Brief prose and poetry lacking other categories... |
Eight-year-old Liberty watched raindrops chasing each other down the windowpane. Steady rainfall drummed overhead. She pulled back as lightning split the sky, followed by a rolling boom of thunder. “Are we safe, Mrs. Fields?” The lady running the orphanage stood nearby, taping up red, white and blue banners. “Yes, Libby.” She guided the little girl away from the glass. “Will my new parents still come to get me?” “Of course they will, honey. Rain won't keep your family away. It may stop the evening fireworks, though.” “I wanted to see them.” Her hazel eyes glimmered hopefully. Mrs. Fields smoothed back Libby's blonde pageboy. “You love sharing your birthday with the United States. It's double the fun. Soon, you'll have a third reason to celebrate.” The thunderstorm tapered off late in the afternoon. Libby ran back and forth around the orphanage, checking the grandfather clock in the entry, peeking through every window, searching for her family. “They'll be here soon.” Mrs. Fields handed Libby a broom. “Why don't you sweep to help soothe your jitters?” Finally, as the first evening fireworks crackled, they arrived, with hugs and gifts. Mom wrapped her in a flag patterned blanket. Dad brought a funny tricorn hat for her to wear. “Just in time to celebrate at the neighborhood cookout,” he said. “Let's go!” They swung Libby between them as they strolled along the boardwalk. Sunset painted the waters pink and gold. They laughed, feeding seagulls with french fries. “I love you, Mom and Dad.” “We love you too, Liberty.” Libby snuggled between her new parents, enjoying the sparkling jeweled lights spraying across the night sky. Someday, she would help other kids like her find loving families. For now, she was happy to celebrate her birthday, her adoption, and the founding of her homeland, all together. |
Fear not, He says, for I am with you. How can I be sure of this? My faith is weak. I see words on the page, but they fail to resonate. I lack the confidence and strength to believe That life will work out, somehow, Even if it doesn’t end well Or disaster strikes and I lose everything, God is with me, there is no need to fear. This should be inner peace, not based on pleasant circumstances But rooted in a knowledge of the Lord’s promises And a childlike belief in them. Such faith feels at times beyond my reach, As self-composure so often melts down under pressure. I pray for stronger faith, a positive outlook and a heart after God’s own. He is Righteous: I entrust my soul to His Hands. 16 lines, 133 words. Written for "SCRIPTURE POETRY CONTEST" ![]() Prompt: "Fear not, for I am with you; Be not dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you, Yes, I will help you, I will uphold you with My righteous right hand." Isaiah 41:10 |
The heart is a willow tree: it lives, breathes, thrives, Planted by flowing waters of crystal clear truth. Growing strong in knowledge, trust, faith, Enlivened by God our Father, who cares for everyone. When I sleep, I dream I’m sitting under the willow tree, Counting blessings floating downstream. I stand up, chasing what I’ve suddenly realized is escaping me Running along the slippery mud riverbank Away from the willow, so green and alive. Frantic, I plunge in where the water seems shallow, Grabbing ahold of treasures sinking fast. The truth of the matter almost drowns me: Blessings are meant to be appreciated, not clung to. A being in white throws me a lifeline, hauls me ashore, Walks me back to that thriving willow tree, Where I once more collapse, relaxing under its dappled shade. With my feet in the water of crystal clear truth, I contemplate life’s blessings, awakening to sunrise with newfound wisdom. 18 lines, 154 words. Written for "Poetry Topic of the Month Contest" ![]() Prompt: “sitting under a willow tree.” Inspired by Psalm 1. ![]() |
They raise the flag with weary hands Battles won in burning sands Protecting home from evil ways Standing strong throughout the days. We honor them the way we should For doing only what they could. Let's not squander what they’ve done Holding fast to all as one. Treasure freedom to live and breathe To practice all what each believes. We raise their flag with grateful hands A welcome home from distant lands. 12 lines, 72 words. Written for "Honoring Our Veterans - Challenge" ![]() |