Surely it's still morning somewhere…right?
After a week of unusual quietness (unless you follow me on twitter and you know **what** I've been up to–pictures HOPEFULLY to follow soon 😉 ), yesterday, I fire up the ol' laptop and I watch it die right before my eyes. I'll find out Monday if it's dead-dead or just Jack Bauer dead, and frankly, I'm pulling for Jack and his nine lives…we'll see.
A thousand apologies for taking so long to post this month's Poetic License–and THANK YOU for those of you who encouraged me with your eagerness! I'd like to think it's because of your ardent love for writing poetry, but me thinks the $25 Build a Bear giftcard might be the motivating factor :).
It was writer's choice this month, a pensieve or haiku for form, winter or Christmas for theme. I tackled both…did you? Link away! A $25 gift card is waiting (to be awarded by noon Monday).
My pensieve ~
Acrid, unmistakable scent of bestial den.
Underfoot, an uneven carpet of dirt, straw and manure.
The new mother muffles her own cry as she listens for His first.
His taste of humanity begins as it will end, bloodied and bruised,
Walls rough hewn and sparse, a crowded stable welcomes a King.
My haiku ~
Beauty in delicate flight
Its capture, futile.
REVISED WITH READER SUBMISSIONS ~ OOPS! I forgot to add these offered in comments, some from friends who don't have blogs. They're good so I sure don't want you to miss 'em! 🙂
Tobaggons gliding effortlessly over a white sea
Children exploding with laughter
Icy snow mischievously freezing my toes
Evergreens bestowing their sappy aroma
Velvety Cocoa warming my arctic soul
Little men and stars all in a row.
The timer set and ready to go.
A delicious scent tickles my nose
My mouth watering, I stand ready afraid I'll miss.
Out of the oven and into my hand such sweet bliss.
~ Pami Kay
Sweet Christmas kisses
Quick, stolen appetizers
'Neath the mistletoe
New Year's Eve
Clock chimes, melting kiss
Another year spent with you
Heart’s contented bliss
~ Heather, Sprittibee
Sappy, sticky, itchy
a breath from brittle, Steve
Wild, thick, and
heady fading …tamed to a “fresh scent”, Steve
Towering arms full
of easily shattered memories, Steve
Hot, sweet coffee at
six in my slippers and silence, Steve
Little boy lilting
“O Christmas Tree, O Christmas tree.” Can I name him Steve?