Miscellaneous Prompted Micro Poems 19

 

article-migration-image-how-to-work-with-crystals

Little prisms of quartz
Regulating watch current
Nature’s power source

Heeding Haiku With Chèvrefeuille, November 13th 2019, crystals

three line tales, week 198: a girl with a doll

photo by Museums Victoria via Unsplash

Ivory glow of porcelain skin 

Features perfect – though they be small

She is their everything, her parents’ living doll

Three Line Tales, Week 198 14 November 19

dawn

Dawn breaks above waves
Waves break upon quiet sands
Bathers still abed

Heeding Haiku With Chèvrefeuille, November 20th 2019, at dawn

three line tales, week 199: a pig swimming in the ocean

photo by Jakob Owens via Unsplash

Legion they were, and Legion they fell
Cast into the swine herd
They went back to hell

(Luke 8:33)

Three Line Tales, Week 199 21 November 19

 

Padre

Aftermath

 

“Wow, did you see the way that Tom was flirting with Eadie at the party?” Donna asked.

“Yes, and right in front of Tammy too,” Leigh responded.

“I kinda feel sorry for him,” Donna said.

“Feel sorry for Tom?  Shouldn’t you feel bad for Tammy?  After all he was all but cheating on her right in front of her.”

“Yeah, but Tammy says she’s going to give Tom the shaft,” Donna said.

“Well, serves him right,” Leigh responded.

“You don’t get it, do you? Remember, Tammy is the regional archery champion.”

Padre

Flash Fiction for the Purposeful Practitioner: #47

 

Shooting Star: A Haibun (with double haiku)

 

Dark, Darkness, Meteor, Night

Image by OpenClipart-Vectors from Pixabay

I drove past a quiet lay-by today.  It was the same one that a couple of years ago I went to with my wife to observe a meteor storm.  The ambient light in our little town made seeing the spectacle difficult so we drove a couple of miles out of town and parked to watch the light show.  It remains a memorable experience, and even more so since she is now gone.

A flash of brilliance
Streak of light lifting the heart
So swiftly passing

You too a life-light
Giving incredible joy
But you to have passed

 

Padre

Belief in Ghosts

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Fandango’s Provocative Question  this week arose from his fascination with the seeming large percentage of Americans that believe in ghosts.  My initial take on the rise in people believing in such beings was to muse that there must have been a corresponding rise in the number of tradesmen, particularly builders and carpenters who have refused to enter into the afterlife willingly.  This would explain the increase in spirit levels.

Okay, pun out of the way.  There are many mysterious  occurrences in life.  Many of these defy “scientific” explanations.  The belief  in the supernatural is at the root of the Judeo-Christian tradition, and it shouldn’t be that surprising that people therefore seek a supernatural explanation for these events.

I myself have had some of these experiences.  Without labouring the details there have been items that have changed position in the absence of anyone being home, and one occasion when my grandson’s baby-bottle which was left prepared for him found its way into his crib/cot without either me or my wife rising to get it for him in the night.

It is interesting to note that in Matthew 14:26 it says,  “When the disciples saw Him walking on the sea, they were terrified, and said, “It is a ghost!” And they cried out in fear.”  What is clear is that the disciples believed in ghosts.  Jesus, however, does not correct them about the belief in such beings, but merely clarifies that he is not one.  This cannot in good conscience be used as a “proof” that Jesus believed in ghosts, or condoned such a belief in others, but it does at least show he wasn’t focused on the belief as an error.  This may be because there were more important lessons to be taught, but it is still a point to ponder.

I must admit to being a theist, and therefore support the belief in spiritual beings (angels, demons, and God himself), but as far as lingering departed spirits as yet bound for an afterlife, I am admittedly uncertain.  The parable of the rich man and Lazarus does suggest a more immediate departure, however.

Padre

At Dawn: A Haibun

dawn

The window was open it being a warm July evening in a hotel overlooking the beach in Scarborough.  The sound of the waves and the calling of the gulls had been soothing in the night, but now slumber was interrupted by the tractors of the local council as they smoothed the sands for another day and the scores of beach-goers yet to arrive.

Dawn breaks above waves
Waves break upon quiet sands
Bathers still abed

Padre

 

Heeding Haiku With Chèvrefeuille, November 20th 2019, at dawn

Unprepared

raven

– Jaime ibarra

Arabella stared down from the ledge as her favourite blouse slowly drifted to the ground far below.   Sunbathing on the parapet had seemed a good idea at the time, but she hadn’t taken the thieving crows into consideration.  Now she faced some serious questions, like how would she managed to get back to her apartment, especially since she would need to pass that creepy Mr. Brown in 703 to get there.

Padre

Photo Challenge # 290

Noon: A Tanka

Skyscrapers, Sky, Glass, Buildings, City, Architecture

Pixabay

With sun bathed brightness
Midday has finally come
Shining orb’s zenith
Bored office workers scramble
For coffee and sandwiches

Padre

A tanka is a thirty-one-syllable poem.  In Japanese, tanka translates as “short song,” and typically takes a five line, 5/7/5/7/7 syllable form.

The Crack of Dawn

Sky, Sun, East, Rise

Image by Mohammad Rasheed from Pixabay 

 

Through the crack of dawn

The fingers of the sun’s glory rise

Bringing a new day of wonder

What it holds a surprise

Will it be a day of joy or of woe?

It is only by living it

That we will ever know

 

Padre

 

Written for d’Verse Quadrille #92: Take a crack at poeming.

Write “a poem of precisely 44 words, not including the title, and literally making use of some form of the word ‘crack’.”

The Stake Out

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Andrew Neel at Pexels.com

Boris and Natasha readied themselves for another long night in the hotel room which overlooked the window of their targets.  Much of their sophisticated kit was hidden from view, and mere props were left in plain view of the window.  A tourist’s camera and a simple laptop were arranged in such a manner as to allay suspicion from the maids, and anyone overlooking their own observation post.

“Natasha, my darling, why have we put the black coat on the bed?  I am known for my black coat.”

“Yes, but this coat is designer, and bears a logo.  No one will ever expect that the infamous Boris Badenov would wear such a garment.”

“Ah, I see your point, but why all of this elaborate posturing?  We are on the top floor so nobody can see in from outside, and we vetted the hotel, the staff are trustworthy, especially after our ‘tips’.”

“Boris, you idiot.  You seem to forget that Moose and Squirrel are no fools, and that Squirrel flies.”
Padre

 

Fandango’s Flash Fiction Challenge #41