Ladybug, Where Are You Going?

Haiku, 3 Parts

Photo by Alexander Andrews via Unsplash

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

If I Were A Flower

red blue and yellow abstract painting
Art by Steve Johnson via Unsplash

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.

A Peaceful Mission

Photo by Pietro De Grandi via Unsplash

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”.

talking to the sun while the moon eavesdrops

sunmoondance
Art by Jr Korpa via Unsplash

 

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.

Mercy

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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Sandy Knight


The reciprocity of fate

Photo by Max Kleinen on Unsplash

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.

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