Free Verse, Poetry by Sarah

Dust

Sarah W

In the kitchen,
the dust lingers;
soft as those
whispered secrets.

But today’s breath
is cruel,
and shapes the air
with unspoken words.

This river of sorrow
has a relentless current.
It pulls me away
from kinder thoughts.

As night spins her gown,
the echoes of laughter
are licked by the shadows.

And my memory,
is fading and obscure.

Here, escape is not a place,
but the very essence of me

…unravelling

By Sarah ©2024

The Sunday Whirl:
Wordle 670

Free Verse, Poetry by Sarah

Gone

Sarah W

All choices
compel our
life’s offerings.

Opportunities
navigate the person;

and wait…
in competing dreams.

Like bidders at an auction,
driven by hidden desires.

Sometimes the pace
of the auctioneer,
overtakes the passion
for possibility.

We keep to our own reserve.

Unwilling…
to compromise.

Unwilling…
to negotiate.

But before we know it,
it’s too late.

All choices compel our life’s offerings.

Opportunities
navigate the person;

and wait…
in competing dreams.

And then we are…

Going.
Going.

Gone.

By Sarah ©2024

Sammi Scribbles:
Weekend Writing Prompt, #380 – auction (78 words)*

*including title

Free Verse, Poetry by Sarah, Scribblings by Sarah

When I Think Of Home

Sarah W

when I think of home
I think of dogs
curled on the couch

and me,
looking at a painting
on the wall

chosen by me,
it follows my every move

it is always the lounge room

it is splotches of
aquamarine and teal
layered with swirls of charcoal and clumps of resin

it is a texture in delight

it is a rorschach test

a conversation starter

a meditation

an abstract

…a bit like me

By Sarah ©2024

Dectina Refrain, Poetry by Sarah

Tableau

Sarah W
Boys in a Pasture
by Winslow Homer

Two
young lads;
in pasture
conjured serene.
Pastoral tableau,
of a sunlit meadow.
Rolling hills, in sky-brushed hues.
Soft, golden glow; shadows imbue.
Landscape stretches in tranquil splendor.
Two young lads; in pasture conjured serene.

Blades
of green;
in pasture
conjured serene.
Captured in moments
of pastoral idyll.
Embodied in innocence;
of quiet pause, a tender joy.
A masterful reflection of light.
Blades of green; in pasture conjured serene.


By Sarah ©2024

W3 Prompt #123:
Wea’ve Written Weekly

Ovi, Poetry by Sarah

Sometimes

Sarah W

I wish, sometimes, I didn’t think.
Ceaseless thoughts send me to the brink.
I’m feeling that it’s quite distinct
...ignorance is bliss

I wish, sometimes, I didn’t feel.
Rollercoaster moods, make me reel.
No wonder it’s quite an ordeal
…keeping a stiff upper lip

I wish, sometimes, I didn’t ponder.
Stay focused; stop my mind wander.
Watch those words, in case I falter
…better bite my tongue

I wish, sometimes, I didn’t wish
I wish,
I didn’t wish
…so I won’t

By Sarah ©2024

Ronovan Writes:
Ovi Poetry Challenge – think

Free Verse, Poetry by Sarah

Fine

Sarah W

a vanishing flash

I tap, tap, tap
trying to get it back

But I’m blind
and I trip

I trip
and I drop

I drop into
sighing

the sighing
won’t stop

this feeling
is strong

but so is
the fear

like vine
spoiled fruit
(you don’t wanna
be near)

yearning, I flash
another smile

“Yes, everything’s fine“

(and I hope it will be
in a while…)

By Sarah ©2024

The Sunday Whirl:
Wordle 670*

*I added an ‘s’ to top

Free Verse, Poetry by Sarah

Timeless

Sarah W

In a realm where time’s a silent guide,
a timepiece stands, as moments bide.
Its hands dance slow, then quicken pace.
Marking each breath, and marking each place.

Eternal ticks in ceaseless waltz,
unravel life’s intricate, subtle faults.
A whisper of seconds, becomes murmurs of years.
An echo of laughter, begets a chorus of tears.

Bridging the past to our future’s expanse,
in every tick, lies a glancing chance.
Time’s gentle keeper, steadfast and wise,
cradles our memories in the moments alive.

By Sarah ©2024

Sammi Scribbles:
Weekend Writing Prompt, #379 – timepiece (82 words)

Other, Poetry by Sarah

untitled

Sarah W

Eventually bruised skies heal…
but not before the storm arrives.
It starts off slowly, gathering
cotton ball clouds now dipped in ink.

Such ominous light belies that
eventually bruised skies heal.
Rain…pittering, then pattering,
soon pelting; jabbing like needles.

Bellows from otherworldly bowels
partner jagged bolts to announce,
eventually bruised skies heal.
A last gust exhausts its fury.

Shyly, sun peeks through shades of blue.
Clearing; a transformative arc
tied up in bows of the spectrum
…eventually bruised skies heal.

By Sarah ©2024

W3 Prompt #122:
Wea’ve Written Weekly