Category Archives: Reflection

Collen’s Weekly Tanka Tuesday Poetry Challenge: Give and Receive

For Colleen’s Weekly Tanka Tuesday Poetry Challenge this week, I use the Flow for Give and Accept for Receive.

Hearts soft and gentle

Accept loss or gain from high

Freely let it flow

Nothing on earth we can hold

Live peacefully as mortal


Life is likea cup of tea

Collen’s Weekly Tanka Tuesday Poetry Challenge: Give & Receive

May 31: Flash Fiction Challenge – War Zone

smile at carrot ranch

May 31, 2018, prompt: In 99 words (no more, no less) write a story about warrior women. It can be myth or everyday mothers and wives. Go where the prompt leads.

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War Zone

“Good morning, Lieutenant? You’ve slept for three days.”

“Where am I? My legs? I can’t feel anything.”

“They found you after the bombing. You’re alive.”

“Sheila, we need you. The Captain is hurt.”

“Right over, Ursula.”

“The blood is gushing out from his chest.”

“Roll up the sheet to put pressure on it. Give him porphin.”

“Sheila, more stretches are in. We have no beds.”

“Clear up all the tables.”

“Sheila, here. Private got shot through the elbow.”

“I’ll prepare to cut his forearm. Bring me the equipment.”

“Sheila, over there.”

“Captain needs a blood transfusion.”

“I’ll be there.”


Charli Mills Carrot Ranch – May 31: Flash Fiction Challenge

May 17: Flash Fiction Challenge – Values of Property or People

smile at carrot ranch

May 17, 2018, prompt: In 99 words (no more, no less) write a story about property values. Perhaps its a home, business or pencil museum. What makes them go up or down? Go where the prompt leads.

Respond by May 22, 2018. Use the comment section below to share, read and be social.

Image result for sequim wa images

Value of Property or People 

“We got a good deal on our 10 acres, honey.”

“First time hearing of Sequim in Washington Peninsula.”

“Many retirees here.”

“See the logging. The previous owner made a fortune.”

“We need to dig a well and have electricity connected.”

“What was the noise last night?”

“Humm… a bear visitor.”

“Wait, we park next to a beehive.”

“Get in, I’ll move the camper… Isn’t this a peaceful place for retirement?”

“What? No way. Making new friends after retirement and the neighbor is 10 acres away?”

“What do you want to do?”

“Divide the land into 4 pieces and sell.”

Image result for sequim wa images

Charli Mill’s Carrot Ranch May 17: Flash Fiction Challenge – Values of Property or People

Whispers and Echoes

I want to thank Sammi Fox at Dreaming Spirit Express for publishing the Whispers and Echoes Issue 3 and includes 5 pieces of my poems and short writing.

Please read and vote at


Welcome to Issue 3 of Whispers and Echoes, a journal of small things, of short writing.

It’s a hectic world we live in, where so much demands our attention that we don’t always have the time to stop and relax and read. The point of Whispers and Echoes is to provide short pieces of writing – poems no longer than ten lines in lengths and stories told in under one hundred words – that are strong enough to provide about of escapism, even if, like the pieces included here, they are brief.

Just like a whisper in a dream…

Just like an echo in a cave…

To learn more about the amazing writers whose poems and flash fiction can be found below, visit our Meet the Writers page.

* Copyright remains with the author the piece is accredited to *

Losses and Gains | McKenzie Richardson

“You’re killing her!” she shouted, her eyes brimming with tears. “You’re killing my daughter, my only child.”

He reached over to comfort her, but she only turned away.

“Please, Mom.”

She glared back at him, at the body that seemed so foreign to her now. Then she took in the scar on his cheek. It was the same one her six-year-old daughter got after falling off her bike.

“I am still your child,” he pleaded in his deepening voice.

She brushed the scar with her fingertips, flooded with memories.

“I love you,” they both said, their hearts beginning to mend.

Majestic Glacier | Miriam Hurdle

I was in awe of the majestic glacier
What a persistent body of ice that
Forever will be within my sight
Silence is its sheer beauty
Never mind the global warming that
People study, argue and fear
Please stay for millions of years

Metaphysical Mystery | Sammi Cox

There was nothing much to go on. Everything looked very ordinary. A few trees, some stones, a little brook lazily flowing by…that was it.

I sat down on the ground, perplexed. Taking the little book from my pocket, I read the mysterious diary entry from 1878 once more.

A noise startled me; I looked up. Time had passed faster than I expected; I forgot once the natural light faded, darkness fell quickly out here.

And that’s when I saw it. A pearlescent shimmer on the stream-bank and the distinct outline of a doorway.

After that…I can recall no more.

