A Quiet Corner

Hushed explosions and rapid gunfire
Leak out from the living room
Rap rumbles Upstairs
as heavy footed children tumble
A frustrated dishwasher clatters
While the comforter-laden washer lumbers towards a raucous freedom

I walk

Along a winding cobblestones of plots
Behind a fortress of verses listening to the
Voices chitter in the thicket of my keys

In a quiet corner of my own,
I write.

Honey

Bees offer honey far more than stings.
Ginger green tea
Hot and biting
Comfort to my raw throat
I sip.
Warmth pools in my chilled chest
My mug is not as heavy as I feel
I’m no bee but
I work and serve
I hurt and sting
I feed and provide
I heal to be hurt again
In a tight frenetic circle
In a relentless loop

I empty my cup
now cold
Gulping down to the bitter dregs and wish for honey.

S.S. Manifest

New home
This lifeless sphere
Made ours by blood, sweat, will
Our children will range across the stars
Endless

“Today’s writing prompt was to write an American Cinquain, a five line poem with the syllable structure 2-4-6-8-2, on connections. I suck at poems. My mind is walking through my last piece, New Sheriff in Town. This poem written by a crew member on the first colony ship to Enceladus, second moon of Saturn.