The Night Sky

For today’s images, I made pin point filters of constellations: Orion and the Big Dipper, then I pretended the mirrorworld was the night sky.

OctPoWriMo 2023:Facing Our Fears

The Music of My Night

after Muriel Rukeyser

When I who can never sleep without a video on my laptop,
waking often to keep the nightmares away, can no longer
find the energy to write or even read another word
and my eyes keep closing—I meet the sheets

Watch as the cawing crows nip at the wings
of the screaming eagle soaring over the lake
trying to return to its nest
they don’t seem to bother him

Notice the cats out on the prowl
they also scream in the darkness

and growl and hiss when they encounter

other felines marking territory

And after I rise to break up an especially violent
skirmish by adding my scream to the night,
my voice completes the frightening chord
over the rhythm of waves slapping rocks

Vaguely a fish leaps and slaps the surface
upon its return; a truck rumbles behind the houses
on the other side of the lake; a boat, bad rap blaring,
motors slowly not to make a wake

The masochistic lyrics pierce the walls
and fill my room swearing into the nightmare
that has already begun behind my lids
the show ends, and I wake to start the next episode

I am grateful for my night music defense system.

Today is also Haibun Monday at dVerse Poets Pub, and Frank Tassone’s prompt is to indulge in the seasonal colors, so I wrote a second poem.

Against the Gray

The army, kelly, and olive green leaves look brighter against the gray sky. The wind has picked up today, pulling the yellow, red, and brown leaves from the bushes and trees and, littering them everywhere, leaving more bare branches than before.

It is cold, sweater cold, hard to believe I was swimming just last week. The chill won’t leave my feet, covered in a pine green blanket brighter juxtaposed with the wine couch. I feel littered and tossed, crisp like a dead leaf.

The wind rips and scatters
maroon and umber leaves from the
autumn dogwood tree

Writober 2023

I did it again! I wrote to this image last week with my “fog” responses, and skipped the image of the giant monster with the glowing eyes and its tongue hanging out, so I’m writing to that one today. I have now scheduled all of the prompts, so hopefully my brain will stop playing tricks on me.

Logline: Exploring a new planet, an astronaut encounters a giant monstrous inhabitant, the last of her kind. She’s tired of being alone.

Here’s the opening of my story, “Uninhabited.”

When we landed the ship sunk in a swamp. I barely made it out alive. The rest of the scout team wasn’t as lucky. I sent out a rescue call. A lander should come for me in a couple hours.

The discovery robot that we sent here last year found an hospitable environment, but no signs of life. An uninhabited planet rich with minerals and other resources, a possible colony, but more likely a place to mine and pillage.

Imagine my surprise when the marsh shook beneath my feet and the vegetation in front of me parted revealing a giant, twenty foot tall beast with a hairy mane, glowing red eyes, and a thin, forked tongue that tasted the air like a snake’s. I was even more surprised when it spoke and I understood its deep, smooth voice.