You Do You. #RDP

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

They sit in the toy box, long abandoned

or they are hidden in the closet

broken arm or leg half-falling off,

victims of overuse or of long ago boredom.

They are often discarded, or to the lucky soul,

handed down to a new generation.

We see them as disposable,

for they are ours to use.

We love them, but not like

we love our dog.

Yet, they are tiny little works of art,

an expression of the heart of mankind

at any given time.

And so, to the girl who wants to preserve

its porcelain face and velvet dress,

You do that; it’s a piece of culture.

To the little boy who has many

adventures with the dirt-faced Hulk doll

and/or princess Leia with missing hand,

You do that; they’ve fueled your imagination.

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

All those little toys. Where are they now?

The Day Spring Rolls in. #poetry

Spring greets us in the morning

With bright sun and singing birds at 50 degrees.

It rolls into our left open doors calmly,

Then screams it’s arrival at warm noon,

Though Spring never comes too soon,

With reminders of a lost love

Or childhood games in a state far away,

Of clover and grass once again green,

Of sunburn and beaches and fish in the cooler to clean

Time outdoors, with family , with friends, and steak on the grill

Or music in the air at a festival park

While the sun changes shades many times before dark.

When the sun slowly slips away,

We are still warmed by the hum of that day.

Photo by David Bartus on Pexels.com

Don’t Disturb #flashfiction #RDP

(C) Pamela Schloesser Canepa

Every day the magnificent creature would bask in a patch of sun by the creek as Fredericka passed by on her way home from school. The forest looked magical in this spot. She wished she could plop down right beside it and rest, but there was still quite a way to go.

“I want to tickle it, ” her brother James whispered. “Look at that cute little potbelly!”

“No, don’t disturb it. You’ll make him wake up. He’s probably strong, you know.”

“What? Are you afraid, you scaredy cat?”

Fredericka sighed. James could be immature. “It’s called respect, James.”

“Yeah right.”

As the creature stirred and its eyelids fluttered, Fredericka guided James away.

“Why, Fred?” James whined.

“Isn’t it enough that we got to see this rare thing?” she asked as they had found their way out of the woods. “If you mess with it, we may never see that dragon again.”

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