Mum …

In my heart, flowers bloom
Carnations that flower at night and noon
Your warmth to us, a guiding light
You are cherished always, day and night

Your laughter, your chuckle, a sound that lingers
When we were hurt or fell, you’d kiss our fingers
You danced to songs with smiles and beams
Now you smile and dance, only in my dreams

Sometimes we called you a silly old fart
But we always loved you with all our heart
Even now, I can see your smile
A beacon of love that shines for miles

To us, you gave your love profound
On the breeze, in a whisper, there it’s found
A song sung at the beach to the sea’s tide
In our hearts, our being, you’ll forever reside

Though tears may fall like gentle rain
You run, skip, and dance, free from pain
In the canvas of my soul – your legacy
A masterpiece of love, forever. Eternally

May the gentle breeze carry my words
To the heavens, with dad, where your spirit soars
In the realm of love, eternally
I am always with you, and you, with me.

For Those Who Never Came Home

In fields where poppies gently sway,
We honour those who have passed away.
Their sacrifice is a debt we owe,
On this solemn day, we remember and show.

Brave hearts that stood in fields of strife,
For the love of freedom, they gave their life.
In silence, we reflect and pray,
For heroes who never came home that day.

Their names are etched in history’s book
Soldiers all, from lancer, to cook
We wear the poppy, a symbol true,
To honour the red, the white, the blue.

In every whisper of the breeze,
Their spirits linger among the trees.
On Remembrance Day, we stand as one,
To say, “Thank you,” for a duty done.

So, let us stop and bow our head,
For those who lay amongst the dead.
Their memory lives, undimmed, uncowed,
In fields of poppies, heads are bowed.

FRIDAY FICTIONEERS: Rock of Ages

Every week, Rochelle shares a photo to be used as a prompt to write a short story. It must be 100 words or less, and the image must feature in some shape or form even if it is just a passing comment.

This week’s image comes from Roger Bultot. If you want to read what others have written, please click the InLinkz link below. If you read their stories, please leave a comment or a like to let them know you have been there and checked out their submission. I have based this one on my own experience as a kid watching them roll out Folkestone Rock.

^{© Roger Boltet}

I stood looking in the window, my hands on the glass as the two people inside folded big rolls of candy over and over. They folded and rolled it, pulled it and wound it, made it longer and thinner. They moved so fast, that my eyes darted from one to the other as I watched in awe.

The red folded into the white candy making more sense the smaller it became. From a foot wide to a couple of inches. That’s when there was a tap on my shoulder and the owner gave me my own stick of Brighton Rock.

Other Stories

Convergence

She saw his face across the room,
Her eyes filled with lust and desire.
She saw the way he held himself,
Dressed in an almost erudite attire.

Her heartbeat skipped, and her emotions soared,
She locked his eyes in a tango dance,
She let unspoken words flow between them
Keeping a hold of his mercurial glance.

His gaze foretold secrets held
Stories amassed behind his eyes
She longed to find his hidden truths
And see where his mystery lies.

As they stepped nearer, their worlds converged,
Invisible threads tying their fate
The universe itself seemed to push
To tie them together, to provoke, create.

In a tale of subtlety and subterfuge,
Their eyes on each other, minds occupied,
So onward they moved, together at last,
Bound by a force, with destiny, their guide.