Rebirth 1-10-2010

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Incurably sick?

Analgesic!
Rest

Nest.

Incense:

Frankincense

Pure

Myrrh
Recline
Anodyne

Mend

End.

Fire

Pyre.

Char

Mar.

Plunge

Expunge.

Sterilize

Cauterize.

Nascent,

Scarlet

Embryo

Ex vivo.

Muse

Fuse

Phoenix

Matrix.

55 Flash Fiction Friday

What’s in a number?

Guess, if you wonder:

Sleep retrieves
unrealized dreams.

Wear longer sleeves,

looser seams.

Don sunscreens
with firming creams.

Closer friends

form quicker mends,

communing first

for less outbursts.

Quench deeper thirsts.

Eat dessert first.

In 55 hours,

I'm 55 minus five.

If you can read this,

be glad we’re alive.

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55 flash fiction (or poetry) Friday Challenge, in exactly 55 words and let G-Man know: http://g-man-mrknowitall.blogspot.com/
photo from Santa Monica, CA, my uncle, Mr. Universe.  My dad photographer.  Guy on left, unknown.

morning rises

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Yoga downward dog

sun rises for full moon sets

breathing to my feet.

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Ha! all rights reserved, I guess...
Thumb rock, Prescott Arizona, 2004

New days

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Waves through solstice rocks
feet in step against wind’s trail
plumes of waves dancing.
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All rights reserved.
Photo by Jillian Standish, Point Buchon, California, 11-2009

Sunday 160

What I like about you
in this
moment,
is
when you do
what you do so well.

And also
when you
tell me
what you like
about me

moment
by
moment

Tomorrow and yesterday
Today.

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photo by Christine McGuire, California, 2007
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This is a Sunday 160. If you wish to take the challenge, here is a quick look at the rules. For the original Sunday 160 post click here. http://petzoldspracticalprose.blogspot.com/2009/06/sunday-160.html
The Sunday 160 only uses 160 characters (including spaces)
Keep on schedule - post Sunday
let monkeyman know if you have a sunday 160 on his site
Visit at least one other Sunday 160 (if they exist)

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Ranging lioness

on winter’s cracked granite crags,

climbs her mate’s mountain.

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All rights reserved
Photo: Monarch Lakes, Mineral King, in Sequoia National Park, California, USA, Aug 2007

55 Flash Fiction Friday

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Where have all the muses gone


from loins

thighs

fingers

and sighs?



Stuck to the bottom of a

sticky oatmeal pot,

slab-hard meat locker,

stale smoke stairwell,

slimy greasy griddle,

slicing queasy toothache,

Sangria bottle drunk half down

no end in sight?



Grinning at the moon,

blue and ringed round by rainbows,

she returns a swoon.
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All rights reserved.