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 Brief prose and poetry lacking other categories... |
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Basically anything under 1500 words. Enjoy
 The poem which won 1st place at Rebel Poetry is "Stained Portrait"  . I don't usually write in such an overdramatic fashion  The poem which placed second at "Writing 4 Kids" is "Earth is Home" . That is more of my style  The story which placed second at "The Bard's Hall Contest" is "Peg Legs, Parrots and Samurai Swords" . I occasionally write something that might be considered funny...   The story which placed first at "Writing 4 Kids" is "Duck Family Vacation"     ![Merit Badge in Fantastical RA
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[Link To User greenwillow] ,
Congratulations on winning an Honourable Mention in [Link To Item #shadows] with your fantastic poem, [Link to Book Entry #1095216].
Rachel *^*Heartv*^*](https://images.Writing.Com/imgs/writing.com/writers/badges/group-Shadows_and_Light-1936078_14.gif) ![Merit Badge in Merit Badge Magic II
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| A mirror image What is it? I see myself But it's not really me As others see me I see myself Backwards, distorted The wrong way around Things are not as they seem Yet others hardly see What's truly inside of me I walk down paths that lead nowhere Away from the somewhere I should be headed to I see flowers that talk to me No one else hears them If I escape the Looking Glass world I will see myself with clear eyes Not as others see me But as I truly am Because I am the future And the future looks good When it's not A mirror image. 24 lines. Originally written in March 2024 for "Wonderland" , which required a mirror copy of the text alongside the original. I jumped through hoops and never actually inserted the text itself, only two foggy screenshots. This will now be remediated. To view the freshly clarified mirror poem images, visit Mirror Writing from Angel in Wonderland |
| Blight lies heavy on parched land choked with weeds When did everlasting streams of justice run dry? Replaced by disintegrating systems, overburdened by traitors Dragging innocent workers off public streets, Exiled to countries crooked or desperate enough to accept them. Holidays drained, harvests mangled by tariffs. Shutdown! Describes minds, hearts, and government. I'm angry at everything – everyone's being played for a fool. Reasoning – trying to give sight to the blind. Plot twist – they'd rather not see! Billionaires laugh behind walls of hate and fear Inflating prices, rents, rates – chopping benefits – slathering white-out over history, While we the people call each other bigots Squabbling over labels like starving dogs in garbage. What kind of harvest season is this? Do we have anything to be thankful for? I can offer no glue to mend a fractured mess. Empty purses, failing infrastructure, despair exploding in chaos. Yet… a microscopic germ of faith remains undeterred. Though buildings languish unfinished, crops rot in their fields, I give exhausted praise to the One Who created me. What else can I do? 23 lines, 175 words. Free verse. Inspired by Amos 5:24, Psalms 10 & 73, and Habakkuk 3:17-19. Written for "Rebel Poetry Contest" and "Golden Apples Writing Contest Forum" Rebel Poetry prompt 2: Make us understand this poem contains the words behind your scream. Golden Apples prompt: harvest (moon) |
| I'm a mean dog, a keen dog, a wild dog and lone, I'm a rough dog, a tough dog, hunting on my own I'm a bad dog, a mad dog, teasing silly sheep I love to sit and bay the moon, to keep fat souls from sleep… From “Lone Dog,” by Irene Rutherford McLeod Fearsome and tough, I show off my suit Growling and scowling and searching for loot. My hook keeps sworn enemies at bay While I guard the treasures I've dug up today. They say it's survival of those most fit: Well, I've got the will, the strength and the grit. With wisdom and skill, I sail stormy seas And clamber to tops of swaying palm trees. A loner forever, I pay no mind to hate Assigning those who despise me to their own fate. Life's taught me none can be trusted for sure If I give them an inch, they'll only snatch more. I look out for myself – that's all I can do – Shipmates are trouble, I tell you it's true. Mutiny’s impossible when one runs the ship With nobody disturbing, it's a smooth easy trip. At day's end I settle in my bunk for a sleep I'm the only one my soul to keep. No prayers for others, least of all me, I'm captain of my bark on life's forsaken sea. Words: 171. Lines: 20. AABB rhyme. Written for "Writing 4 Kids" Prompt: photo of a bulldog wearing a pirate costume. Consider it a mashup of the above quoted poem, William Ernest Henley's Invictus, and the Imagine Dragons song Take Me to the Beach. |
| Six-year-old Annie was terrified of bats. She cringed whenever she saw pictures of them. Halloween was a dreadful time for her, because everywhere she looked, there were bats: plastic bats, stuffed bats, furry bats; giant bats hanging from the ceiling, tiny bats on rings as party favors, even skeleton bats! “Why are you so petrified of bats?” Her big brother Andy asked one afternoon in October. “My English teacher assigned me this big book to read, all about bats! Want me to read you some fun facts?” “Ack! No, never, please!” Annie turned a shade paler, shrinking back as Andy held out the book. “I'll have nightmares.” “But why?” “I saw a movie with monster bats that chase people and drain their blood. And Uncle Joe said they'll get caught in my hair!” “Aw, that's silly,” Andy scoffed. “They're harmless. Have you ever even met a real live bat?” “No, and I hope I never do!” Annie scooted away to seal herself in her room. Annie's birthday came along a couple days later. It was a lovely celebration, with cake and friends and gifts… Until she unwrapped a squishy package from Andy. Tears spilled down her face as she stared in horror at the soft black toy in the wrappings. “A stuffed bat?! Andy, you know I hate bats! What an awful gift!” “Aw, shucks, Sis, I thought it was cute…” She ran into her bedroom, threw it into a