Posts Tagged ‘Wind’
Sep
Lightning
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
“Are you ready?” Tim asked.
“Somewhat,” Clara answered, holding a child by the hand. “Who can be? Are you?”
“You want to know like the rest of us,” interjected another neighbour.
“It won’t be pretty,” Tim struggled, unable to say more.
A shuttle-bus pulled up to take them, along with others. They drove down Main Street. Shock froze their faces. Some sobbed.
“Mother nature started it,” the driver said, shaking his head.
Lightning struck the forest outside town limits. Wind fueled the flames in the direction of their town.
“My house is gone,” Clara choked back tears. “Yours too, Tim?”
From Guest Contributor Krystyna Fedosejevs
Aug
The Right Thing
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
When I stepped into the cold of the night, the wind against my face, there wasn’t a soul in sight. I walked the streets in desperate need of an answer. Those files I found would ruin the company and probably cost me my job but inevitably save lives. I wish I hadn’t come across those documents. At least I wouldn’t have insomnia.
After what seemed like hours, I had an idea. I’d go in tomorrow as if nothing happened. No one would suspect a hard working every-day man like me would do what I decided.
And that’s the right thing.
From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher
Jun
First Time
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
I have waited for this moment since childhood. Now as an adult in my car with the engine running, I’m thinking of excuses to put my foot to the accelerator.
I remove my sunglasses and shut the radio in the middle of “You are the Wind Beneath My Wings,” and turn the car off. This song brings back memories of my wedding. I wish Melinda were still alive.
As I approach the porch and knock on the door, I hear footsteps stomping down the stairs.
Would it be my mother or father who’d I’d be meeting for the first time?
From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher
Apr
Snow
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
The first thing I did last night was set the alarm for seven o’clock in the morning. I didn’t know the snow the weather forecaster predicted was going to start so early.
There was a message that my interview had been canceled so I got back under the covers and my dog Charlie snuggled next to me.
Large snowflakes pressed against the window and the wind howled. Charlie let out a growl and went back to sleep. I closed my eyes and wished the snow would stop.
When I awakened later that afternoon, the snow ceased, and the sun shined.
From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher
Mar
The Rose
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
That vibrant scarlet striking against the snow like a bell ringer striking a bell, reverberating through your body, taking up your entire being. She entices me with her beauty, but her thorns tell me not to touch. The wind sings and she dances with grace. Her perfume is like the smell of the green earth that reminds you you’re alive. I love her beauty, I love her fragrance, I love her grace. I would like to take her to my wife. If she could see this rose the way I see it, then she’d understand the way I see her.
From Guest Contributor Kyla Syner
Feb
Storm
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
The snow and wind pelted my face. The inclemency hadn’t started until I was half-way to the subway station, and people slipped across the pavement rushing to get home. Vehicles honked at pedestrians cutting in and out of lanes, so I had to be careful. I tried not to think about the numbing in my fingers after forgetting my gloves at home.
After a half hour walk which should’ve taken ten minutes, I was in the station.
When the train arrived and I boarded, I knew it would be a matter of time before I’d be snug by the fireplace.
From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher
Aug
Hermitage
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
Harvest missed, starlings busy with unworked seed, overripe corn, a laugh with the scarecrow – leave toward evening. Leaves of fall turn red like the blood fingering across the green linoleum kitchen floor after the thud of the back of your head, split like a too-ripe pumpkin. A widower falls in the kitchen, no one hears it, did it make a sound? The trees in the yard mourn the wood you stacked anticipating winter, as it dries, rots, quietly decays. Equinoxes later it splinters, skips off across tan, fallow fields in a cold wind, wet with the rustle of black wings.
From Guest Contributor Craig Kirchner
Craig thinks of poetry as hobo art. He loves storytelling and the aesthetics of the paper and pen. He was nominated twice for the Pushcart Prize, and has a book of poetry, Roomful of Navels. After a writing hiatus is being published and has work forthcoming in a dozen or so journals.
Aug
The Same
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
The birds flew by
as the wind blew past.
Cars come cruising, crossing coastlines.
They’re the same.
Birds fly free with the ocean breeze
and the cars follow along to their graceful flight.
They’re the same, together in the light.
One flies,
one drives.
They’re the same.
An endless road.
An infinite sky.
They’re the same.
It’s no race,
they’re at the same pace.
The road twists and the car does not slow.
The bird resists the wind and flies high.
They’re the same.
The road is black and yellow,
and the sky is blue and white.
They’re the same.
From Guest Contributor Daniel Duong
Jul
Happy Trails
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
The wind in the woods sounds like a river. It whispers across my face, soft and sweet and holy.
Dave packs the tent and I roll our bed bags. Soon we’re hoisting packs, tightening straps, stomping the last of the embers from the night before. Remembering bittersweet songs, old stories, and the secrets we’ve left behind with the trees and the stars.
The day warms. A robin twitters. Cicadas hum in the pines. Dave whistles the Happy Trails tune as we start down the path. And so the end begins, and I clutch this small, quiet death in my soul.
From Guest Contributor Jayna Locke
Apr
The Grieving
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
The angel of death once thrust his face perilously close to mine. I can still smell his lurid breath when the wind blows across the green scummy water. Although it seems longer ago, it was only last year that he climbed into bed and cuddled with you. The survivors cope as best they can. One walks all around the car and carefully looks under it before getting in. And so I ask him, Whatever happened to the right to be lazy? An 18-month-old slipping under the water when her mother left her unattended in the tub for just a sec.
From Guest Contributor Howie Good
Howie’s newest poetry collection, Heart-Shape Hole, which also includes examples of his handmade collages, is forthcoming from Laughing Ronin Press.