Had I But One More Day…


“…our prompt (optional, as always). Because today is the ninth day of NaPoWriMo, I’d like to challenge you to write a nine-line poem…Sir Edmund Spenser wrote The Faerie Queene using a nine-line form of his own devising, and poetry in other languages (French, most particularly) has always taken advantage of nine-line forms. You can find information of various ways of organizing rhyme schemes, meters, etcetera for nine-line works here. And of course, you can always eschew such conventions entirely, and opt to be a free-verse nine-line poet.”

Had I but one more day, 24 hours moon and sun, sea ~ of trial, turmoil,

Peace and plenty ~ I’d buy roses and carnations, a purple hyacinth ~

I’d hold hands and heart of one most dear, laugh with gratitude at life’s

Absurdities, share last dessert and say a prayer ~ write another poem or 2,

Hide them safe somewhere ~ I wouldn’t wonder one more moment, 

Waste it on what-if’s, what-could-have-might-have-been’s ~

I’d bless each name that came to mind, finally forgive ~ and thank God

For all His layered gifts, hard lessons lived which led me to His arms…

Christ’s truth, love, redeeming Grace which takes me Heaven-Home ~

© R L Cadillac, 2017 ~ All rights reserved.

Image ~ Pixabay

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Tap-Tap, Ye Wraith Unnamed


Cue:  TAP


What the H..OTEL was that tap, tap-tapping—like something reminiscent of Poe??

One-day homeless had been sufficient to make her shake with muffled gibbering gratitude for this vacant and odorous apartment of a newly-deceased man of mystery (and no doubt, misery).

Landlord—vapid insecure woman, transparently lacking in credibility—had offered a first-month’s-rent discount for “as is” condition; meaning no cleaning had been done and maintenance requests were addressed without promise… Zinnia had been just desperate enough to enthuse:  “Sounds spectacular!”

She’d spent most of her check on industrial strength cleaners, and within 3 days the place appeared only half-shabby—much of the furnishings still looked and smelled dubious—maybe next month she could hit the thrift stores.

After popping a can of warm Coke, she wiped a smear of grease off the old TV and sat on a cushion she’d covered with her own laundered towel; exhausted, she’d doze off in a sec—but for that damn tap, tap-tapping…

It wasn’t rodents or roaches; didn’t seem to come from walls next to neighboring units; no faucet dripped, nor was it raining against windows; the chipped, indelibly stained toilet was silent…then she spied the antique music box.

© R L Cadillac, 2017 ~ All rights reserved.

Image ~ Pixabay

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