corner and cried herself to sleep. When she woke up, it was dark. She'd forgotten to turn on her nightlight. Shadows crept up the walls like eerie winged creatures. Annie wrapped the blankets tighter and tried to fall asleep again. A tiny squeak at her bedside table made her jump. Andy's little stuffed bat was sitting on the table, big eyes glowing a soft green, watching her. “Eek! How'd you get here?” “Greetings,” the toy squeaked. “I'm Belfry. Are you Annie?” “Yes,” she quavered. “Andy brought me home to teach you all about how nice and helpful real live bats are,” Belfry said, flapping his undersized wings. “Did you know we have a marvelous echolocation navigation system?” “What's that mean?” “It means we fly at night, emitting sound waves that bounce off of objects. Our precisely tuned ears pick up these reflected sounds and use them to find our way around and catch bugs to eat.” “Wow, really?” Annie sat up a little straighter. “Why can't we hear all that noise?” “The noises we make are higher pitched than what human ears are tuned to hear. We can also fly really fast – in fact, the Mexican Free-tailed Bat has been clocked at nearly a hundred miles an hour – faster than those cheetahs you always thought were the fastest mammals!” “Goodness, that's fast. Did you say you eat bugs?” “Yep. Bats eat up to twelve hundred mosquitoes an hour. We can eat our body weight in nasty bugs every night. Imagine how beneficial that is!” “Yeah, I hate mosquitoes. If you eat bugs, does that mean you don't drink blood?” “No, bats don't do that, that's a myth. In fact, the giant Flying Fox bat is a vegetarian. It eats fruit in the South Pacific islands.” “And since you're smart enough to find your way around in the dark, you probably don't really get caught in people's hair,” Annie mused. “Of course not. That's another silly myth. We're harmless, friendly creatures. My mom could recognize my voice among thousands of other bat pups in the cave I grew up in.” “Aww,” Annie smiled. She reached out and smoothed down Belfry’s shiny black fur. “How many bats are there?” “There can be millions of us roosting in a single cavern. You should see us when we all come pouring out of the entrance at dusk!” “Eek! I don't think I'm ready for that yet.” She leaned back against her pillow with a yawn. Belfry hopped from the table up onto her bed. She giggled and pulled him close, feeling the weight of his squishy beanbag body in her hands. “You're awfully cute, you know? What a nice birthday gift.” When Annie awakened in the morning, Belfry was a silent, ordinary, palm-sized stuffed bat. His big green eyes twinkled in the sunlight. She brought him downstairs with her. “Hey Andy, can we read your bats book together? I wanna learn all about them.” “I knew you would,” he smiled. Annie didn't have any reason to be afraid of bats anymore. She slept with Belfry guarding her pillow every night, keeping the spooky shadows at bay. Words: 793. Written for "Merit Badge Magic" For a selection of fun facts about bats from The Nature Conservancy, click https://www.nature.org/en-us/about-us/where-we-work/united-states/arizona/storie...  |
| Chaplain Eric entered the Home for Disabled Veterans, clutching a bundle of file folders. The astringent fumes of antiseptic spray permeated his lungs as he stopped in front of Maria's reception desk to sign in for his night shift. “Anything I need to know?” he asked her, scrawling his name into the book. She suppressed a yawn, blinking wearily. “New patient in Room 32. Records show he has a tendency to hallucinate and cry for help in the night. Name's Kevin.” “Indeed? I'll be ready. Thank you for letting me know.” Eric paced the darkened halls, hands clasped behind him, deep in prayer. He readied himself for anything or nothing. One could never tell if the night shift would be silent and uneventful, or if something untoward would happen. Usually he spent the slow hours counting steps and contemplating scriptures. At one thirty, the call light blinked for Room 32. Nurse Annette went to assist Kevin. Eric paused outside the patient's door, not exactly listening, but waiting. “Someone get me a chaplain!” a gruff voice shouted. “I can't stand this – there's demons taunting me!” Annette stepped out into the hallway and shut the door. Eric raised his eyebrows. She shrugged. “We may have to sedate him. He's pretty bad off right now. You want to see if you can help?” “Of course. That's what he asked for.” Eric went to his office and picked out a Bible, a prayer book and a vial of holy water. Whatever was happening with Kevin, he wanted to be prepared. Back at the door of Room 32, he knocked. “Chaplain Eric here. Did you need me?” “Darn right I need you,” Kevin snarled in a most startling way. “The devil's in here!” Eric crossed himself, murmured the Lord's prayer, and stepped into the room. It was unnaturally cold, sending goosebumps rising along his arms. Kevin, an elderly, grizzled vet, was sitting up in bed, back pressed against the wall, grimacing and growling, trembling all over. Eric's stomach sank ominously. Purplish red shadows crawled in the corners of the brightly lit room, movements that lured the eyes to look, only to drift away, lurking at the edges of his peripheral vision. Kevin was not hallucinating. Eric walked the perimeter of the room, sprinkling holy water and praying. He kept his voice steady, firm, quiet. “The Lord says, begone. Christ is victorious over all. Evil has no power here. I ask God to bless this room and sanctify it, by the power of His Holy Spirit and the blood of Jesus.” The cold fluorescent lights shone warmer. The shadows peeled back, gathered themselves towards the window and dissipated as Eric came closer. He completed his circuit. He settled down by Kevin's bed and prayed for calm and healing. Gradually, Kevin relaxed, his trembling body sinking into the sheets with a heavy sigh. He looked at Eric, eyes clear and sharp. “Thank God you showed up. I couldn't stand it another second!” “Would you like me to stay?” “Yes, please. I hate being here all alone in the night. Everything I've done comes back to haunt me.” Kevin clenched and