Crutch Free

Six Sentence Story word prompt – Grip

Rhyming is like a pencil grip. I started to write poetry in forms and rhymes which guided me and trained me in discipline.

I long ditched the once safe guard. I figured that if I kept walking with a crutch, I hardly walk in freedom.

There are still times I rhyme, given the word chosen is the best fit to the line. There is comfort in knowing a satisfying piece of work finds its way back to basic, the pencil grip.

Lockdown Freedom

warm sun radiates 
through the blue sky
the perfect match of
bitter coffee
and raisin toast
make an irresistible 
delight

my mind colours 
the day
in happy notes
played in 
paradise

imagination gives wings
hovering above
four walls
my spirit leaps
disguised as 
a dragonfly

Let's go 
outside
in daylight
counting each moment
alive
a gift
of surprise



A Battered Coin

he lost his value
battered and bruised
lying wasted in a laneway

she saw him
and was so happy
to pick him up
and make him
her luck penny

he hated to be soaked
in vinegar and salt
she scrubbed him shining
he became her treasure

Silence as Rejection

We can't communicate with silence.
Silence makes everything paused.

We can't make peace in silence.
Silence is a punishment for a decision we made.

We can't reconcile in silence.
Silence choke all the good memory we shared.
We can't celebrate the good times in our past alone.

Now you have your silence.
We have rejection.

Unsure

I am not sure
if I ever
want forever

good dreams 
end in waking
real dreams
never come true

I am only sure
of this moment
if my heart 
feels warm 
and fuzzy
if my mind
is at peace

I am not sure
how to live
in tomorrows
when it comes
to the issue 
of my heart
and the matter
of love

Small Variation

This is written for The Living Poetry August visual prompt

Butterfly is a halo effect.
The B word lands on one's lips.
It becomes hope and triumph.

One should take a closer look.
Not all butterflies are born equal 
or fly in resurrected freedom.
Some are more splendor in looks.
Some are midiocre at best.
Some are just ugly moths die trying hard.

Butterfly is a spectrum.
Butterfly effect lies in the small details.

Limitless

This is written for Vague Souls Unite weekly prompt.

What if, the sky isn't the limit?
When the kite broke off to fly
without the string to guide
flying even higher
beyond sight
Limitless
is its hope
to dance freely
without restriction
let no untrained hand to limit
its eager creativity from breaking free

The Forbidden Fruit

the cast iron farm bell calls in the fruit pickers
a wholesome lunch with colourful seasonal fruits
spreading on a quiet embroidered pastoral tablecloth

they are just a bunch of jovial young lads
scoffing down a meal 
bantering as dessert

but you
you are reserved
quietly crunching on a Granny Smith 
fixated on an open book 
at the edge of the sun

they don't get you
you come freshly in the morning 
sharp witted in a checkered shirt
with a tinge of bitterness
aloof to the rest

so they call you 'Pomelo'
somewhat endearing
and you like it
for it is forbidden

Empathy

She begs the sun to bleach her brain
Too many diseases, disorders
Too much hatred and grief
She endures with them

Their trauma cuts into her green aura
Slices her past open through the bolted door
Rusty locks and cracked timber

She feels cold feet on dirty soil
The dampness of moss infested walls 
The mind torturing plop of the dripping tap
How her porcelain face longs for the gentle sun

Her world is split into two
She is the bridge, the hand 
to carry them from then to now
she resists the grip of the past
"Hold on to the warm sun" she whispers

Before her eyes
The dark shadows, dim cellar, cold winter 
fading and peeling off like chalk drawings

She begs the sun to bleach her brain
laying golden shimmers on canvas
filled with light and warmth