Regarding life

Life can blow in gentle wisps
or suddenly seize the day
in consternation.
So whenever I sense a billowy riff,
I look to the sky for clarification.
Of course, I realize that many storms
pass without peril,
and there is often radiance
after the rain.
But when a particularly vile storm
causes all the flowers to sag,
I know each one understands me.

© 2021 Michelle Cook


Photo credit: https://pixabay.com/photos/sunflower-flowers-plant-helianthus-4339701/

Gibberish gents and dog-eared doohickies

I once spent a tarnished red cent
for a man who was undeniably hell-bent
on being an obnoxious
and gibberish gent.

And I knew for certain
I shouldn’t have wasted my token,
but I felt so sorry
when the man’s doohickey became broken.

To this day, I still wonder
if I’ll ever finally learn
not to let a man’s problems be
of any of my concern.

© 2021 Michelle Cook


Photo credit: https://pixabay.com/photos/girl-woman-depression-3629520/

Writing prompt: Gibberish gents and dog-eared doohickies

The sorcerers staff and the wise child

With firmly shut eyes
and a flick of her wrist,
the incantation rolled easily
off the tip of her tongue.

And as she spoke
those gracious words,
a magical menagerie
of spinning sparks
flickered to life
in pulsating dances
radiating their resplendence
for all the world to see.

It was an unforgettable spectacle
worthy of wonder
which, would ultimately change
the course of time.

© 2021 Michelle Cook


Photo credit: https://pixabay.com/photos/sparkler-firework-celebrate-1835387/

Writing prompt: The sorcerers staff and the wise child

Foaming oceans and secret potions

Foamy, translucent blue swells
give birth to an abundance of tiny seashells.

A few find their path and scuttle away,
but many more find themselves lost in the vast array.

The stranded ones lie in crevices hoping they’ll be found
before the savage sea pounds them into the ground.

A few get noticed by curious little hands,
but most get tossed back into the abrasive sand.

The ones that survive are mostly made of pristine perfection
while the others bide their time in a constant state of rejection.

Silently they wish for secret potions that do not exist,
at last being pulled under, lost to the murky mist.

© 2021 Michelle Cook


Photo credit: https://pixabay.com/photos/water-surf-nature-sea-wave-ocean-3194377/

Writing prompt: Foaming oceans and secret potions

I remember that day…

I remember the way the branches
curled towards me that day,
the way they swayed to and fro.
It was something
beautifully unexpected,
a miracle of nature,
a divine curiosity.
And I remember standing there
in wide-eyed awe,
losing myself
to the sheer loveliness,
lost in a state
of childlike wonder.
Chills crept down my spine
in delightful little bits,
and goosebumps erupted
as a plethora
of tingling sensations
washed over me
from head to toe.
But the thrill
wasn’t meant to last,
and after one breathless sigh
I blinked,
and the exquisite array vanished.
That was when
the heaviness began to gather
at my feet,
and an unforeseen darkness
approached from a place
I’d never been.
As the winds altered
their direction,
everything changed.
And the wondrous splendor
of that unforgettable day
is still nowhere to be found.

© 2021 Michelle Cook


Photo taken: July 10, 2020 in Milton, WI

Loneliness

Loneliness
it comes in many forms
and I have known them all.
But I think the loneliest times
are when I’m surrounded
by a sea of expressionless faces.
Those empty-eyed, silent beings
always appear to be lost in
mind-numbing, alien-sweeping,
brain-snatching activity.
And if I stare intently enough,
focusing long and hard enough,
I can almost see those denatured
souls being surreptitiously sucked
out of every finger-tapping mortal
who has unknowingly fallen victim
to the technological advances
of our times.
It often leaves me queasy
and fearfully uneasy.
For I must admit that I too,
have fallen subject to the
interest of self-isolation
within the matrix.
Using it as a security blanket
for companionship
because community
no longer exists
within the confines
of my existence.
There are instances
when I do attempt
to turn the world around.
And with desperate breath
I try to disengage
from the illuminated rectangle
nestled nice and neat
between my pale palms.
But then loneliness sneaks in,
finding me once again.
And the screen in my hands
becomes the only life left
to be found.

© 2021 Michelle Cook


Photo credit: https://pixabay.com/photos/portrait-woman-black-and-white-2308893/