Elastic like stretches with her claws into the Berber weave
She twists to her back and looks at me with her belly posed
I know better than to touch that furry white patch
Pleas to evict me from my chair are in vain
I lean to her and she purrs softly to chin scratches
Just as I twist one second, she jumps behind and takes my seat
…..
This is my response to this weeks prompt “elastic” for the Six Sentence Story. Would you like to join? Go to Girlie on the Edge to get the scoop!
Coins tinkled in the Simpson’s pot
To the echo of the metal clang
Until denseness from piled coins
And greenbacks, filled the kettle
Brass bands played into the night
As souls were grateful to give back
…..
And there you have it! This is my Six Sentence Story – well poem – for this week to the prompt word of “Kettle” Would you like to join or take a look at the stories? Check it all out on Girlie on The Edge’s Blog
Many summers ago, in Iowa’s July heat, we spent a day.
Sun baking my freckled skin, I knelt in the wild strawberry patch.
My friend nearby, reminding me when I wearied, of the promise.
As night came, and we were back to our Illinois homestead,
we set the table with whipped topping centermost.
With growl inducing scents of batter to steam
from the waffle iron, we started losing our cool.
Sitting at the table, holding holds for grace,
we were indeed grateful for our day,
Ending with strawberry waffles.
,,,,,,
Lose me now in the mists of the last rains of summer
kissing the edges of fall, warming my heart and soul
leaving behind the persevering dripples of sweat
opening the doors to the scents of mud sliming away
and earth once more recycles to a new season
oh fall, how you warm my soul and cool by brow
slink into my life, once more with hope
for yet another life of joy
and let the winter’s glow call me forth
but only after I gently pace the shadows of falling leaves.
…..
And there you have it! TTOT in a poem this week. 🙂
Balance begins early.
Building blocks of wood.
Bombies blasted with taws.
Beams balancing in gym class.
Be it what it may, it all leads
to vocation.
…..
This is in response to the Living Poetry September Visual Poetry Prompt.
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