unclenched his hands around the sheets, eyes tracking the room, searching for the vanished evil. “You feel tormented?” “Can't think of anything else I'd call it. I was in the Special Forces, man. I've done things you wouldn't want your granny to find out.” Eric sat without comment, allowing Kevin to ruminate. “God feels so far away, like He's mad at me for everything. These… Things wouldn't be here if He was protecting me. I'm a dirty old sinner.” “God removed the things for you when I asked Him to. He loves you unconditionally.” “Does He understand I was doing it to protect our country?” “Of course He does. He knows you and your heart better than anyone, even you. Would you like me to go over some Bible verses with you?” “Might as well.” They spent about an hour studying the Bible, learning about mercy, forgiveness and grace. Kevin's eyes slipped shut after a while, and he fell into a deep, restful sleep. Eric sat by, thinking about his own time serving in the armed forces. He had always been a chaplain, therefore never bore a weapon. Many times, his life had been in danger. Many times, God had rescued him in miraculous ways. Now, it was his turn to give back, to provide for the community what the Lord had provided for him. Nurse Annette knocked at the door. Eric got up, moving softly to answer. “You got him to sleep? Everything's ok?” “Yes, ma'am, the patient is resting peacefully.” “Did you resolve the hallucinations?” “Would you believe me if I told you they were not?” Annette's eyes widened, then narrowed. “Did he have a visitor with a pitchfork, perhaps?” “No, only a vague malevolent presence. It's gone now.” “Well, good for you, exorcist.” Annette spoke with a slight wryness as she dimmed the lights. “Now we know who to call.” “I'll be ready.” Eric smiled and resumed his patrol through the halls. Words: 848. Written for "Honoring Our Veterans - Challenge" Inspired by a true story. |
| Josiah is gone. Yeah, that doesn't sound like much. But mind you, when Josiah is the wizard and I'm the apprentice, things do start to go haywire when I've accidentally turned him into a horse and he took off for greener pastures. If I hadn't been so stupid, he'd still be here. I guess I should apologize to King Alwyn. But he'll probably have my head on a plate, and I can't blame him. Josiah was the top wizard in the land, with the knowledge of a thousand mages and a zillion books stuffed in that wizened head of his. Now what? I decided to put off the apology and try to rectify the situation, but in the meantime, Alwyn would be wondering where Josiah was. Standing in the middle of the underground magic lab, I flipped through the giant textbook chained to the desk until I came to the formula for duplicating and taking on the guise of someone else. It was almost as complicated as the spell I'd been working on when the catastrophe happened, the one that promised to transform a truckload of coal into a field of fine horses. Rats! I'd need a sample of Josiah's hair or fingernail clippings to replicate him. I ransacked his room and found some hairs in the washbasin. That would have to do. If I could pull off pretending to be Josiah and keep Alwyn from getting suspicious, that would give me enough time to haul back the horse Josiah and try to reverse the spell. What kind of horse would he be? He must be pretty wild and ornery to have galloped away instead of staying close in the hopes of getting turned back into himself. It was going to be tough even to find him. I'd have to cast some divining spells, maybe ask advice from the Elves. As I ruminated, I ran circles around the lab, gathering ingredients and setting up test tubes and Bunsen burners. When everything burbled together into a noxious blackish brew, I spoke the magic words and poured myself a serving of it. Looking in the mirror, I could see it working, transforming me from a lanky kid to a scraggly old geezer the spitting image of Josiah. Ok, got that done. Now, to stroll casually outside, fetch a lasso and some feed at the stables, and try to figure out how to get Josiah back into his own form. King Alwyn stopped me as I scooted across the hallway. “I say, Josiah, is Steve ok?” What a confusing question! I almost forgot who I was as I stuttered to answer. “I'm on my way out to the hill country to look for, uh, some herbs. This might take a while. Don't expect to see Steve around, he has a big experiment going on in the lab.” Alwyn looked at me funny. “That wasn't the same answer you gave me ten minutes ago.” My stomach sank into my boots. “It – wasn't?” “No. You were rushing towards the lab in a growling huff about getting your hands on Steve.” “Oh… But… Yeah, I remember now.” I shook under my oversized wizard's cape. Did Josiah somehow “un-horse” himself? In that case… “Steve!” A distinctive voice bellowed. “What have you done!” I spun around to see Josiah, very much “un-horsed.” His eyes sparkled daggers at me like a knife thrower at a tournament. “Oh, hello, sir… Uh, shouldn't you be out in the stables?” “That was a time-restricted spell! Now look what you've done, you idiot. The imposter spell is irreversible!” My stomach leaked right out of the holes in my boots and disappeared through a crack in the floor, all the way to the dungeon below. Alwyn looked from one to the other of us, lips trembling somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. “I'll call in the Elves and see if they can run a reset spell on you, Steve. We'll probably have to wait until the right astrological alignments. In the meantime, I'm not averse to having two Josiahs on my staff.” This was gonna be a very long week. Words: 687 Written for "Starting Stories" Prompt phrase highlighted in green |
