Haiku, 3 Parts
little ladybug
where are you going today?
to heaven and back
or just someplace safe?
can you take me with you, please?
I’m good company
I’ll offer you peace
as you become my savior
withered-weather friend
Said blue to the flower, “If I were you,
I’d scatter my petals across the nation–giving
everyone a piece of me.”
The flower looked on, bent its stem,
and scolded blue. “But, you are not
me. You are in the sky, of the ocean,
and the feeling of broken hearts.
I am what people pick when
they want to see a smile on
their loved ones’ faces. I am
fresh pine in the midnight hour,
A statement for a dying soul. I am
lilac & jasmine, clover & rose–the
depth of beauty on a toddler’s fingertips.”
blue listened, eager to understand–yearning
to know just why the flower was so special.
“I am God’s explanation for tears
buried in the sand. You could never be
me, not even if you tried endlessly.”
And with that, blue sat alone with its thoughts.
Its heart beat faster and its eyes grew tired.
The sun tilted its head, leaned over blue’s face,
and lit up its life.
“Maybe I can be the sun,” blue thought.
They piled their things onto the ship, headed for a distant land, one where the violence of their homestate would never follow them. Captain Heras assured them of safety and provided everything needed for their journey. On the side of the ship, painted in gold: “#Ubuntu“.
This is another Twitter prompt response. Word of focus: “Ubuntu”.
clouds break before noon,
the wind rushes in and
the two of us sit with
the chill as if
tomorrow plans on
beating around the bush
about showing up.
I hold his hand.
he brushes against
my sun-beaten skin and
tries to steal a moment
with my eyes.
we sit in the glow of
a freshly splattered rain,
sun peeking its head out
while drops fall–Devil’s
beating his wife.
I don’t want to miss
a second of his
green-eyed stare.
I watch the moon as
it hurries in between
sibling clouds, its
intent is clear.
it’s here to stop
our show.
tonight, there will be
no encore.
Sandy has such an intuitive and forthright mind. She’s also quite bold in her delivery and I love her writing for these things. I read this poem and I can see the imagery, feel the intensity, and respect the ending. It connects. She creates connection.
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As dawn breaks
over another day of uncertainty
silent comes the moth unbidden
from the cornered shadows
of my bedroom
frantic wings flee the dark.
I see not an intruder but
a fateful refugee
perhaps sent to probe
the virtuous nature
of a heart flush with fortune.
I cup my hands gently
around the winged creature
knowing it would be far less
trouble to drop it
in the toilet
into a watery grave,
it’s only a moth, after all.
Yet its wings
beat against my palms
not with a threat
but with a plea;
our connection is complete
in this moment
the moth and me
need only one thing — mercy
Sandy Knight, ©2020 All rights reserved.
