Sometimes I wonder, would you dance with me?
Hold my hand, twirl me around the kitchen, as music plays.
Would you hold me close or dip me and make me laugh?
Would you lay your hands on my hips, and guide me around,
Look deeply into my eyes and show me your heart?
Would you sing with me off-key to some sappy 80s ballad,
making me remember back to that time in our life?
Would you share some time with me again?
Would you dance with me,
Even if it’s just dancing in the dark?
When we’re older, and hopefully not too grey, I hope we find each other again.
I’d like to sit down, by your side, and share the stories of our lives.
I want to relearn all there is to know about you and share some laughs, too.
I’d like to hear about your kids, your folks, your grandkids too?
We’d share our travels, our likes, our dislikes…
funny stories, sad times, and even a few of those mad times, too.
Maybe there’d be more; maybe there wouldn’t.
But it’s okay, I’d still like to catch up all the same.
I wouldn’t mind watching the sun set on our lives,
And know we got to share just a little more time together.
She pulled her heavy shelled body out of the briny deep.
Following the moon, high above.
One flipper, then the next, pulling herself along the sand.
Her journey was arduous and long.
She finally reached the dunes, then she began to dig.
She dug, and she dug, and she dug.
Amongst the sea oats, she laid her eggs,
every last one. She covered them up,
Then crawled back to the ocean.
Hopefully they will be safe in the sea grasses,
until their times come to return to the water.
The sun hid behind the clouds, filtered rays,
But still, cover ups were not enough to avoid their sting.
The sun showed off its brilliance later,
Yet still, SPF 70 could not block its effects.
Floridians know what to do, how to protect from the sun,
But still, it crisped our skins and left its telltale sign.
Hopefully we’ll wake up tanned tomorrow morning.
He was a good man.
He was a man who raised his own kids, three girls, and a boy.
And when he was done, he raised one more.
He didn’t have to marry her mom.
He didn’t have to be a good dad to her.
But, see, he knew the pain of being a stepchild from his own childhood.
So, he raised her, his fourth daughter, as his own.
And she was the luckiest little girl in the world.
Thanks, Dad. I really miss you!
The young mermaid surfaced trying to find the light which flashed above. As she did the lightning arched through the skies lighting up the dark clouds. A single bolt flashed and struck the water nearby. She was stunned by the force of electricity flowing through her body.
The swells of the ocean tumbled her closer and closer until she was onshore. Passed out with her dark hair matted, her body rested in the surf. The clouds rolled away and the skies returned to blue.
A young boy, about age 14, found the mermaid entangled in seaweed as he walked along the beach. He unwound the sea grasses wrapped around her teal blue tail and shook her shoulder.
Her eyes fluttered, looking about. Her purple eyes looked into his as she came to. “Thank you,” she whispered to him.
“What should I do now?” he asked. He had never met such a beautiful creature.
“I am okay, but I need to get back into the water.”
He found a way to lift her in his arms and waded into the water with her. When he got waist deep, she was able to float.
She moved out of his arms and swam around him. She stopped in front of him and gently kissed him on the cheek. “You’re cute,” she giggled. “Thanks again!”
With that, she dove back into the ocean and swam away. The boy watched her as her tail fin flipped in the water, until he could no longer see her.
He returned to that beach each time he was in town on vacation as he grew up and would watch the waters in hopes of seeing her again one day.
The mermaid did the same.
Cocoa powder awaits,
Atlantic waves crash.
Sultry warm heat, and
cool tropical drinks, and
not much else in between.
Laughter and fun,
maybe a cookout too.
Kids build castles in the sand.
The surfers out on their boards,
the ladies reclined with their books.
Beach weekend, here we come!
I wish on the pink butterfly outside that all goes well.
They try to make it pleasant, calming colors and soft robes.
The room is dimly lit, not bright and sterile.
But still, it isn’t a fun experience.
Maybe this time no tears fall from being pulled,
tugged and smashed six ways to Sunday.
The imaging engine whirrs aloud as it takes its pictures.
Shifting, changing positions, once more the vise grip takes hold.
Skin stretching, hugging the machine which is causing discomfort.
Four cycles in all, two for each mound of flesh.
Relief comes as the machine finally releases its hold.
Hopefully done for another three years…the wait for results begins.
I should be out walking. Yes, I know, I should.
My arm dangles from the edge of the bed, playing with Chance.
He flops on his side, purring, and begging for belly rubs.
It isn’t raining this morning. I really should be moving.
Chance wraps his paws around my arm, wrestling with me.
Get up, get up, he meows. He wants his treat.
So I stumble out of bed. Find my shorts, bra, and shirt.
Shuffling to the kitchen, reaching for his treats.
Here you go, boy. Good job getting me up.
Socks, shoes, and straighten up the bird’s nest on my head.
I’m going. I’m going. Off for my morning walk.
Thunder claps, disturbing a peaceful Sunday afternoon.
Dark clouds roll in, dashing plans to visit the gardens.
So we open up the shades and watch the lightning dance in the sky.
The cats jump up settling in, protected from the storm.
The thunder quiets down as the heavens open up,
The rain hitting the windows eventually lulls us into a nap.
Time rolls by, and the clouds roll away.
Brightening the skies back to blue, the sun strikes out
and wakes us from our dreamy slumber.
Dawn Renee Writes 