| October's smashed pumpkins litter barren ground – Impending solstice chills my fragile bones – Scarecrows gesticulate, howling at harvest moons – Blurry dreams burst with ragamuffin ravens. Seasons brown, overripe like mushy bananas Threatening to stupefy me with fumes of sweet nothing. Yearly cycles repeat inexorably – I fail to optimize my time As I chase twinkling trivialities along looping trails, Soul spiraling down drains into clogged gutters. Why is it so easy to shroud myself in stagnation? Do I not believe in God’s loving kindness? He sustains me daily, though I hide from reality; He promises He has prosperous plans for me, yet I hold back, Haunted by hidden potholes in dimly lit paths ahead. Lord, create in me a heart of action, of courage amid shadows, Because I know You give enough Light to safely begin walking. Words: 135. Lines: 16. Written for "SCRIPTURE POETRY CONTEST" Prompt: Write a poem about your biggest fears, and how God can help you with them. |
| I sat in a corner of the bathroom, wiping away tears, the messy evidence of my wrongdoing snuggled in my lap. How could I ever forgive myself after what I'd done? I had hurt so many people when I snatched the beautiful white teddy bear away from my little cousin Susie. It was a family reunion in my uncle's backyard. There must've been a hundred people attending, from really old grams and gramps to little squealing babies. Most of them were strangers to me. Mom and Dad seemed perfectly happy, hanging around with plates of corn and hot dogs, laughing and chattering and taking group selfies. I slipped in between people, looking for cookies. Dessert was served right against the speaker system. I snuck up and grabbed a handful of oatmeal raisin cookies. The music exploded with such throbbing power, I tried humming and couldn't hear myself! I got away from there super quick. The volume fell as I put space between myself and the source. As I tried to find a quiet place to sit down, my cousin Susie ran up to me, dragging a stuffed bear. The spotless white blouse and perfectly pressed pants she wore contrasted with my plaid shirt and worn-out jeans. I didn't know Susie all that well; I think her parents were my aunt and uncle who were hosting the reunion. “Mikayla, say hi to Pete!” She hoisted up the bear and waved its paw at me. I reached out and shook it, staring. Pete was a gorgeous, plush, silky white bear, with a pink velvet ribbon tied around his neck. His mouth was sewn with a cheerful smile, and his blue eyes twinkled like gemstones. I'd never seen anything like him before. “Good heavens, Susie, where'd you get that bear? He looks like a million bucks.” “He's an FAO Schwartz bear,” she said boastfully. “My dad bought him for my birthday. My dad's rich – he can afford to buy me whatever I want.” I sighed as I thought of my own dad, who'd just lost his job. Mom was working two jobs now, and Dad spent most of his time online, applying for new ones. This reunion was probably the first time they'd relaxed and enjoyed themselves in weeks. “You shouldn't be dragging Pete along on the floor like that,” I frowned. “He'll get all dirty and stained.” “That's ok, Daddy can get me a new one,” she chirped. My frown started deepening into a glower. The few stuffed animals I owned had been my best friends for as long as I could remember. Didn't Susie bond with Pete? She must be really spoiled! “Seriously? Money doesn't grow on trees. I don't think your dad would be happy if you ruined Pete.” “He won't mind.” Susie skipped along, hauling Pete after her without a care in the world. He winked like a mischievous polar bear cub. The next time I saw her, she had Pete in her lap at the kiddy table during dinner. I was appalled to see her ladling food all over his face, pretending he was eating. “Susie, stop that! How could you be so silly?” “Pete is hungry,” she scolded me. I groaned. This was too much. I bent down and pulled Pete up away from her. She let out a shriek and grabbed him back. And that's how the tug of war started. I wanted to take Pete and clean him off at the kitchen sink. Susie wanted to keep “feeding” him. We yanked and pulled and twisted, with Susie yelling and screaming. Some infuriated stubbornness made me give one last desperate pull, tearing Pete out of her chubby hands. “Look what you've done to him!” I snapped, holding the stained, dripping teddy bear aloft. “This is disgusting.” All she could do was sit on the floor and wail as if her heart was broken. At this point, I was so grumpy, I didn't think she even really cared. Let her daddy come distract her with some other fancy toys, and she'd forget all about Pete. But the adults descended on us, and I fled, clutching poor Pete, as they cooed with concern. I ran upstairs and locked myself in the guest bathroom, heart pounding as though I'd just stolen a… Teddy bear. Geez, how had it come to that? As the frustration of the moment faded away, the consequences of what I'd done sank in. Mom and Dad would be so ashamed of me. I'd picked on a younger kid and made her cry. I'd stolen her toy. I'd yelled at her in front of everyone. I sniffled. Pete's twinkling blue eyes stared up at me with a blank look, his smile obscured by the mac and cheese sauce splattered all over him. I patted his head and grimaced at the crusts beginning to solidify. With a heavy sigh, I got to my feet and turned on the faucet. “Looks like you'll be getting a bath tonight, Pete.” I grabbed some towels from the rack and started wetting and wiping. Maybe if I got Pete cleaned up enough, I'd be able to bring him back to Susie and apologize. Maybe I could explain to her parents I'd just wanted to teach her to take better care of her toys. But I figured nobody would ever want to see me again. I started making plans to quietly leave Pete all nice and clean in a corner and run away. Someone knocked at the door as I scrubbed and sudsed the teddy bear. “Mikayla? Are you there?” It was my aunt. She sounded worried. What could I say? “Mikayla, say something!” That was my uncle. He sounded worried, too. Did they think I was flushing the bear down the toilet or something? I unlocked the door and peeked out. “I'm washing the bear. Susie was spilling food all over him. She thinks she's feeding him.” “We understand, honey.” Auntie smiled at me. “That's very nice of you to want to clean it up for her.” “You should have told us what she was doing,” Uncle said gruffly. “We would've handled it. You acted like a little bully.” “Yeah, I know. I'm sorry.” I stared at my worn shoes, balanced over the threshold. “I couldn't stand