A Drop of Water… #poetry #unity

drop drop

Were I a bird on the wing

I would perform

an aria I would sing

you would marvel

at the tone

on the limb

I perch alone


Were I a fish in a stream

I would dazzle with colors

blue, red, green

against the current

I would go

never motivated

by the flow



Were I a drop of water in a lake

formed together

community we’d make

linked together

you and me

beautiful ripples

flowing toward the sea






“He that commends me to mine own content
Commends me to the thing I cannot get.
I to the world am like a drop of water
That in the ocean seeks another drop,
Who, falling there to find his fellow forth,
Unseen, inquisitive, confounds himself:
So I, to find a mother and a brother,
In quest of them, unhappy, lose myself.”
William Shakespeare, The Comedy of Errors


Today’s prompt at Poet’s United is Unity.


The Rose and the Thorn #poetry

dew speckled rose

I am but a worm on this leaf

I look upon two sides of the world

she is a beauty

full of life, a treasure

fanning hope and peace

he is a devil

piercing the sky with pain

injustice and anger

are his middle name

I am but a worm on this leaf

“In matters of truth and justice, there is no difference between large and small problems, for issues concerning the treatment of people are all the same.”

Albert Einstein

“But I am a worm and not a man, scorned by everyone, despised by the people.”

Psalm 22:6

The prompt for Poets United Midweek Motif is Justice or Poetic Justice. I will take poetic license and give a voice to the worm.

Photograph: Rose called ‘Peace

Running Friends #parable #running #AtoZchallenge #children

There were two friends. They were similar in many ways. They were both very good runners.

They would get up at 5 each morning and spend time together running.

Running was so wonderful; they both decided  to run in a race.

The two friends entered and they tied which was no surprise to any who had known them.

The newspaper wrote about the two friends as they were the fastest runners.

They ran more races.

They always tied.

One friend was happy to run for the fun and friendship.

The other friend secretly cut out each picture and article from the newspaper.

One friend  wanted to be better than the other.

she had friends do mean things before meets to her friend.

once – something was put in her water that made her sick

one person tripped the friend. she ran with bruises and a headache.

Her attitude never changed.

She was happy when her friend started winning.

The other friend was bitter and resentful of her friend

The mantra “Winning is everything” filled her heart

The friend loved racing and met others who she could run with for the joy of running

the other friend in time lost most of her races

She came to realize her friend had made her look good

without her she was a loser

Parables are valuable ways to learn lessons without directly informing another of a personal “failing.” Parables are tools to train children; Jesus told parables to teach adults who were unable to look at themselves honestly. This parable is in part true as it reflects two friends of mine who were brothers. One brother was a talelnted singer the other younger brother became a state champion (runner). He never cared that the papers wrote about him week after week. The older brother could not stand the fact that his brother was better known publically than himself.
I am a published children’s author. In my writings, I have written booklets for children with lessons or parables written in short story form.

Grandmother’s Wisdom #atoz #parable


‘I still am reminded of grandmama’s words of wisdom when I was a child” I told my children at the dinner table.

“It is the smallest thing that grows so big ” she told me when I was still quite teachable.

“Yes what is that grandmama?”
“It is a mustard seed, of course, grandchild.”

I’m certain I looked unimpressed for I had never seen such a seed nor cared to. Afterall what was a seed compared to something I squirted on a burger?

She always understood me and went on for she evidently had a reason.”This may look small and unimportant but this seed will grow into a large plant. The mustard plant not only large renders a spicy flavor that many enjoy. I know a child who would not enjoy her burger half as much…”

She held a seed almost reverently as she said “It reminds me of the intentions of words. We can say such a small word of encouragement to someone  but it can have an importance in that person’s day as it builds them up; perhaps molding an event in their lives. ”

I shook my head in affirmation knowing how often her small words of kindness had made a difference in my life and the lives of others.

