The Battle

Rain attacks through the latter night

Waves of merciless battalions

Dreams take off as if they're in flight

Upon their nightmarish stallions

I listen to its echoed tune

As it drums on the window pane

My memories will be coming soon

Dancing naked with the insane

Lady moon is modest tonight

Her brazen Helen figure veiled

I want to hold her regal sight

Because I myself somehow failed

I know the day will mask my scars

And dawn will camouflage the dust

Where three o'clock flooded my eyes

The sun will dry me into rust

In the morning I must emerge

If I am to survive this war

Even if I teeter at the verge

I'm further in than the day before

Challenge

Challenge of the Week LXXXVII

Descriptive Writing. One of the four foundational elements of the written word. You can write about anything you want, poetry or Prose; but make sure to focus on your descriptions. Whether you're describing a character, a setting, or an emotion, we want the imagery to leap out of the page. But tread lightly - there is such a thing as too much description. We're looking for that perfect balance. Imagery that sings, but doesn't scream.

AlyMay

31 reads

Morning Routine

In a typical human way, I suppose she's no longer beautiful. She doesn't paint her face anymore, her shoes aren't tall and her clothes are soft and loved, not slick or stiff. Not graceful. She walks slowly, each step deliberate, each step anticipated like she was hunting, but she's not. She's on her way to the kitchen for cereal, or chocolate. There's no challenge in this food. So I weave between her feet until she feels accomplished and agile in the hunt. She doesn't say thank you with a pet across my forehead. It's hard for her to bend down. Instead, she nudges me away with the purple cane spotted with flat flowers. We both feel accomplished. I follow on her heels until she's standing in the kitchen in case it's cereal and I need to remind her to pour a little extra milk for me.

A wisp of graying hair falls between her glasses and her eyes when she opens the fridge. She brushes it away with a hint of agitation. A hint of the fire she used to have when her hair was flaming ginger. I didn't know her then, but there are stories in the house if you listen while you pretend to sleep in the sliver of morning sunlight. That's when she and her male tell stories most. Not at night. At night they just watch the news and care about things they do nothing about.

She lifts up a thin bar of chocolate and we both stare at it. Her gaze drifts from the chocolate bar to her belly then back to the chocolate bar. She sighs and puts it back in the fridge exchanging it for something not milk. An egg. I rub against her ankles, reminding her of our morning routine. I can feel the cool air against my fur. It feels nice, so I stick my nose deeper between the fruit and close my eyes. She pushes me back with the purple cane so she can shut the door. I'm tempted to bite her ankle, but refrain. She wants the egg as much as I do, I can tell by the disappointment on her face.

"We're both getting fluffy," she says to me. She says it like it's a bad thing. Like her tummy wasn't the most perfect place to spend an afternoon. It was warm and lovely and if I purred loud enough I could feel happiness vibrate back to me. I sit down in protest and try to wipe the disgusted look off my face with the back of my paw. I have already decided I'm not going to talk to her until lunch. At lunch, it's ice cream or a ham sandwich. Maybe then she'll come to her senses and realize how beautiful to me she is and we can both be happy again.

Challenge

Challenge of the Week LXXXVI

Write about a blessing in disguise. A cloud with a silver lining. A time when an obstacle turned out to be a boon. Poetry or Prose, fiction or nonfiction.

AlyMay

26 reads

The Thank You Letter

I sit on the back porch, bare knees drawn up to my chest to protect my thighs from the chill of the summer evening. I sip on a full glass of Chardonnay given to me by a hand who just minutes ago brushed against my naked skin to dust away the anxiety of the day. A smile, a wink, a song we first danced to drifting over the candles to mingle with my laughter as a joke is spoken so carelessly it's funnier than it should have been. A kiss is placed diligently on my forehead and I smile.

After ten years of marriage, my dear husband, in this moment I am so happy. I finally feel the love I've always wanted from you. Thank you, from the bottom of my heart for throwing me away as if I was nothing so I could find someone who was everything I needed you to be and more.

Challenge

red? blue? alabaster? gold?... what is your favorite color, and why?

a 15-30 word challenge.

AlyMay

27 reads

Charcoal Gray

First line of graphite eager to become art. His smiling face dimmed by the finished day. Open stretch of road when I’ve lost my past. The things I didn't say.