seeing her trashing it like that. It's so beautiful. I was going to give it back to her. Really.” “I think you should go downstairs and apologize to Susie,” Auntie said. “We'll put the bear in the washer, ok? I'm sure he'll clean up as good as new.” “Are Mom and Dad mad at me?” “They're wondering where you are. They're upset, but if you go down and explain and apologize, they'll forgive you.” “Really?” “Of course they will,” Uncle said. “They love you. It's just a toy. You meant well enough, I suppose. It's not like you wanted it for yourself.” I went downstairs with them and apologized in front of everyone. I hugged Susie, telling her Pete was tired from all the fun and had to be put to bed early. Susie was tired, too, her eyelids drooping as she mumbled something about wanting to sleep with her teddy bear. Auntie carried her upstairs, promising she could hold Fido instead. I sagged into a chair, watching as Uncle brought Pete into the laundry room. He winked at me before shutting the door. I hoped he would teach Susie a thing or two about taking care of her toys. I didn't want that to ever happen again. notes ▼ |
| He asks if I've given my heart to Jesus – I stand tongue-tied, flustered. It's not that I'm an atheist – at least, not on a good day. Nor do I rebelliously refuse religion because it misaligns with my “morals.” I believe in Creator God, His Righteousness and Mercy, His Hand in everything, suffusing life with purpose – Otherwise, I would be a nihilist. I cling to faith, and yet… Jesus. Who is He? Do I worship a Man? Isn't that idolatry? Can someone die in my place? Didn't Jeremiah say “Every man's sins are his own?”1 Did He ever claim to be God Incarnate? Did he really rise again? Questions hold me back – I'll wait another day Afraid to take the risk of blaspheming the One who Exists By believing He has a Son who may never have existed. Yet it might be too late – I shouldn't linger forever on fences Avoiding theological discussions by sinking into trivialities. Someday, I may give my heart to Jesus. In the meantime, I'll strive for devotion to God Himself. 16 lines, 174 words, free verse. Written for "SCRIPTURE POETRY CONTEST" September 2025 Prompt: I am happy to say I gave my life to Christ sixty-six years ago. I remember it like it happened yesterday. Do you remember the day you were saved? Your prompt: Reflect back on when you gave your life to Jesus and write a poem about it. Footnotes |
| Kiya's Wonderland Prompt: Imagine a world where there are 25 hours in a day or 25 months in a year! • Write a short story (no more than 500 words) or a poem (no more than 40 lines) of such an event occurring. • Let the personification of Time be a part of your entry. • Your item should not exceed the 18+ rating. • Post link to your story or poem in the forum. Myra stared at the elegant piece of parchment in her hands. “Twenty-five months in a year,” she scoffed. “What is that supposed to mean?” “It's an experiment the government is running,” her brother Sam said, adjusting his lab coat. “We want to see how much more a person can get done if a year is doubled over.” “And whose great idea was this? I suppose it's being funded by taxpayers?” “Naturally,” he replied. “Actually, it was Father Time's idea. He's been hired as head of the National Institute of Chronological Efficiency, or NICE.” “Oh, indeed? I'll let him know what's nice. What could possibly be efficient about two cycles of seasons in one year? What happens to the holidays?” She gasped. “Sam! What about birthdays?” “Relax, Myra, it's just an experiment. If this one doesn't work out, the rest will be normal years.” “I guess I can't argue with skipping a year's birthday, if that's how it's going to work,” she said wryly. *** And so the days passed. At first there was a major upheaval as computer systems, banks and other things dependent on dating adjusted to the upcoming longer year. Then, after a few months, everything settled down and seemed almost normal. January 1st was no longer New Year's Day, but instead they celebrated “Halfway Through day,” much to Myra's amusement. Her first birthday was marked with the usual fanfare, but as her second one drew closer, she began to be concerned. What if something went wrong? What if there was a massive glitch in the system? What if she ended up being two years older – or worse? “Just treat it as you would any other day,” Sam assured her. “There's no need to celebrate if the year isn't over yet – you already had your birthday!” Myra tried to convince herself that the ways they measured time didn't mean anything – a day was a day, and a month was a month, and years were somewhat subjective, right? The night before, she sat up, waiting for midnight. When the clock chimed twelve, a knock sounded at her door. Myra looked out her upstairs window at the front porch. A guy wearing a long beard, a watch on a chain and a wizardly robe stood there, holding a book. “Seriously? Are you Father Time?” She opened the door. He smiled and handed her the book. “This is for you on your unofficial birthday,” he said with a wink. “Your brother Sam wanted me to give it to you personally. From all of us at NICE.” With that, he disappeared. Myra sat down and browsed through the pages, which held photos of her and Sam from childhood to the current time, along with handwritten notes and memories from family members. “Well, this is nice, isn't it?” Myra chuckled. “I'll have to thank Sam. This twenty-five month year isn't so bad.” Words: 480. |
