Photo Challenge #66 “The Waiting” and Wordle #160

The Waiting_ZemotionZemotion

I press the water

From my veins

These unshed tears

Will not dilute me.

Mourning settles into

Vanishing dreams.

Though clumsy

The swing is true,

An axe falling helter-skelter

Through a glass moon.

Whenever your ghost lands

I will listen.

Your name shatters

At my diaries’ precipice.

Though your utter mention

Rubs me raw,

I will not relinquish the sky,

These consequences,

The price of breathing

In a room ten sizes too small.




Wordle 40 “Bankrupt”

Wordle 40 Dec. 22

The sun shrinks,


Like a bead of sweat

Behind a linen blouse.

The once wed mother

Swallows a desert

The vile, grainy tears

That hold fast their parapets.


She is bankrupt

While he lies deep

Sound but without ventilation

In the monochrome spectrum

Of her scorpion heart.


That he should die first

That his vices should

Diminish her now

That he should steal

From their children

With debts not their own

Steadies her sentimental yearnings.


A drumbling man

A cactus whose love

Hath no measure

For to chance upon it

Brings only pain

She grits her teeth

And this too is mourning.


A very quick write.

Immortal and Requiem (2 100 word stories)


Skin assuming a glacial chill and pallor, her pulse collapsed again and again despite my resistance. Death needs no invitation for there is no one who could deny, for long, his occupancy. I knew that he would come, for he has stripped my heart of every possibility. Yet even as I kneel upon this granite altar, an ancient man, he does not claim me. I, as Methuselah, am tied to the earth and shall within her womb remain unfinished. When she is gone the universe will turn my ashes into tempestuous stars that I may be birthed, a hostage, again.



She fell upon the wind like a carrion. Her soul so deeply entrenched that on him she unwittingly preyed. He could find no diversion, for her absence possessed such an abiding presence. In every stranger he discerned an inferior semblance and in every sunset the promise of eternal sleep.

So devoted were his hands to grief that he could find no reason to persevere.

In the shadow of an obelisk, he composed the final verse of a joint requiem. Suicide was but a formality for in truth he was already dead and beside her coffin, his was sympathetically placed.


My first attempt at a 100 word story not an easy task as I tend toward excess