What’s your dream job?

If you’re here reading this, you’re sort of looking at it.

My dream job is to write for a living (again). I got a taste of it for a few years when Newsbreak was just throwing money at me, but that income source dried up like an old African desert well and the tap has never really been turned on for me again.

So, I write.

I write poems every day, not because I think they’re going to make me money, but because I love writing poetry and I think the more I write, the better … Read the rest

He slams the cash on the counter. “I need a bouquet with a hidden meaning.” He’s not the first to ask.

“What meaning, sir?”

“Murder.”

“Murder again!?” the shopkeeper exclaimed.

She puttered around the room and talked:

“Well, my heavens, sometimes I wish I didn’t keep promises, like when I promised to keep this shop open after my grandmother died. She passed the magic along to me, though. Don’t worry, dear. I’ll solve your problem.”

She presented him a bouquet of the deepest red roses, and he watched her spray them with something.

“Don’t sniff – only her.”

“Who?”

“Your … Read the rest

It’s not right that you’ve done this to me, that you’ve strung me along for years, that you will continue to do this as long as I let you. Maybe I’m the dim-witted one here, for staying when maybe I should go, for settling for less than I want because I’m afraid I won’t find more. Yellow like a coward and the dandelions that fly away in the slightest breeze, like you and me. 

Today’s poetry prompt words were: it’s not right, dim-witted, and yellow.

_{Photo by Kate Cullen on Unsplash}