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

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!

Oh Hey Wednesday!

Half way through the week *slam dunk*. Yeah, it’s a good feeling to get here. I was going to watch the machinist…and then it’s 930. Seeing as I have to be up in 11 hours? Yeah, so not happening.

But, I have a poem for You. Yeah, I was pretty pumped about it too. I’ve been thinking about patterns of late. So this baby was born. I hope you enjoy!

Pattern’s Two Faces
A/N: SFW, Rating: G

There’s comfort in pattern’s
endless consistency: 
the way the sun rises and 
sets, 
the moon’s changing faces, 
how the tide just 
kisses 
the shore.

But then I recall,
the way a father rejects
his son, just as 
his father rejected him.
How an 
eye 
for an eye 
for 
an eye 
spreads only 
blindness and rage 
through space and time.

Patterns lacking hope
are a night without 
stars,
a morning devoid of 
dawn, the horizon 
absent 
from the sky.

I’ve signed up for wewriwa *bites fist* so stay tuned for a new section of Hagar and Ishmael’s story 🙂

Back to the Desert

It’s Saturday which means time for 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, and Part five. Can’t believe how long this is getting! Hopefully it will be finished over the next few weeks. Where we are now: Hagar is flashing back to life while Sarai is pregnant.

Rating: G totally sfw

Life went on: we roamed with the sheep and Sarai’s belly grew round as the months passed. Though a miracle, it was no easy pregnancy. She struggled to keep any food down. She needed me more than ever, though never at night.

Previously, I had slept in her tent, even during my own pregnancy. She claimed I snored, though she shared Abram’s tent. Whispers of Sarai’s strange dreams moved through the camp and her strange fear for her baby. Though haunted with an ill feeling, I watched the future come towards me as her pregnancy lengthened.

feedback, thoughts, questions always welcomed. Thanks for reading and have a great weekend!