| Dear Time, She scrawled upon a wrinkled page. You expect me to treat you respectfully? I'm not yet at a ripe old age Having zero knowledge of what I might become. I have no happy memories to thank you for Only puzzles, painful conundrums, burning questions, Untold motives, endless unanswered prayers. Past lies tangled, no wisdom to be drawn, Future fades foggy, unknown dangers hiding in shadows. You expect gratitude When all you do is suck lifeblood out of me. Another day down the drain, Another failure, another missed opportunity. You and I are enemies – I end up killing you more often than not. Yet there you are, standing in front of me, ghastly, beckoning. If you are a Father, you're a deadbeat: Never there when I need you, yet always lurking, haunting me. What point is there in addressing you As if you know anything? You are cold, insensitive, inexorable, impersonal. Why personify something so uncaring? I'm not your child. I have a long road ahead of me, And you are my enemy. Instead of killing you, I will make you my slave. Never to be, Yours truly. She threw down her pen Took scrawled paper in her hands Crumpled it up Flushed it away in the toilet. A brain drain, a reset, a deep breath of air: Life sprouts anew once exaggerated emotions overflow. Now, real work begins. 34 lines, 230 words, free verse. Written for "Note: 48-HOUR CHALLENGE : Media Prompt Deadl..." |
| In times of need, I know Who to turn to – My Savior holds my trembling hand. Jesus walks with me ev’ry dark night through – He never fails to understand. He came, he conquered, waters parted, And He's here to stay He won my loss, He paid my cost, He'll never, ever break. I am never going “downstairs” – I will praise, I will praise He saved me because He cares – I will praise, I will praise. Love me, take me and make me holy Wash me, enrobe me – you should see the view up here! Wake me when the circle is unbroken Wake me when misfortune is unspoken God's grace is more than sufficient for us all Trust Him when He says we are invincible… notes ▼ Inspired by ▼ |
| Lady in black, guards her heart so closely, People whisper she has none. Ghost of slender build, eyes cold, a stare to stop time. Terror is her everpresent shadow – they call her evil. Define evil, she says. Is it when I exact consequences on bullies? Should I bow to traditional values, giggle at pink unicorns, deny my nature? Is it evil to be different? To scorn artificial niceties? To use my power to fight what I believe is wrong? I stand unafraid against those in charge. I speak my truth. Lady in white, wears her heart on her sleeve, Guarding her icy touch with loving care. Smiling, calm, refined, a queen at every moment. Fear festered, spreading frozen curses – they called her monster. I'm not a monster, she says. I retreat from harming others, I seek to live in peace. I protect those dear to me – even from myself. Should I wear iron gloves, deny my nature? Is it monstrous to be different? To wield ice and snow? To lose control under pressure, to learn how to love? Are we not all human, bearing multifaceted powers and gifts? 22 lines, 188 words, free verse. Written for "Merit Badge Magic" Inspired by Wednesday Addams and Elsa from Frozen. |
| I pulled out from the library parking lot, research piled in the passenger seat of my open-air jeep. The National Military Memorial Cemetery was a few miles down the Interstate. I had to find my great-grandpa's grave marker, attach a wreath, and send a pic to my grandma, who wanted reassurance her father was buried with honors. As an army veteran myself, I took this responsibility seriously. Afternoon sunlight filtered through old-growth live oaks, whispering in a refreshing breeze. At the stop sign where the back lane met the county road, there was a line of dusty, idling vehicles. A train sat motionless on the tracks, blocking the road. I lined up behind an orange Corvette and prepared to wait. Brownwood was a small town, with one main north-south state route and this one county road going across, leading to the Interstate exit. The tracks ran parallel to both the Interstate and the state route; there was no overpass and no other possible way to go. Indeed, a stalled train of average length pretty much split the town in half – with me on the wrong side. I drummed my fingers on the steering wheel as minutes slithered by. The sun was blinding, but walls of dark, climbing thunderheads ringed the horizon. If I waited too long, the approaching storm would rain out my excursion. But I had to work the next day, forty miles away. It would be unfeasible to make the trip again anytime soon. The Corvette revved up its engine and swung a tight, nimble U-turn in the narrow road, surrendering to the interminable wait as more cars lined up behind us. While wondering where they were rerouting to, I counted blinks of the red crossing lights and tried to decipher illegible rainbow scrawls of graffiti on the railcars languishing in front of me. My heart pounded heavily in my chest. This was dragging the whole community to a dead stop. What if an emergency broke out and law enforcement or EMS had to cross the tracks? Shouldn't someone investigate what was happening at the front of the train? I vaguely remembered seeing it moving north from the library window before I'd left. With a sudden resolve born of training, I pulled my Jeep off the road to run parallel to the tracks, heading north on the gravelly shoulder of the embankment. A couple of trucks honked at me, whether to encourage or dissuade, I had no idea. I bumped along past empty flatbeds, double-stacked intermodals, giant petroleum tankers, refrigerated Tropicana citrus haulers, loads of coal and gravel, and slatted boxcars with glimpses of vehicles being transported within. Past the edge of town, the embankment grew steeper. I'd passed fifteen railcars. I wouldn't be able to follow the train much further on the east side before hitting a creek. A warning rumble of thunder echoed. Finally, the heavy diesel engines came into sight. I drew the Jeep alongside the railing where the engineer should have been standing and honked my horn. “Anyone here?” “I'm here!” A shout came from somewhere within the engine room, and the engineer stumbled out. He was covered in grease and soot, rubbing his hands on his coveralls, breathing hard. “Well, don't just sit there, man!” he hollered. “Call up CSX and tell them to send an emergency team. My phone ain't got no signal, and this engine's dead!” I tossed my phone to him as I climbed out of my Jeep. “You call them. I'll see if I can figure out what's wrong. I was a master train mechanic in the Army.” He saluted me, phone to his ear. I knelt down in the engine room and pulled aside the cowl to reveal a dizzying tangle of hoses, steel