WeWriWa is Here Again

The weekend is here, which means… WeWriWa! You must write either 8 sentences for prose or 150 word limit for poetry. Lots of great writers participate. You can check em out via ze button above.

For those who are new, I am continuing my story about Hagar and Ishmael in the Desert. For understanding the backstory, go here. For previous installments: Part onePart two, Part threePart fourPart fivePart sixPart seven and Part eight. Last time we ended with Hagar just about to kill her son, Ishmael.

Expulsion of Ishmael and His Mother, from Gust...

Expulsion of Ishmael and His Mother, from Gustave Doré’s illustrated Bible of 1866. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

“Hagar!” a strange voice cried. Confused, I dropped the rock and looked about wildly, but saw nothing.

“Hagar” the voice came again, soothing and gentle like the sudden cool breeze. “Dry your eyes: God has heard you. Take Ishmael by the hand, and go on.”

Tears rolled down my cheeks, “Where shall we go? We have no more water: I cannot watch my heart die before my eyes.”

I think one or two more Wewriwa’s and this story will be done (crazy i knoooow). Thoughts, fb, etc are always welcome. Have a good weekend guys

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Kali’s Song

Happy Tuesday! First day of the week is already done, so pat yoself on the back (I do, it helps me get through)

Here’s a poem I’ve written of late. Called Kali’s Song. It’s based in Hindu Mythology. To get a back story go here: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kali

Godess Kali Painting

Godess Kali Painting (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

 

But, onto the poetry!

Kali’s Song

I wasn’t made from velvet
nor silk, nothing to lay beneath your
head. I was born on jagged rocks
and thrust from the riotous sea,
silver swords for a tongue, grinning
skulls wrapped round my neck. I
will never be your doe eyed Lakshmi,
pulled into the world under Kali’s moon.

I am the goddess of destruction,
slayer of a thousand demons. I will
move heaven and earth for you, my
beloved calm in the storm. Demons
sate my tongue, but my heart burns for
your ice, my veins hot with raging wildfire.

I was not made to smile wide,
born with jagged teeth. And if
pretty is what you seek boy,
it’s not me you seek.

Thoughts, feedback, questions etc are welcome.

Banishment and WeWriWa

When did fall arrive? Life has been insane with a new job, so this story has been on the backburner.  But here we are at WeWriWa! You must write either 8 sentences for prose or 150 word limit for poetry. Lots of great writers participate. You can check em out via ze button above.

For those who are new, I am continuing my story about Hagar and Ishmael in the Desert. For understanding the backstory, go here. For previous installments: Part onePart two, Part threePart fourPart five, Part six and Part seven.  

In the morning, Abram came to my tent. Though he forbade me to follow the camp, his eyes couldn’t meet mine. I let him go without a word: there was nothing left to say.

That day, I gathered water and food, enough to last a few days. Though shocked, I hoped we could get back to Beersheba.

Days later, here we are, no city or well in sight. All I have to offer my son is freedom and my two hands. So I raise them up and offer him this last gift.

tbc

I know, mean author, but more to come soon!  Thoughts, feedback, are always appreciated 🙂

 

Français : Agar et Ismaël dans le désert (1820...

Français : Agar et Ismaël dans le désert (1820) de François-Joseph Navez (1787-1869). Musées royaux des beaux-Arts de Belgique, Bruxelles (Belgique) Nederlands: Agar en Ismaël in de woestijn (1820) door François-Joseph Navez (1787-1869). Koninklijke Musea voor Schone Kunsten van België, Brussel (België) (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Echo’s Lament

Hello! New poem today, check out the blog on Saturday for the latest update of my story on Hagar and Ishmael in the desert.

For now this is based on the story of Echo and Narcissus. For back story, go here

Echo’s Lament

He sits down by
the smooth water,
staring and staring,
hoping to catch
his own porcelain
hand, or feel his lips
graze his own skin.
Though I wait for
his every word,
I cannot capture
his eyes or
his heart.

He and I are
bound by this
smooth mirror,
bound to repeat
ourselves,
bound to echo
through the hills
round and round,
bound never to
collide. How do
I end this twisted
dance of useless
sound, useless
longing? I am spent
on a dream half
spun,half a step
from living.

Thanks for reading! Thoughts, feedback always appreciated.

Rising from the Dead

Work has taken over my life…so naturally this fell to the side. Again, I’ll work it out, but it’s been a bit rough. Still able to be creative, which is good. But here are two poems (for now) and I promise more later

Winter Decays

winter decays
silently, quick
as ice
slithers down
jagged hills.
it moves histories,
and gives
death
new faces.

do not run in
fear:
embrace the
cold’s numbing
kiss.
The sun always
returns, rolling
the past
off your aching
back.

Decades Decay

Decades decay as
time passes, though
memory clings to the
faded light. Wasn’t it
yesterday you bought
your first record? how
awkwardly large it is
between your hands,
once, it was a perfect fit.

Time turns, though
memory sticks on
once bright moments.
All wallpaper peels
and fabric fades,
even your skin wilts
under the sun’s heavy
gaze.  But don’t
throw away the torn
paper or paint over
your face. Relish
this somber beauty,
hidden openly in decay.

The Storm Was Coming…WeWriWa

Happy Labor Day Weekend! I’ve been too silent on this story, but it’s time  another installment of WeWriWa. You must write either 8 sentences or 150 word limit for poetry. Lots of great writers participate. You can check em out via ze button above.

For those who are new, I am continuing my story about Hagar and Ishmael in the Desert. For understanding the backstory, go here. For previous installments: Part onePart two, Part threePart four, Part five, and Part six. The end is coming, I promise!  Where we are now: Hagar is flashing back to life while Sarai is pregnant.

I thought she would sell us off in Beersheba. Though I held my breathe, we passed all seven wells. Hope whispered that we would be okay.  Sarai’s child would come, and the storm would pass. But then the storm came.

Her screams filled the camp, shattering the night’s silence. I quieted Ishmael back to sleep, but my eyes couldn’t close. We were going to be abandoned, worse, in the driest part of the desert.

Comments, feedback, questions as always welcomed. Thanks again for reading and I hope you have a wonderful weekend!