Existence


Mere existence
pales 
the eyes

weeping their color
onto 
worn steps

Recoiling from
breath
to diminish
subsistence 

Existence 
has become 

trivial 
parody  

Copyright (C) 2020 Penny Wilson 
* All is well, my friends. This is just something that 
I've been plucking at for weeks. It finally feels 
complete. A bit dark, but I hope you like my creative attempt.
 
 
 

 

My First Elfchen


My Dear Friend, Chuck, over at The Reluctant Poet has been nudging me about my writing.  I’ve been in a bit of a writing slump lately and Chuck suggested that I try the poetry form of Elfchen poems.  Elfchen poems consist of just 11 words constructed in a particular format.  Below is my first attempt.  I hope you like it.
Love
from you
not just today
but for all time
cherished.
Copyright 2020 Penny Wilson

Unity


Just under
the surface 
lies hidden 

Hatred   

Hatred 
fogs the mind  

Hands 
that can build 
that can breath life 
into each of us 
turn to 
fists  

Voices 
cry out 
against 
the hate  

Two strides forward today 

we pray
only
one stride back 

We stumble 
seeking answers
seeking
unity

Today
and tomorrow

Forward  

Copyright 2020 Penny Wilson

Image by John Hain from Pixabay 

As Fleeting As Time




Just a hint
a small inkling

Like a whisper
not quite heard

Or a soft scent
on the breeze

I can’t hold
or touch it

But felt it
in my chest

A glimpse 
in the blue 
of your eyes

Elusive and
wild
as trust

As fleeting
as time

Love.

Copyright 2020 Penny Wilson
Photo found on Pixabay

The Sound of Songbirds


To listen 
to my heartbeat 
and feel my lungs 
fill with air. 

To have nothing 
I have to do 
no place 
I'm expected 
to be. 

I want to listen 
to the 
quiet. 

The noise 
of this world 
has grown  

and I cannot endure 
much more. 

I wish to listen
as the stars 
find their path 
across the sky. 

I want to watch 
the morning dew 
dissipate 
with the rise 
of the sun. 

The sound 
of songbirds 
is enough 
for me. 

Copyright 2020 Penny Wilson

House of Cards


Jacks fluttered wildly
with their pomp and circumstance. 

Kings at each corner. 
Queens at each access,
overseeing the construction. 

The clubs checked the munitions 
while the spades collaborated  
to dig trenches.  

The numbers, 
Aces
leading the way 
built each story; 
taking turns, 
red 
and black.  

The roof 
was a sturdy covering, 
done in diamonds.

But the Joker 
was at work...

The fortress 
I'd built so carefully, 
card by card, 
layer by layer 

crumbled

with the breath
of your 
single

kiss.

Copyright 2020 Penny Wilson
Photo by jalil shams from Pexels