I am a windy city, mid-westerner transplanted in this land of giants, a southern city nestled between looming blue mountain peaks. My home sits under a giant star on a century-old plot steps away from the site of World War victory gardens that have sprouted rows of two-storied townhouses.
I will likely breathe my last here in this place of contradictions; of backwoods red-neckers and modern progressive high-risers, old-timers and Gen Z’s. It’s ironic that I moved here to be closer to my children and grandchildren. I rarely see them, life and busyness nipping at their heels, but I love it here just the same. This strange place, with its lilac-honeysuckle infused breezes, evergreen spaces, magnolia trees and mist-draped hollows, is growing on me. My Chicago twang has noticeably tempered to a smooth southern drawl. Y’all come see me sometime.
pause with me a spell
where sunlight bleeds through pine trees
and mourning doves coo
we’ll sip sweetened tea
and talk about the weather
while nor’easterns swell
A Haibun/with 2 Senryu for NaPoWriMo 2018 Day 12 Challenge Prompt: write a haibun that takes in the natural landscape of the place you live. It may be the high sierra, dusty plains, lush rainforest, or a suburbia of tiny, identical houses – but wherever you live, here’s your chance to bring it to life through the charming mix-and-match methodology of haibun.
night swelling blackness
moonless, milky spray muted
but for the hissing flicker
of a single wick consumed
A Tanka for NaPoWriMo 2018 Day 9. Prompt: write a poem in which something big and something small come together.
Depression Moved In
he’s come to stay
slipped through the cracks
of a drafty door
settling, like the dust collecting
stacks of dishes
crusted with rot
window shades drawn, but for light
piercing the gray
warming the cat
razor streaks slashing through grime
tv set to mute
white static strobing, tick tock
trays of ashes
blobs of wax, melted
charred wicks long spent from burning
stench of bleeding ink and sweat
blackness on blackness
layers of rags, dark as night
to the world
nothing to see here
just lock the door when you leave
My response for NaPoWriMo 2018 Day 4. Prompt: write a poem that is about something abstract – perhaps an ideal like “beauty” or “justice,” but which discusses or describes that abstraction in the form of relentlessly concrete nouns. (adjectives are okay too).
photo by mdherren at pixabay.com
Not So Hidden Hiding Place
So much for their brilliant plan. When the petty thieves arrived, it was clear that others had frequented this secret hiding place before them. Scattered throughout the cave behind the great falls was an assortment of rubbish: drink cans, bottles, snack wrappers, condoms, cigarette butts. Their treasure would not be safe here.
For Sacha’s 52 Words in 52 Weeks Writespiration Challenge, Prompt: “This week I want you to write about what lays behind a waterfall.”