Sentries
night’s
ache drips full scope,
lights
suspended, pure small dots
of living
sensation blinking out
to the
lost, all the wanderers
on their own
searching, unfound.
The trees
stand sentry on the lake,
still and
steady, not breaking lines.
They are
the watchers of the dark,
this pristine
place, displaced art.
The pool
collects light, its rays
trickle
from the sky like silk,
splashing
in a steady tune to water,
sinking and
spreading night’s word.
This one was written for JD Mader's 2minutesgo writing exercise on his website Unemployed Imagination. Head over there every weekend to write, read, or comment, or all of them! This one is about a tree. Cheers :)
Tree
It boughs
over peacefulness,
water
caught without a drift.
No ripples
disturb the surface,
only sound
without movement.
Songs of birds
spill over boughs
curling in
a half-circle arch;
they cast
reflections in the scope,
sketches of
wings and feathers.
This tree stretches
due north.
It moves
like a dancer, poised,
almost
skeletal black against light,
its fingers
twisting the chill air.
Beyond, the
white clouds pirouette,
drawing lines
before dusk blows in.
Copyright Vickie Johnstone, May 28, 2021
Morning! It’s 11.11. Is that a good luck hour? I wrote these for 2minutesgo on JD Mader’s Unemployed Imagination website. If you are in the mood to write or read other people’s flash fiction and poems, head over to his place. It’s open all weekend for your creative input. See you there! http://www.jdmader.com/2020/10/2-minutes-go.html
It’s your right
It’s
your right
to write
whatever
you like,
pursue
your passions,
dispel
the night,
create a
life anew
within
your space,
reconnect
yourself
with yourself,
find a
way
to be
more true
to who
you are,
living
together,
breathing
alone.
Wake up
A freefall,
sinking, glitter-wrapped,
enticed
happenings, unforgiven
streaks of
memory. Scuffed cards
shuffle unplayed.
Pass them forward.
Time dripped
out. White cloud spirals
shot to
the wind. We curve, recoil.
It eats
itself out from the inside,
no room to
turn. A hollow ball
bounces against
the wall. You missed
the second
it impacted. Red card.
It boils
over and over. Cabbage leaves,
veined,
your organic heart line
bloodless.
Cavities seeking to be filled,
unfilled,
always to remain emptied.
Faces
fade, places get up and move on,
brick walls
demolish. Watch the light tube
flicker
pictures, asleep. A conveyor belt
of ideas
you never had. You fade out,
but you
could wake up, turn it off
and listen
to the wide, wild air.
Copyright Vickie Johnstone, October 10 and October 9, 2020