“In addition, the smallest of words unkindly delivered can put a person into a nasty mood or worse they can feel unworthy, unloved. And then what if that mood causes that person to do something harmful?”

Was she speaking of the unkind thing I had just that morning yelled at my older sister? I hung my head.

“When we look upon the mustard seed let us  remember how to use our words. Hopefully we will be reminded to deliver small kindnesses. Who knows my child perhaps that kindness will grow as large as a tree.”

I smiled to my little ones knowing that a grandmother’s kind words had done much in cultivating this life I now lived.

The Parable of the Man with the Boxes

Origami boxes

There was a man who had a life. It may not have been a good life or one filled with love – still it was a life. In that life was a wife and a child; they made life meaningful or so the story goes. One day a terrible wind came and took the wife away; then a car drove up and took the little girl. The man knew that his wife and his little girl were out there somewhere in the world; he just did not know where. The wind and the car had torn his heart and taken the things that were most precious to him.

The man vowed that nothing could hurt him, like the storm and the car, ever again.  The memories of his wife and his child were too painful. He bought two boxes and put the memories of his wife in one box and the memories of his child in the second box. “I will visit these boxes when the memories are no longer painful,” he said. There were moments he wanted to hug the boxes – but he didn’t.

Time went on and the memories faded. The man carried the boxes with him but never opened them. He no longer needed the memories. He met another woman. “Instead of being alone this will be better,” he thought. Now he would be able to stack the boxes away without a thought. They had several children. He loved each of them; they made him smile with their youthful glee. Then one day a big man came and grabbed his wife. The children reluctantly followed like ducks in a row. “Goodbye daddy we love you, ” they called. He tried to see his children through a fog but the big man and the woman were replaced by Ogers. The ogres prevented him from seeing or talking to those he loved most. The pain was so great that he could feel his chest pulsating. He opened his chest,  found his heart was crushed, and torn open.

The man bought five boxes this time. His wife he carefully laid in the first box. He kissed each child as he laid them down in another box. The lid of the last box waited to be replaced. He put his heart in the fifth box. “I will visit these boxes when the memories are no longer painful,” he said. There were moments that he wanted to hug the boxes that contained the memories of his children. Several times he heard his heart calling to him. “Please put me back- I am dying.”  He resisted.

The man no longer cared what happened to him; no one cared about him or his memories. He was reckless. He laughed and said “this is the new me and those boxes can never hurt me again.” For a time he was put in a cage for his recklessness. Nothing could hurt him. Not really. Sometimes he would feel the tug of the scars where his heart had been but not often. There were other caged men who had  torn their hearts out as well. They mocked misery. They scorned love,  feelings, and life.

The man was released from his cage but was still treated like a caged man. He went from place to place carrying his boxes with him- never opening them. “If they want to hug me they must open the boxes themselves,” he would grumble. The boxes never did. They were boxes after all and never knew how to open themselves.

One of the boxes cried for help; it was one of the first boxes. He opened the box. Inside was his daughter added to the box were her two sons. They reached up their arms. He called down and said” I will help if I can.” For a time he would keep the box open and talk to the three in the box. He fed them, protected them, and was just taking them out of the box when his daughter called out ” close the box. Leave me alone! I don’t want you anymore. Where were you all the years I lived in the box and cried?” she chastised him. The two boys reluctantly watched their grandfather reluctantly close the lid. A big tear fell down the man’s cheek.  If he heard her voice, he would peak inside. “Do you want help?” “No – go away!” He hated the lid and taped it down. He heard the boys and would talk to them through the box but little by little the box became silent.

At the same time, he had gained a friend. Though he was reluctant to call anyone a friend. The voice of a million letters had to prove herself. She liked things that he liked. They shared days on end about their  love of music, art, poetry, philosophy. He started hearing sounds that he thought were gone from the world. A word he had struck from his mind surfaced –” Hope.” He talked – she listened. She talked – he listened. His hands were inspired to create again. He heard her laughter ; he started to laugh as well. He could feel the ocean breeze and soaked in the golden rays of the sun. He felt as though he was falling but he didn’t know where.

