Bedazzle

night sky unfolding
whispers coming from beyond
speaks an oracle
of divine engendering
wise ancient stars bedazzle

©2022 July Day

tanka

Written for Moonwashed Weekly Prompt–Bedazzle: https://amanpan.blog/2022/09/13/moonwashed-weekly-prompt-bedazzle-september-13-2022/

Image by Evgeni Tcherkasski from Pixabay

Thirsty

lightning forks black sky
punctures purple, pregnant clouds
quenches poor, parched earth

©️2021 July Day

haiku

Posted for Fandango’s Flashback Friday: https://fivedotoh.com/2022/09/09/fandangos-flashback-friday-september-9th/

Image by Greg Bierer from Pixabay

The Unknown

Galaxies beguile and beckon,
Mouths of black holes yawn.
I face the unknown, bent of body, but bright of mind,
Not fearing the coming dawn

Of old age that comes
To all stars, planets, and man.
I face the unknown, time sifting through my fingers
Like grains of silvered sand.

©2017 July Day

Image by Florian Steinberger from Pixabay

Glide

Gilded clouds glide, passing me by.

Dream-ships sailing darkening sky,

Steering toward a distant place

Not found by maps, but by grace.

Do they hear my sorrowful sigh?



I watch their fleet, tears in my eyes—

Oh, how I wish that I could fly,

My lonely eagle soul, embrace.

Gilded clouds glide.



In their wispy hearts, I descry,

I’m not worthy of a Shanghai,

Not worthy to share their blest space.

Passing from sight, leaving no trace,

They whisper on the wind…goodbye.

Gilded clouds glide.



©️2022 July Day



rondeau

Written for Moonwashed Weekly Challange–Gilded: https://amanpan.blog/2022/09/06/moonwashed-challenge-gilded-september-6-2022/

Image by Claudio Kirner from Pixabay

More Sunflowers

Look there...
Beside the stream
Lovely heads wave gaily
Sunflowers say, heat's on the way--
Summer!

©2022 July Day

American cinquain

These two watercolor paintings I completed a while back are my last hurrah to sunflowers and summer for the year. I hope. 🙂 I’m more than ready for fall.

Sunflowers

golden sunflowers
burnished orange by August’s gaze
summer winding down

©2022 July Day

haiku

Image by vargazs from Pixabay

The Barn Cats

(A heads-up for people who prefer their fiction in small bites–this story is about 5,000 words.)

As far back as I can remember, I enjoyed going to my grandparents’ house. It was little more than a large shack, even older than the house I lived in with my parents, sister, and brother. It was the outside, though, that called to us—the valley falling off to the left and the branch that rambled along its bottom; the steep hill rising on its other side, topped by a stand of woods that went on forever; the hayfields at the bottom of a slope to the back, their waving grasses reaching to a canebrake that bordered a wide creek; the ancient barn perched on the valley’s edge where Brother, Sister, and I played many a rainy day. And the corncrib next to it.

But we weren’t allowed to play there.

Before they came to stay with us, the barn cats lived in that corncrib. We heard but never saw them. The farm animals avoided the corncrib as well. Maybe it was the strange noises the cats made, more growl than hiss, that kept everyone and everything away from it. Except Grandma, and Grandpa before he died two years ago. All Brother, Sister, and I knew was the cats killed rats, mice, and snakes, so were tolerated but were to be avoided. Grandma said they were feral, were familiar with only her and grandpa, and they could hurt people they didn’t know.

Grandma died less than two years after Grandpa. Daddy found her sitting in her rocker on the front porch, stone-cold dead, when he went to visit her late one afternoon. I recall it being hot summertime, and as he did every day, Daddy had gone to take her a plate of food covered with tinfoil from the supper Mama had made.

I didn’t remember the event well, being as I was only six at the time. My main memory of Grandma’s death was a long, black car showing up and taking her body away while we kids looked on. I peeked from behind Mama’s dress tail; Brother and Sister were older than me, eleven and nine respectively, and didn’t shy away. Maybe because they had seen more of death than I had. Though I didn’t, both remembered when Grampa had also been carted off in a different black car up the rocky, dirt road that eventually led to town.

While we were watching the long car jostle and bounce over the rocks, Daddy said to Mama, “I’ll have to come back and get the barn cats. They’re our responsibility now.”

Mama sighed, “I know.” Continue reading “The Barn Cats”

Wings

the wings are still there
propped in a dark corner
of a forgotten room
since childhood

shaggy and moth-eaten
dull gray with dust
feathers drooping
beneath Time’s weight

they whisper of a dream
where anything is possible
where I can fly
if only I believe

and possess a child’s courage
to strap on gossamer wings
constructed of innocence and faith
and leap blindly into space

©2018 July Day

free verse



Image by Alan from Pixabay

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