pipes, wires, clamps, and valves. The CSX crew told the engineer it would take them a couple hours to get to us from headquarters at Wildwood, because of a logjam on the highway. I shook my head. “My experience tells me this is a simple fix. I bet I can get it up and running.” I scrambled down to my Jeep and hauled my tools out of the back, setting to work. Sure enough, with about twenty minutes of sweating, tinkering, elbow grease, duck tape and haywire, the engine roared to life with a tremendous expulsion of pungent black exhaust. The engineer high-fived me. As I was putting away my tools in the Jeep, he set the train chugging along, blasting the whistle with a final wave. It moved slowly at first, then built up speed until railcars were flying past me. I retraced my path along the embankment. By the time I arrived back at my starting point by the crossing, the train was long gone. Brownwood was once again a dusty, dozing town of empty streets and towering live oaks. The trip down the Interstate to the National Military Memorial Cemetery was uneventful. I located my great-grandpa's grave after a good amount of walking. Kneeling down to place the wreath, I read the inscription: Upper Level Army Locomotive Mechanic. The same position I had held. I smiled and stepped back to take the picture as the first raindrops descended. In the distance, a train whistled, faintly musical. Words: 875. Written for "Honoring Our Veterans - Challenge" Inspired by real events. |
Mountain Rugged, craggy Hulking, bulking, sulking Trails, treetops, snowcaps, springs Living, breathing, crumbling Volcanic, mystical Aiguille Notes ▼ |
| Donnie Duck wiggled in the backseat of his mom and dad's overstuffed dune buggy. He poked at his older brother Ronnie, who was playing a noisy video game on his phone. “Mom, can we stop? Ronnie woke up Daisy, and now she needs to use the bathroom.” Little Daisy made a cranky squealing sound and flapped her wings in her car seat, knocking the phone out of Ronnie's hands. The teenager groaned, diving to the floor to retrieve it and bumping into Donnie, who let out an even louder groan. “Hey kids, settle down.” Dad looked in the rearview mirror to investigate matters. “There's an exit soon. After a quick break, we'll be on the final stretch to the beach. Ronnie, have you been checking Google Maps?” “No, I've been playing Shenzhen Invasion. I'm on Level 109!” Dad clucked, returning his eyes to the road. “You'll melt your brain with that gaming nonsense. Donnie, are you keeping track of our route using the paper map?” “Yeah, actually.” Donnie straightened up in his seat, spreading out the state map on his lap and tracing a finger across it. “We’re approaching Exit 219, at Green Valley. The beach is another thirty miles away, or three more exits.” “Excellent. You'll get an ice cream cone when we stop.” “Hey!” Ronnie put down his phone. “Do I get one?” “Ronnie, you need to learn to pay attention to real life. You have to pull yourself away from the screen every once in a while, or you'll be a zombie.” “What's wrong with that? I play zombies all the time in Dead Man's Escape!” Donnie started laughing and flapped a wing at his brother. Daisy squawked as if she wanted to laugh too. Now it was Dad's turn to groan. Mom shook her head, closing her paperback book. “We're not saying it's wrong to play video games, hon. We're just trying to help you know when it's the appropriate time for gaming.” “That's not fair! I want an ice cream cone too.” “Can you stay off the phone until we get to the exit?” Mom asked. “I'll try.” Ronnie sighed and stuffed the phone in his backpack. He leaned over to pull the map away from Donnie. It tore down one of the worn fold lines, splitting in half. “Great. Now neither of us will know where we are.” “It's ok, we can still use it.” They spent the next ten minutes studying the map: pointing out icons, decoding symbols on the legend, arguing over where they were, and calculating the distances between various towns. *** A couple hours later, the Duck family arrived at the beach. Ronnie and Donnie helped unload surfboards, coolers, umbrellas, and piles of beach gear out from the dune buggy as seagulls soared and screeched overhead. Waves crashed against the dunes, sending up wafts of tangy salt wind. “Cool place, huh?” Donnie said to his older brother. “That ice cream was nice. I bet you're glad you got to have it too.” “Yeah.” Ronnie set his backpack down on a striped blanket and pulled his phone out. He stood frowning at the screen for a few minutes, trying to see past the glare of sunlight. Then he let out a wail. “There's no signal here! Now what?” Dad ignored him and focused on pegging down a jumbo umbrella. Mom adjusted the dials on an old-fashioned radio, bringing in a classical music station. She smiled at Ronnie, who was nearly in tears. “How about living life unplugged for a few hours, son? You'll appreciate it. There's so much to get excited about. This is a wildlife sanctuary.” “I brought a field guide to shoreline animals and plants.” Donnie waved a chunky book in the air. “Look, I want to see a real live plover while we're here.” Ronnie wiggled his beak and peered at the handbook. He soon lost interest and tried to pick up a signal again, wandering off to stand on a dune and point the phone in all directions. Mom and Dad arranged a picnic under the umbrella. Donnie ran along the seashore, stopping to pick up and identify seashells. Then, “Daisy! Where is she?” Ronnie ended up quite a bit away from his family in his search for a cell signal. He heard them calling for Daisy and looked down the slope to see them fanning out desperately. “Uh-oh,” he mumbled, stuffing his phone in his pocket. “Guess I should've been keeping an eye on her. Yikes.” From his elevated vantage point, he spotted his little sister toddling away, almost disappearing into thickets of brush and sea grasses. He heaved a sigh and started flapping until he rose and coasted downhill, quacking out her name. When he caught up with her, she was sitting in the sand, playing with bits of glass and pebbles. “No, don't put that in your mouth! Come on, let's go back to Mommy