Tag Archives: Challenge

Insomniac’s Lullaby

soft the gloaming hush descends
settle now your weary head
pray for blessings, make amends
day is done, it’s time for bed

settle now your weary head
serenaded by the night
day is done, it’s time for bed
draw your coverlet up tight

serenaded by the night
humming street lights, traffic zoom
draw your coverlet up tight
safe and snug in your bedroom

humming street lights, traffic zoom
cricket chatter, bullfrog peeps
safe and snug in your bedroom
babies wailing, cats in heat

crickets chatter, bullfrogs peep
ticking clocks, water dripping
babies wailing, cats in heat
rattling snores, fan cords clicking

ticking clocks, water dripping
try to sleep, soon morning comes
rattling snores, fan cords clicking
curse the night’s incessant hum

try to sleep, soon morning comes
count some sheep, try sipping tea
curse the night’s incessant hum
early to bed…now it’s 3

count some sheep, try sipping tea
pray for blessings, make amends
early to bed…now it’s 3
soft the gloaming hush descends

~kat

A Pantoum poem for Sunday Writing Prompt. Thanks to Scribblersdip at Mindlovemisery’s Menagery and Rugby843 for the prompt: Night Sounds.


Mental

Mental

The pyramids he built had magical powers, sharpening his used razor blades while happy-sad Jesus watched from a frame on the wall.

Then he dismantled the family car, replicating a Chilton’s Manual diagram on the driveway.

He often argued with a gun barrel. It had the last word eventually, silencing the voices.

~kat

A word about this week’s 52 Words in 52 Weeks Story. The prompt was “pyramids”.

When most people think of “pyramids” they think of the ancient wonders in Egypt. When I hear the word “pyramid” it triggers memories of my dad and one of his many obsessions.

No one noticed the signs, or if they did they didn’t say, because we didn’t talk about mental illness back then. People suffered in silence, or self medicated with alcohol like my dad. He may very well have been a genius, but he was also bat-shit crazy. I loved him dearly; he terrified me. He was the “monster” of my childhood nightmares.

So I’m stepping up on my soapbox for a moment. Mental illness is not a weakness or embarrassment. We need to talk about it. For heaven’s sake, if you or someone you love is suffering, get help. There is help to be found. There is no one like you. Really. No one like you.

And if writing about this can help save just one person from my dad’s fate, it will have been worth pouring my heart out on this page….


Safe – A Haiku

there is no safe place

no high ground, no border wall

to save us from us

~kat

For Haiku Horizons Challenge, prompt word, safe.


Speckled Monsters


“Come along now Bertie,” ‘Lisbeth lilted, hoping to mask the inconsolable grief and horror that gripped her heart, “your princess chariot awaits!”

“Smallpox,” the doctor had whispered after examining the child earlier that day. “We must transport her to the island straight away.”

“Where are we going, mama?” Bertie asked as she lay in her mother’s embrace.

“To a beautiful castle my darling girl, where you can rest and get well.”

But Bertie, as her mother feared, would succumb days later, a prisoner of the castle, its moated barrier meant to contain speckled monsters like her behind its crenelated parapets.

~kat

A 100-word historic dramatization for Rochelle Wisoff-Fields Friday Fictioneers Flash Fiction Challenge. It is inspired by the above photo by Roger Bulltot.

When I researched the photo, I discovered that this place is the modern-day view of the ruined remains of the Smallpox Hospital in New York City. Located on the southernmost tip of Roosevelt Island, formerly known as Blackwell Island, and surrounded on all sides by the East River, it was designed by architect James Renwick, Jr.

Renwick is famous for designing other notable gothic structures, including St. Patrick’s Cathedral in New York City and the Smithsonian Institution in Washington, DC.

Stereoscopic photograph of the original Smallpox Hospital building

From 1856 until 1875, the small 100-bed facility served as the city’s small pox asylum treating about 7,000 patients a year. After some additions to the structure, it became a nurse’s school before being abandoned altogether in the 1950’s.

In 1972 it was listed on the National Register of Historic Places, and in 1980 it was added to the New York State Register of Historic Places. Read more about the Smallpox Hospital HERE.

“Speckled Monster” is a nickname coined in England and attributed to the formal name of the Smallpox virus, Variola, which is derived from the Latin word varius, meaning “spotted”.


Hearts of Stone

Hearts of Stone

I remember the crunching sound of my feet shuffling, scattering pebbles about, as I walked that morning. The sun was barely tree-top high in the sky, the leaves were sparkling, and there was a fragrant breeze; honeysuckle and wild garlic. For whatever reason, I don’t even recall it now, I was distraught. I felt totally alone, unloved and hopeless.

And then my toe smacked into a perfectly honed, heart-shaped stone. As I bent down to pick it up, the sun crested the tops of the trees and I felt its warmth on my back. It occurred to me in that moment, I was not alone and that someone, a Great Spirit, Faeries, the Universe, God (I’ll leave the naming to you), had left it there to stub my toe and stop me in my melancholy tracks. I felt loved. I felt hope. I kept that heart-stone on a window ledge so I could look at it and remember.

Eventually, I was called upon to do the unthinkable; to give my beloved heart-shaped stone away…to someone who loved it as dearly as me, maybe even more.

Now, please don’t be sad for me, dear reader, because on that very day I found three more heart-shaped stones, and another, and several more.

Everywhere I turn I find them now; big, small, shiny, rough, perfectly formed, some with tiny flaws. To some, they are just rocks, but to me, they are undeniably hearts, one and all.

I keep them in my pockets these days, to remember…and just in case I have an opportunity to give one away to someone who needs to know they are not alone, that they are loved, and that there is hope.

If you should ever happen to find a heart-shaped stone of your very own, I hope you’ll remember too.

life to death to life
skeletal fragments turned cold
chiseled stones remembering
love requires letting go
a heart surrenders, knowing

~kat

A haibun/tanka For Colleen Chesebro’s Weekly Poetry Challenge, prompt words, stone and turn.