Three Word Wednesday: Haiku

Agony of grief
A cry of kindred sorrow
Beacon failed tonight!




Three Words: Beacon Grieve Kindred

Memories on the Wall

A well-worn den with a rocking chair,

painted pictures on every wall.

See, by the window, that Chinese junk—

a blazing smudge on murky jade waters.

Across the room on the opposite wall, stands a sturdy prairie pinto, packed with an old brown buck-skinner’s bags; he waits in silent weariness for his warming fire to catch.

Between the two, above the couch, stretches a long, blue picture in shining oils: broken shards of castle wall, desolate wailing out of the salty fog.

Is this the house of a roving traveler? An explorer who hung his memories like pelts?

No, simply the house of a daring dreamer…who sat and read and filled with wonder, the ears of lively, little listeners?

Their proud faces cover the final wall.

This was a Carry-On Tuesday prompt taken from a quote by Sir Joshua Reynolds, an 18th century painter: "A room hung with pictures is a room hung with thoughts."

Yes

Well, you see, Miss Matilda, I finally figured out--seein's how I couldn't get along without ya--or didn't like to anyway, that the only thing to do would be hitch up the horse and head to the train station, just ta see if'n I couldn't persuade you to give up this no count life as a hotel maid, and come help me back on the farm...I mean as my wife, cause we'd do things right, get a parson to marry us--here today even, if you'd consent--and I don't know if you'd consider it speakin' out of turn and all, but I decided I just didn't care for all the conventions if only...I could hear you say yes.

Ideal, Measure, Teeter

An ideal marriage is like a teeter-totter:
not measured by how high
one end or the other can reach,
but by the balance.

The Good Old Days

Within a few miles of modern,
out on the little dirt roads in the country,
there are houses long abandoned,
their owners dead, and all descendants scattered.


So many were the children used to live here: early morning chores, late night lessons--lots of noise and joys and bustle.
Hard life.
But productive.
They're all gone now.
Someone works the land and keeps the harvests;
Nobody wants the houses anymore.
Just a few small, wild creatures use the shelter.

Last fall, my son Elijah and his girl, Marie, went walking near this old house. They took pictures of the building, the silence, and an old boot on the floor.

I loved their shots.
When I saw the boot it reminded me of a footprint on the moon.

Our Sunday Scribblings prompt was "the good old days".

Jolt, Zealous, Ribbon

A sudden jolt—ground swells up,
buildings pancake down

A sobbing, hysterical survivor--
zealous in her seeking through the rubble for

A little daughter--
who went to school two hours ago,
her hair in yellow ribbons






Three Word Wednesday Our Three Words were Jolt, Zealous, Ribbon

Perspective

"It was the best of times; it was the worst of times."
depending, of course, on where you stood.

White Christmas!
A blizzard came.
Lovely.
Inside, the tree and sparkling lights
Outside, the welcome storm
Such dancing flakes of glorious bluster against my warm window pane.
Pale, soft beauty--the howling wind and ice...ice

Sudden black sheet and a high line pole
Father and daughter on their way to Christmas dinner.
Three giggling teen-aged girls out for a spin on the slippery road
Thrown from their vehicle
Onto the treacherous snow.
All five...
They didn't survive.

Same Snow


Carry On Tuesday

Giants in the Land

Extreme Machines against an extreme Western horizon. Who says January scenery isn't gorgeous?
















Sunday Scribblings-Extreme

Drain, Epic, Nibble

Three Word Wednesday

Flu.
Ug.
I feel drained.
Dare I nibble
on a cracker?
or will that
induce another
major upheaval
in this epic
of agony?