and Daddy, ok?” He bent down, took her by the wing and led her along the coastline towards the picnic area. They stopped to watch a flock of sandpipers poking their skinny beaks in the mud. Ronnie reflected that it was probably a good thing his phone was out of service. There did seem to be a lot of fun to be had outdoors. And besides, it was best to keep a good head on his shoulders in such unfamiliar territory. Shenzhen Invasion could wait until he got back home, or at least until the family was safe in a hotel room for the evening. Happy that he had come to this conclusion on his own, he waved at Donnie and his parents from a few yards back. “Ronnie! Daisy! We were in a panic about both of you.” Mom wrapped them both up in her wings. “Aw, I was fine. Daisy was trying to eat dirt, as usual.” She let out a protesting quack and held up a pretty pink seashell. Dad patted Ronnie's shoulder. “I'm glad you were focused enough to take control and find your baby sister. Don't you feel better than if you were playing games the whole time?” Ronnie shrugged. “Sure. Hey, what's my reward gonna be? I'm expecting like, maybe a whole pizza all to myself.” “No fair!” Donnie shouted. “I'm the one who spent more time looking for Daisy! I bet she wasn't even lost. You had her with you the whole time.” “Did not! I had to fly half a mile to catch her before she got swept into the sea.” “Enough of that.” Dad's voice was stern. “We came here to have fun, not to argue. You'll each get half a pizza, customized. Now let's sit down and have our picnic before the seagulls eat it for us.” “Afterwards, we can build sandcastles,” Mom said, holding up a handful of mini flags. “Sounds good to me,” Ronnie chuckled. He was beginning to enjoy himself. Words: 1150. Written for "Writing 4 Kids" Prompt:  |
| Eight-year-old Liberty watched raindrops chasing each other down the windowpane. Steady rainfall drummed overhead. She pulled back as lightning split the sky, followed by a rolling boom of thunder. “Are we safe, Mrs. Fields?” The lady running the orphanage stood nearby, taping up red, white and blue banners. “Yes, Libby.” She guided the little girl away from the glass. “Will my new parents still come to get me?” “Of course they will, honey. Rain won't keep your family away. It may stop the evening fireworks, though.” “I wanted to see them.” Her hazel eyes glimmered hopefully. Mrs. Fields smoothed back Libby's blonde pageboy. “You love sharing your birthday with the United States. It's double the fun. Soon, you'll have a third reason to celebrate.” The thunderstorm tapered off late in the afternoon. Libby ran back and forth around the orphanage, checking the grandfather clock in the entry, peeking through every window, searching for her family. “They'll be here soon.” Mrs. Fields handed Libby a broom. “Why don't you sweep to help soothe your jitters?” Finally, as the first evening fireworks crackled, they arrived, with hugs and gifts. Mom wrapped her in a flag patterned blanket. Dad brought a funny tricorn hat for her to wear. “Just in time to celebrate at the neighborhood cookout,” he said. “Let's go!” They swung Libby between them as they strolled along the boardwalk. Sunset painted the waters pink and gold. They laughed, feeding seagulls with french fries. “I love you, Mom and Dad.” “We love you too, Liberty.” Libby snuggled between her new parents, enjoying the sparkling jeweled lights spraying across the night sky. Someday, she would help other kids like her find loving families. For now, she was happy to celebrate her birthday, her adoption, and the founding of her homeland, all together. |
| Fear not, He says, for I am with you. How can I be sure of this? My faith is weak. I see words on the page, but they fail to resonate. I lack the confidence and strength to believe That life will work out, somehow, Even if it doesn’t end well Or disaster strikes and I lose everything, God is with me, there is no need to fear. This should be inner peace, not based on pleasant circumstances But rooted in a knowledge of the Lord’s promises And a childlike belief in them. Such faith feels at times beyond my reach, As self-composure so often melts down under pressure. I pray for stronger faith, a positive outlook and a heart after God’s own. He is Righteous: I entrust my soul to His Hands. 16 lines, 133 words. Written for "SCRIPTURE POETRY CONTEST" Prompt: "Fear not, for I am with you; Be not dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you, Yes, I will help you, I will uphold you with My righteous right hand." Isaiah 41:10 |
| The heart is a willow tree: it lives, breathes, thrives, Planted by flowing waters of crystal clear truth. Growing strong in knowledge, trust, faith, Enlivened by God our Father, who cares for everyone. When I sleep, I dream I’m sitting under the willow tree, Counting blessings floating downstream. I stand up, chasing what I’ve suddenly realized is escaping me Running along the slippery mud riverbank Away from the willow, so green and alive. Frantic, I plunge in where the water seems shallow, Grabbing ahold of treasures sinking fast. The truth of the matter almost drowns me: Blessings are meant to be appreciated, not clung to. A being in white throws me a lifeline, hauls me ashore, Walks me back to that thriving willow tree, Where I once more collapse, relaxing under its dappled shade. With my feet in the water of crystal clear truth, I contemplate life’s blessings, awakening to sunrise with newfound wisdom. 18 lines, 154 words. Written for "Poetry Topic of the Month Contest" Prompt: “sitting under a willow tree.” Inspired by Psalm 1. |
| They raise the flag with weary hands Battles won in burning sands Protecting home from evil ways Standing strong throughout the days. We honor them the way we should For doing only what they could. Let's not squander what they’ve done Holding fast to all as one. Treasure freedom to live and breathe To practice all what each believes. We raise their flag with grateful hands A welcome home from distant lands. 12 lines, 72 words. Written for "Honoring Our Veterans - Challenge" |
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