickering

was tiresome

Could you still love me?

I twisted the soft frayed cord

it's use depended on your answer

when you awakened.

Sunday's Whirligig

Monochromatic

"I'm restless.  Things are calling me away.  My hair is being pulled by the stars again."--Anais Nin

This is the picture prompt from Mindlovemisery's Menagerie 

MONOCHROMATIC

When your world

 is but one color

flowers are empty

I remember child hood

and believing

in dandelion wishes

Swinging high

to touch the clouds

bicycles were freedom

Colors fade to one

memories in a dusty box

are bones of the past

Also for the Tuesday Platform
at
Imaginary Garden With Real Toads.

The Holiday...

The gathering  after the harvest had morphed into a secular event.  Most were immune to the splendor unable to appreciate the plain beauty of the scattered leafs across the valley.

Outside "far from the madding crowd" I gaze reverently at the beauty around me.  The breeze touches my skin on it's way to rattle the remaining leafs, pulling them from their summer home.

In awe I wonder how anyone could be bent out of shape on a day with infinite gifts to give.

Joining the Sunday Whirl for Wordle 189

Poet's Sleep

                                                                       Poet's Sleep, 1989, by Chang Houg Ahn     

Tess Kincaid prompts us to create words inspired by her picture of choice.  The Mag is a weekly challenge at Magpie Tales.  Join the fun or just enjoy the writings of others.  Either way you will not be disappointed.

As the poet sleeps

Skulls of discarded words

Gather and cry

"Why not me?"

As the poet sleeps

Words lay like stones

To be crafted

Into a poetical statue

As the poet sleeps

He dreams

People will read

Enjoy his words

As the poet wakes

He fears

There is nothing

But skulls and rocks.

The Mag 169

Magpie Tales with Tess Tincad presents a writing challenge each week at The Mag. Join.  Read.  Enjoy.

Eventually we know

A weed is a weed

And not wishes

We cannot refrain

From hoping

As we blow

Wishes

And seeds

To the winds

Wishes grow weeds

Lighthouses fall

As do we

I admire those

Who still dream

While I cannot sleep

The Leaves Crunched...Saturday Centus 129

It's time for Saturday Centus with Jenny Matlock!

PROMPT: "The leaves crunched under my boots until they didn't."

WORD COUNT - Not to exceed 109 (including the prompt)

STYLE OF WRITING - First person

PICTURES - Any additional 

The regular restrictions apply: PG, no splitting of the prompt, play nicely and visit the other links, please.

The cabin was still standing. That surprised me a little. I’d expected it'd be broken like me. It was built in the back of beyond so isolated it seemed only we were left on this world.

That fall the first days were romantic and tender.

I soon discovered he was always watching me. Nothing I did was right. Writing in my journal or even sketching pictures of the cabin became a personal insult to him.

When he hit me I was shocked but every day became the same.

The ax was the answer. I did it.

I walked away and the leaves crunched under my boots until they didn’t.