He tried to push this feeling away;then he would try to pull it towards him. His mind kept saying ‘there’s gotta be a catch…” His words could be angry. The voice of a million letters was still there. He saw the words plainly in front of him. “I love you!” He shook his head, “that feeling can never be mine again. ” He bought another box meaning to put the words in the box to save himself but he didn’t.

Months went by; he looked at the words. One by one he took  the words “I love you” and held them. They were soft and kind. He felt a foreign beat, in his chest, that had been missing. His mind tried to jump in and say “there’s gotta be a catch…” He didn’t listen this time. He sent the words “I love you” back to her. He started to dream, to believe – so did she. The voice of a million letters was like a lifeline; he felt he could do anything as long as he held on to her. He could get used to being loved – maybe.

“It may be awhile” the voice of a million letters said “but I will be with you. My words depend on you.” He could be patient. He wanted to throw the empty box away but he didn’t. He wanted to throw all the boxes away but they were somehow attached to him now. There were some hard days. He needed a home and there was no place. The voice of a million letters would have given him a home but she had none. All she could give him was the three words. So he looked for some place for him and someday for her. A friend offered him a roof. He was grateful. So was his lifeline of words-  she wanted him to be safe and warm.

She didn’t know what it was maybe it was the roof or maybe he couldn’t trust the three words. He changed. He started throwing words at her. Instead of laughter, there was a roar.  The words were unkind and they meant to hurt. What he didn’t see is the words became arrows; when they reached her they pierced her. She cried out in pain. He couldn’t hear. He looked at the words “I love you” and threw them in the vacant box. He heard the mocking “I told you there’s gotta be a catch…”

The voice of a million words felt her heart hit a cold hard bottom of something like a dark pit. “Maybe he just needs time to get used to the roof,” she sighed.  She washed the words ” love you” and placed them close to her. She would not give up. She could still be the friend he needed, maybe somehow still be hope. She knew about the boxes and knew he had suffered great pain. Then it happened – the thing that had brought them together, their creativity – their words of inspiration were thrown into the box with a thud. In some ways, that hurt more than her words of love being cast into the pit. “What more can he throw in that box?” she wondered. “Me” was the answer. So to prevent him from any more pain she threw herself into the box and pulled the lid closed tight. He would never even know she was gone. The voice of a million words would be gone and that would be that. He would go on with life like before. There would only be one  difference; he would have eight boxes instead of seven that he would carry with him.

He was angry at the eighth  box. He would hold it close then throw it far from him. One day he had enough. He decided the only way to rid himself of her was to despise her, to hate her, to blame her for the other boxes.  He threw all his hate and anger at the eighth box. In a short time, the box no longer existed. No sound, no words -just emptiness.

What had he done? he asked himself as he picked up remnants of the eighth box and pulled them close. He started to remember back to the beginning.

One day a person asked him what were all the boxes that he carried with him.

“Memories. Boxes full of memories,” he said lovingly.

In the end, he realized the box he had destroyed had loved him. She had encouraged him to love the seven boxes;  so much so that she gave herself up for him. He would always love her for helping him to remember. As he spoke to the seven boxes, he said the words he knew the voice of a million letters would have said.

The Tenth Daughter of Memory is a writing blog that creates a rich writing environment for serious writers. Come join us. The prompt this time was There’s Gotta Be a Catch

Thank you to MammaOca for the wonderful boxes


Parable of Two People

I’ll tell you a parable

this one’s ironically true

of two people

shared an interest

as people often do


He spoke with  words

she from her heart

drew strength

from each other


from the start


People often say

friendships ebb and flow

of that there is truth

they would surely know


His mind was deep

inspired her along

her’s were caring

melodic like a song


Now things have altered

he’s made a new start

she happy for him

but the friendship’s

pulled apart