May we not strive for perfection,
for we shall break our backs
In pursuit of such elusive dreams,
we simply break our hearts
for perfection can never be caught,
no matter how hard it is sought
for like fine wisps of cloud,
they melt or move beyond our sights
leaving yawns of dissatisfaction behind,
or sending us on endless quests in our mind.
May we strive for greater purpose,
for contentment is awesome
for satisfaction is a comfortable bed to lay on,
with peace a priceless joy to know.
© Jacqueline Oby-Ikocha
Below is my first just published Poetry Book “Out of the silent breath” which is available on Amazon and Smashwords.
When you buy my book, you support me in an invaluable manner.
I absolutely love this book of poems. My favorites are “Love Rations” (for those who love to give the silent treatment) and “Beggars Supper” (which definitely pulls at the heart strings). Two thumbs up!!
For quite a while, she stands at the breezy quay watching the boat weave its way gradually away from the shores; every watery mile creates more distance between them.
The aquamarine gray water is calm and the weather quite pleasant, but, Madeline’s thoughts are far from calm.
She is not so sure that her decision to send him away is the right one and even as the white stern of the Wayfarer moves beyond swimming reach, she feels a powerful urge to call him back.
Her boy’s waving hands are now a speck in the far distance (in her motherly mind, he is still her little lad who clutched onto her for guidance).
She wants so much for him. A brighter future she sees in his tomorrow and their small fishing town is nowhere to chase his dreams.
Her hope is that under the Maestro’s tutelage, he would rise to his true potentials like his late Papa.
With a heavy sigh and a whispered prayer, she trudges up the stony pavement back to her cottage.
It will be a lonely time she thinks to herself.
© Jacqueline Oby-Ikocha
In response to prompt photo from The Storytellers Abode for Flash Fiction For Aspiring Writers. Thank you Louise and Priceless Joy for providing this platform.
Desire to paint was compelling. She couldn’t stop even when there was hardly any coins left to purchase supplies. Grocery change finagled to buy a paint or two.
Thoughts flowing from fingertips onto the easel with boundless verve, leaving people in awe of the elemental depths of her works.
Mama had urged her over and over to focus on a sensible trade. To pull her head out of painted clouds.
Mama’s fear, was that she would end up a penniless and hungry artist, if she had nothing else to do.
To please Mama, she had learnt a sensible trade. A governess to spoilt brats and dabbling in her painting away from prying eyes.
“If only Mama could see me now!” Georgiana fervently wished for a moment.
Her works had won the National Art entry and gained public acclaim!
….And here she is on the palace grounds, painting her ladyships gardens. Appointment notes chock full with sittings for portraits and the likes!
Who would have thought! I Georgiana, the daughter of a green-grocer, would be an artist for nobility!
In response to the photo prompt from Graham Lawrence for Flash Fiction For Aspiring Writers.
Thank you to Priceless Joy for providing this challenge platform.
Benjamin assessed the corralled horses, his mind deeply disturbed.
”Who could have done such a dastardly thing,” he mulled over and over. His disturbed mien hardly taking cognizance of the rain that soaked him to the skin.
”It is only three more weeks to the Steeplechase competition and some mean snake got it into his head to contaminate the horses oats, now my best mount Thunder Hoof is down.”
”Could it have been Lucas, my ever envious neighbor?” ”Or that oily tongued land grabber, Max?” He debated.
The answers were not forthcoming. He scratched his head in indecision.
”I need to choose a good horse and very fast too.”
His mind quickly settled on Sun-dance, whose silky white mane swam down his neck like waterfall, and his tail swept carelessly with pride.
He almost stood apart from the rest in confidence and regal posture, with muscles that rippled under his white coat.
It is rumored that his sire is the direct descendant of Crazy Horse, an Apache Warrior’s mount.
In response to Flash Fiction For Aspiring Writers
This post is for the Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers (FFfAW) Challenge, run by Priceless Joy. This week’s photo prompt was provided by her. Thank you ma’am! The challenge is that you write a story of 75-175 words inspired by the photo prompt below. I hope you like it
Tommy sprawls on his stomach on the thick paisley rug by the fireplace. His crooked elbows supporting his head, as he gazes at Nana with rapt attention.
In her favorite rocking chair, her shawl around her shoulders and Jack-sparrow at her feet, her little round glasses keeps sliding down her nose, when she chuckles.
He loves Nana dearly and her tales are full of magic. Time spent with her are precious.
He enjoys such special nights; the room is warm and toasty, despite the downpour. Cups of warm cocoa with marshmallows and buttery toast are just the thing. Nana’s pecan pie; the best in the entire county. The scents of spices all form a sense of coziness in their hearth.
Stretching his limber frame, his dreamy senses are roused by whispering voices and the waft of vanilla essence. Thomas pads over to his kitchen, brews a cup of coffee and sits by the misty window watching the rain drops.
He startles as a shadow of an orange floral shawl and a limping dog float by. Rushing to open the window, scents of nutmeg, cinnamon, vanilla and other spices float in.
Time to finish writing Nana’s tales, he tells himself.
In response to Flash Fiction For Aspiring Writers run by Priceless Joy with the photo prompt from afairymind
Annalise stands shivering in the early mornings chill as her cotton shift can barely keep her warm. She impatiently watches the noisy steam locomotive as it pulls up to the station, willing it to stop quickly so that she can hop on.
She casts furtive glances over her shoulders, every step of a passer-by stops her heartbeat in its tracks.
It was still incredulous to her simple mind on how easy it had been to sneak off and she knows that the luxury of time is not at her disposal.
They will soon discover that the lump under the scratchy blanket is a plumped dud. All hell will be let loose.
A fresh start is inevitable, away from it all, but all that she has pinched is just enough to get her to Oregon.