The Knowing Arch

When leaves turn gold,


Copyright -Jennifer Pendergast

I know that their time has come.

With roses for cheeks

And chirping laughter,

I watch them enter in loud hordes.


The sky grows dark,

Eclipsed by pearly clouds.

Fragile branches sag under heavy ice;

Bags droop under tired, learned eyes.

I watch as hordes become silent clusters.


Snow melts. Unveils

Emerald leaves no longer burdened.

With roses back on their cheeks,

Straight backs, relieved shoulders,

I watch as one by one they leave, triumphant.

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Changing Self


[ changó ] / Foter / CC BY-NC-ND

A long thin shadow stretches before me.

I step forward.

The shadow contorts.

Another step.

Another metamorphosis.

It is shapeless now,

I can’t recognize my reflection anymore.

I’m no longer me.

For Trifextra: A 33 word piece inspired by the photo above.  Mine is 31 words long.  Oh well.  Thanks for stopping by.


With Love, Uranus

5894832_origI saw her rising out of chaos, her emerald green eyes fixed on me, her mountainous bosom bare and long cascading curls of earthy brown billowing, held down only by a wreath of lavender, like a crown on her regal head.  She smiled and I was smitten. But when with her lips, warm and welcoming she kissed me, I became hers completely.

We had children, many.  I couldn’t get enough of her.  Neither she of me, for a while.  She liked my eyes, she said.  She called them stars because they sparkled, especially in the dark.

It was our children that undid us in the end.  Some beautiful, some cunning, some terrible and all strong, I hid those that were deformed, cruel and depraved.  I didn’t want her to see.  I was protecting her, I thought.  But therein was my mistake.  She was their mother; she loved them all.  She found out and despaired.  In her agony, she turned leaves from jade to ruby, then fell from trees like rusty tears.   She turned her back on me after that even though I’m always here, waiting with my arms open, craving her embrace.

Gaia, love

Look up, subdue my endless yearning

Love me as before


This week I write after almost a week and a half of posting absolutely nothing.  My work schedule was – is – crazy, but I did manage a to mix a little work and play when I sneaked to Stockholm for a business trip last week – and that is one charming city!

Last challenge I took up before this one was the Trifextra – What does Summer mean to Trifectans.  I did my post, but then forgot to link up! So if you want to see it at all, you can just click here; My Mediterranean Summer.

For this week, since it’s been so long, I have joined together two challenges: Trifecta with the word Rusty and Līgo Haibun where this week we celebrate nature and incorporate two pictures into our post.

It was difficult, but I thought I needed the challenge after such a long break from writing — I didn’t want to get rusty *ultra exaggerated wink and double nudge*

As for my post, all my research into the mythology behind the piece came from my favourite encyclopaedia but still I ignored most of the page (I hope Herodotus is not turning in his grave!)  As for you, I hope you like the piece.

Whoosh, Zoom, Crash

That thought again, recurring.

Brain clutches at it,

Eyes glaze over,

What lies ahead, ignored.

A car comes forward

fast, unseen.


Steering wheel, useless.



One errant thought.

Two souls departed.

Target: Trifextra

The Challenge: Exactly 33 words including an onomatopoeia

Aim: Fun

Acknowledgement:  Thank you Trifecta for placing me 3rd place in last week’s challenge; I really, really appreciate it 😀 (kisses)

End note: Hope you like this week’s post as well.



The Boys of the Somme

They marched with a cry,

To the war of the century,

The one to end all.


The charge broke.

Two fronts met.


The cry became a whisper;

A million souls departed.

A million dreams lost.


This weekend Trifecta is asking for exactly 33 words plus the following three words:

  • charge
  • century
  • lost

I thought I’d do one and offer it for the men who died at the Somme.  I know it’s an old war, almost a century old, but I have always found that particular battle heartbreaking.  Maybe because of Wilfred Owen’s writings, or maybe just because I can picture any one of the million men, the million boys who died in the mud next to a river that turned red, as either one of my siblings; marching off to manhood, brainwashed into thinking that they are fighting a war that would end all wars, only for them to waste away and have the same blood and carnage repeated just two decades later.