Driving in the Dark | McKenzie Richardson

It looks as though / A thousand stars
Shattered and broke / And cried down little glass tears.
The roads look as if / Stricken with measles
From all of the streetlights / That penetrate this dark and silent night.
One of the roads / Twists and winds / Like a disfigured heart
Yeah, disfigured.
I wish us to make it safely
But at the same time
I want us to crash.

A Tiny Spider | Miriam Hurdle

A tiny spider labors every night to
Spins his web in perfect symmetry.
What an innate architect is he!
Patiently watches for his prey to volunteer.
Meal for the night and reward for labor and wait.
Before dawn, down his trap and hides away.
When the night is nigh he starts his day.
Spins his web, again, again, again. Again!

The Colours of Spring Sammi Cox

When the world wakes from winter’s sleep
And all growing things begin to grow once more
Dashes and splashes of paintbrush pastel
Break up the swathes of spring’s verdant richness
Pure white of snowdrops
Daffodils and cowslips yellow as the sun
Pink and purples of wild violets
Carpets of white-starred wood anemone
Pale yellow cream of primrose and pansy
Are just a few shades from the colour wheel of spring

Gone | McKenzie Richardson

I heard that you’re gone / You’re not here anymore / I’m sorry I didn’t know you better.
It may not be that I miss you; / We haven’t talked for years; / But I regret your passing
I’m sorry you’re gone / I’m sorry you’re not here.
Maybe it’s selfish of me / To feel hurt and confused about this
You had family / You had friends / I was just somebody who knew you once.
I shouldn’t feel pain about this. / But still / There is a sadness here
Like I lost something I didn’t know I had / Like a light was extinguished / I didn’t notice was on
The sun always blinded me that way.
I’m sorry that you’re gone / I’m sorry that you’re not here
But I’m not gone/ I’m still here. / The living have to live with the dead.

Hibiscus | Miriam Hurdle

There are hibiscus bushes in my garden.
They bloom today, wither tomorrow.
Their colors are cheerfully bright;
Petals are velvety, thin with energy.
Yet they live only for one day.
Wrinkles appear on the faces next sunrise.
“Sigh!” What a pity! why not stay?
They have no worry, nature was made.
When they’re alive, they live fully;
Give them all, for Creator’s glory!

The Black Cat | Sammi Cox

The black cat sat on the doorstep, its only movement a sporadic twitch of an ear. Its gaze was firmly fixed on something beyond the circle of light from the porch lamp, something that clung to the shadows.

Whatever it was, it didn’t make a sound. No dead leaf rustled. No twig snapped.

If it wasn’t for the black cat and its vigil, the dark presence would have gone unnoticed.

If it wasn’t for the guardian who stood watch throughout the night, the thing would have made it into the house it once called home, many years before…

In My Head | McKenzie Richardson

I overanalyze / And underreport / I don’t have a reason / Or a sassy retort
All I can say is / I wish it weren’t this way
But I’m left with my thoughts / And they’re all that I’ve got.

I overthink / And undershare / I’m surrounded by people / Who I know do care
But all I know / Is that I have to go
I cannot escape my own head / I need to be alone instead.

I overcompensate / And underachieve / These are the reasons / That I have to leave
They’re more like excuses / But what can I say?
I always liked fantasy / Better than reality anyway.

Rowing Boat Miriam Hurdle

I love to go rowing boat
Weather is not the matter
May the day be sunny or cloudy
Windy or even stormy
Having you in the same boat
I can go anywhere, everywhere
We had a rough day at the sea
Almost dangerous to manage
Our hearts were in touch
Our hands were in synch
Your encouraging words to me
Mine to you, all the way through
We strived until the storm passed
A day I will forever remember
The storm brought us closer
I love to go rowing boat
When you are with me

Simply Be | Sammi Cox

Take a moment
Just to breathe
To pause
To simply be
A break away
From the hustle and bustle
The always doing
Never slowing
Just to breathe
To simply be

Isn’t It? | McKenzie Richardson

Hush your thoughts / And go to sleep / I wish it were a promise / I could keep
When I tell you that / It will all be okay / It’s a lie we all believe
Isn’t it?

Close your eyes / And go to sleep / I wish I had words / To calm you as you weep
But I do not know / Just what to say / It’s a beautiful life
Isn’t it?

Rest your body / Please go to sleep / I cannot stop / These thoughts that creep
Into your head / And ruin your day
But I love you / It’s true
Isn’t it?

Raven’s Eye | Miriam Hurdle

“Do you have any water left, Dave?”

“I still have some. Take a sip. Your lips are badly chapped, Ben.”

“We have been lost in unpaved hiking trail for five days.”

