Only the Blind May See

A quaint serenity fills the air,

A peacefulness that is so rare.

Gone is the busyness of the day,

Replaced with a sparkling sun ray.


A bubbling brook wanders by,

As modernity begins to die.

A simple hand upon a tree,

Proves that life is still free.


Worries disappear with every step,

Leaves crumbling like every fret.

Frightened wildlife begins to show,

As their faith begins to grow.


Such beauty paints a picture just for me,

A picture that only the blind may see.


Daily Prompt: Lookin’ Out My Back Door.

And Now a Message From Above

Well, You Did Ask For a Sign - God

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The only guarantee in life is that there are no guarantees. We’re always looking from guidance, hoping in some sign from above to let us know if we’re on the right path. Most of the time we’re just left second guessing ourselves.

Whether put there as someone’s message from God or just a minister’s quirky sense of humor, church signs can be profound or even amusing. I’ve been collecting church signs that have either tickled my funny bone or struck me as profound or simply struck me with improper grammar. Every Sunday I’ll be blogging about these church signs and what they mean to me.

Perhaps you’ll find your sign among them.

Dream’s End

Once upon a dream ago

Amid a cycle of suffering

Your high regard lit me a glow

However soon be my undoing


Your virtue was pure, your habits true

Or at least before you shone through


The image you create slowly begins to fall

Evidence gathering of the forgotten

Birthdays, anniversaries, events and all

The truth becomes a bandage of cotton


The cycle has ended, the gap has closed

My choice is made, the truth arose

I know now whose virtue was true

Only now time will lessen you

November 24, 2013 Sunday Wordle # 136

Faces on the Road

Scattered faces on the road

Blending all together

Hopeful faces

All sad

I should stop

I want to stop

Yet I can’t

Surely there are others

It’s not only me

I’m not alone of the road

I want to stop,

To give them a lift.

Yet I don’t,

So afraid yet filled with guilt

What if it were me?

I ask myself

As another face goes past.

Would I stop for myself?

It could be anyone.

A murderer. A rapist.

A tired single mother.

A worn out traveling father.



Still Guilt.


Daily Prompt: Sorry, I’m Busy.

Sunset to Dawn

Vibrant splashes coat the sky

Blues, purples, violet

Soon the sun seems to die

And my vision with it


Nature’s sumptuous works

Slowly disappear

Leaving Night’s hurts

And manipulative fear


In a single moment

The spread of effeciency

Becomes a vacuous element

The master of inadequacy


Nothing short of time

Before the Earth dawns again

Awakening in her sassy prime

Brightening each vivacious glen


Until then we sit and wait

While night’s slathers of fears

Try to extinguish our fate

As we cuddle little dears

Dragons in South Carolina

Blind shock. Dragons. In South Carolina. Fort Knox maybe. The gold was held there. Perhaps even to the west where the other gold mines were.

But South Carolina?

It seemed too ridiculous to consider. South Carolina was a poor, but proud state. Not in debt, but not rich. Not thickly populated with big cities, but a coast densely populated with tourists.

People were too much in shock to panic. Although the satellite news programs were already starting to report on rising waves of panicking citizens. All the practicing for hurricane evacuations was left behind as people flooded from the big cities.

The country people were much more practiced at this sort of thing. Shotguns and rifles were brought out and cleaned. Cocky rednecks boasted on how they would be the ones to bring the big monster down.

Meanwhile the small group of citizens that had prepared for this eventuality for so long gathered together in old metal armor. And still others began protesting the killing of such an endangered species.

Talks begin in the government to decide if the dragon is real and what it’s legal status is. Focus groups are started. Groups are lobbying in Washington. The President is taken into hiding.

Meanwhile the Unicorns breath a sigh of relief. At least it’s not us.

Okay What If Writing challenge: What if a dragon attacks?

What if? Weekly writing challenge

An Ode to Life

A leper, I walk day after day,

Misguided glances staring my way.

It’s protection. How I cannot see

Who is it protecting? You or me?

I want to cry, my path is long

To avoid the looks from the throng.

I long to tear this gauze and strings,

But the doctor’s voice still rings.

“You’re ill, susceptible to germs.”

One looks to me as poisonous worms.

“It might be contagious, we cannot be sure.”

A child sidles away. I can’t take much more.

I ask if it’s worth it,

this leprous life?

When every glance

is filled with strife?

To go home would be worse,

like an unquenchable thirst.

To see my love fuss

just to avoid my touch.

It’s protection. That’s what I’m told.

What life is there, just to grow old?

No one to hug, touch, hold, just see.

Who is this mask protecting? You or me?


Serial Story: Going Fishing

“You want me to do what?” Johnny just stared at his boss in shock. He had sworn never to do that again. Not after the last time.

“It’s simple, just go with the man. He likes fishing. You like fishing. It’s perfect!” Johnny instantly decided that his boss was fully and truly insane.

“I do not like fishing. I used to like fishing. There’s a big difference.” Johnny crossed his arms and tried to stare down his boss, but to no avail. The man had been clearly taken with the idea.

“You just had one bad experience. That couldn’t possibly happen again. I mean really, loosing your cell phone off the side of a bridge at night? And your companion just leaving you in the lurch like that? That’s just ridiculous.” Johnny frowned, but didn’t say anything. How could he when he hadn’t told the true story the first time around?

“Still,” he started, not quite willing to give up on hope of getting out of the situation. “Surely someone else can do it.”

“You’re the only one without plans or without ability. Besides…” The man paused and glanced around furtively. “I heard that there might be an opening in the executive offices. It would look good for you and I’d be happy to recommend you.” Johnny groaned. He’d been trying to get out of the ground floor of the complex for ages, but would it be worth the cost?

“If it helps I’ll even drop by before dark to check up on you. My daughter’s science fair should be over by then.”

“Fine,” Johnny muttered darkly. His boss clapped him on the shoulder happily.

“Great! I’ll set things up and call you this evening with the arrangements. I’ve been told he’s a really great guy. A real story teller.” The man turned and made his way to his plush office, leaving Johnny to head back to his own cubicle alone.

“So he suckered you, did he?”

Johnny looked over the cubicle maze to see one of his few friends, Melinda smirking at him.

“I don’t want to do it, but he made a convincing argument,” Johnny tried to explain. He tried to keep his fear and doubt show.

“I bet he did. The exec is supposed to be a hard core fisherman. One of the long term guys in accounting said that he once caught a fish with his bare hands.” Johnny frowned at Melinda. He know that it was perfectly possible to do so, even though he had never had the patience to try. But to someone who had never fished, it would be extremely impressive.

“I heard that he once used a magnet to catch a fish that had stolen his bait, hook and all,” cut in one of the other guys in the office. Johnny rolled his eyes. Most hooks weren’t even attracted to magnets. It created the right affect as Melinda and a couple others gasped.

“I’m sure that’s just a blown up story,” Johnny insisted as he slid into his own cubicle. He wasn’t worried about the executive so much, but he did know that he would have more than the usual fishing equipment in his tackle box. Especially a flashlight. He barely suppressed a shudder as he began his task of shuffling through pages and pages of program error codes.

He was just beginning to drift into a daydream of his future office upstairs when the mail cart attendant tossed a letter on his desk. He frowned. No one ever wrote him at work. Not even customers. He fingered the fine envelope and turned it over to look for the return address.

He dropped the envelope in shock.

It couldn’t be.

The send was Anna Belle Martin with a return address at her country estate.

Anna Belle had died at the river during his last fishing expedition.

This story brought to you courtesy of:

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