Salty succotash and pencil toppers

Pencil topper stew
just wouldn’t do,
but that was all she had
to feed her crew.

So she went to the store
to buy some beans,
but the brand she wanted
were all bursting at the seams.

So she thought for a minute
about what to do
because bursting beans
would need some sort of glue.

The corn looked good,
so she settled on that,
and then she went home
and put it all in a big vat.

By early that evening,
she had an amazing brew,
and even though a tad bit salty,
it was still a hearty stew.

Her kids were all grateful,
and with tummy’s filled to the brim,
they all settled down
to watch some Grimm.

It wasn’t very long
before the kiddies all crashed,
so she nestled them in their beds
while they dreamt of succotash.

Before long, it was her turn
to finally drift away,
catching the midnight train to dreamland;
she was at last gone on a holiday.

© 2021 Michelle Cook


Photo credit: https://pixabay.com/photos/candle-extinguished-smoke-wick-2358276/

Writing prompt: Salty succotash and pencil toppers

Jonathan Michael was his name

If only I could’ve held him
Seen his lovely little face
But fate intervened
And he was lost
without a trace

I wonder what could’ve been
Our lives will never be the same
Some things we miss forever
And Jonathan Michael
was his name

© 2020 Michelle Cook


Photo credit: https://pixabay.com/photos/love-clouds-romance-sky-romantic-1381420/

Writing prompt: Jonathan Michael was his name

One Unsympathetic Night

 

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There was a time, long long ago,
when grief consumed and controlled me.
Desperate thoughts and delusions
carpeted the walls of my mind.
And if memory serves me correctly,
it all began one unsympathetic night.

I was lost in empty thought.
Resting quietly,
against the old familiar comforts,
which only a saggy, depleted featherbed can give.

But powdered blue notions,
ran rampant that eve,
spinning a trap, right in front of my eyes.
And nothing could have prepared me
for the ambush; I was about to face.

Typically, I have always been on the offensive,
but that night, I was taken by complete surprise.
It seemed as if a tornado,
one filled with erratic and overemotional thoughts,
had somehow landed on top of me.

I felt my chest tighten,
surrounded by every last unfortunate thought I’d ever had.
Even the cuckoo down the hall
seemed to chime a little less enthusiastically
as I wrestled with my mind.

Every hope, wish, dream,
seemed to vanish into thin air.
I was left nauseated by midnight blue reflections,
and I laid there motionless,
desperately waiting for dawn to arrive.

At first light, I knew something was still terribly off.
I became temporarily crippled,
the fear of ignorance—all-consuming.
The overwhelming feelings,
ones comprised of dolor and distress,
clung to the recesses of my troubled heart.
I was quite literally suffocating,
in-between swells of uncertainty.

It wasn’t long before mama came looking for me.
I must’ve had the look of death itself,
as the light in her eyes
grew instantaneously dim.

Mama worked to make sense of my sickly state,
and I tried to give her all that remained of my spirit.
But my half-smile looked more like a frown,
and there was just no way of deflecting
all the worry situated in her gaze.

I knew right then and there;
mama had recognized my face as her very own.
It seemed the dispiritedness in our humble abode
had finally caused the undulating waters to reach me.

As I now reminisce,
recalling the details of that one unsympathetic night,
I realize just how long it’s taken for the floodwaters to recede.
And even though the waves have since quieted,
I am still not the same girl I once was.

© 2020 Michelle Cook


Photo credit: https://pixabay.com/photos/sleep-bed-sheets-covers-comforter-839358/