“We only have water enough for two more days? I hope we could locate water soon!”

“Look, Dave! A raven is circling in the air and ready to dive down.”

“It spotted a dead deer and wanted its share. I think.”

“And the deer was drinking water?”

“That may be our hope for water, Ben.”

“We could reach down by nightfall.”

“I hope this raven saves our lives.”

Happy Chinese New Year


IMG_4910 (2)

The Year of the Dog is officially here, and Friday marks the start of celebrations for the Chinese New Year. This year, the Chinese New Year or Lunar New Year, began on Friday, Feb. 16 and lasts through Sunday, Feb. 18.

The festival is centuries old, celebrating the new year according to the Chinese calendar. Each year is associated with a different animal, and 2018 is the Year of the Dog. The dog is one of 12 animals associated with the Chinese New Year and is signifies loyalty.

Most Chinese New Year celebrations involve firework displays, family feasts, visiting temples, and paying respects to one’s ancestors. It’s also a chance for people to prepare for good fortune in the upcoming years.

Wishing You Prosperous!

Super Blue Blood Moon – 2

I did take some photos of the super blue blood moon. I was fascinated by the supermoon photos around the world so I was anxious to do the previous post.

The super blue blood moon only appeared in a short duration of time and the red color was more intense in a certain part of the world. The photos I took was more of a super blue moon rather than a super blue blood moon – the red color from the eclipse only last for a short while. The last photo was taken on January 30th.

Super blue blood moon 8

Super blue blood moon 9

Super blue blood moon 10


To a Daughter Leaving Home by Linda Pastan


On May 27, 1932, Linda Pastan was born to a Jewish family in the Bronx. She graduated from Radcliffe College and received an MA from Brandeis University.
Among her publications are – Carnival Evening: New and Selected Poems 1968-1998 (W. W. Norton, 1998), which was nominated for the National Book Award; The Imperfect Paradise (W. W. Norton, 1988), a nominee for the Los Angeles Times Book Prize.
Linda Pastan lives in Potomac, Maryland.

I feature two of her poems. The first one makes me laugh and think. When I first read the title, I thought she was writing about her daughter going to college, or at a wedding. When I read on to the last line, I could feel her heart. Yes, our children leave us in different stages and different circumstances.

I found myself letting Mercy go little by little as she was growing up. Letting her go in a way of respect her to become independent but still stay close by to be her support. When Mercy was in fifth grade, she configured my first cell phone. When she was a young adult, she became my friend as remains to be my daughter. At the present, I rely on her expertise and am not afraid to ask.


To A Daughter Leaving Home by Linda Pastan

When I taught you
at eight to ride
a bicycle, loping along
beside you
as you wobbled away
on two round wheels,
my own mouth rounding
in surprise when you pulled
ahead down the curved
path of the park,
I kept waiting
for the thud
of your crash as I
sprinted to catch up,
while you grew
smaller, more breakable
with distance,
pumping, pumping
for your life, screaming
with laughter,
the hair flapping
behind you like a
handkerchief waving

The second poem evokes my reflection on the question: when am I most myself? I think it is ever since I had cancer. I reflect on life vs. death, health vs. sickness, essential vs. contemporary, personal right vs. relationship. I accept who I am and no interest in pretending. I’m satisfied with what I have and no ambition to acquire “one more.”


Something About the Trees by Linda Pastan

I remember what my father told me:
There is an age when you are most yourself.
He was just past fifty then,
Was it something about the trees that make him speak?
There is an age when you are most yourself.
I know more than I did once.
Was it something about the trees that make him speak?
Only a single leaf had turned so far.
I know more than I did once.
I used to think he’d always be the surgeon.
Only a single leaf had turned so far,
Even his body kept its secrets.
I used to think he’d always be the surgeon,
My mother was the perfect surgeon’s wife.
Even his body kept its secrets.
I thought they both would live forever.
My mother was the perfect surgeon’s wife,
I can still see her face at thirty.
I thought they both would live forever.
I thought I’d always be their child.
I can still see her face at thirty.
When will I be most myself?
I thought I’d always be their child.
In my sleep, it’s never winter.
When will I be most myself?
I remember what my father told me.
In my sleep, it’s never winter.
He was just past fifty then.


This is an expansion of Pantoum Poem Form from 4 stanzas to 7 stanzas.
Stanza 1: 1, 2, 3, 4
Stanza 2: 2, 5, 4, 6
Stanza 3: 5, 7, 6, 8
Stanza 4: 7, 9, 8, 10
Stanza 5: 9, 11, 10, 12
Stanza 6: 11, 13, 12, 14
Stanza 7: 13, 1, 14, 3



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