It was quite late in life, when I appreciated my mother’s fine craftsmanship skills, and the beauty of her stoic attitude. She was a single parent bringing up three kids on scarce resources. The boots which she had created from an old pair of jeans did not thrill us at that stage in life, but … Continue reading Later in life….
newmoon pregnant darkness suspended state between recurring patterns of life tides In other words, new moon at Patricia's Place
battling emptiness chills of snowy indifference cicada shells drop Heeding Haiku with Chevrefeuille at MLMM Fusion haiku created from from a treetop emptiness dropped down in a cicada shell and black forest whatever you may say a morning of snow
emotions carefully arranged in bouquets wrapped up in cellophane of propriety freshness wilts away #Weekly Tanka Prompt #Poetry Challenge Week 97
Photo credit: Flora Borsi
Gwendolyn Anders was being deconstructed. No one else could tell the forty-five year old divorced woman was falling apart. She couldn’t afford to let anyone know. She had to keep moving, go to work each day, make sure her two kids got to and from school, did their homework, ate healthy meals, made it to soccer practice.
She did her best to adhere to the “supermom” stereotype, and as far as the rest of the world was concerned, she was successful.
Inside where no one could see, she was bleeding to death.
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triumph sans character breeds internal decay opulent structures fall apart perish Colleen's Weekly #Tanka Tuesday #Poetry Challenge No. 81
a bleeding heart unseen, unknown circulates pain manifesting indelible external scars a life wasted Photo Challenge #214
all the greenery fails to plant hope in saplings what is it that stops young lives from blossoming sinking before jumping in? JSW Prompt
Shucks… the dreaded nightmare of an empty auditorium…. This is what he had feared all his life. It was the funeral of a well-known politician, with only a few policemen impatiently looking at their watches. He had forged lucrative links with terrorists in his last unglorious years. (280 characters) Twittering Tales #84
I switch off all triggers but drown in cacophony of internal sounds Join the Tuesday Chatter Weekly
