Six Word Story (86)

Some say Mother Earth and Father Sun. If that is so, then I see Earth as the flirtatious one.

She dances through the nether in living finery of every shade.

I wonder what the rest of the galaxy thinks of her?

She is far from the most powerful. But she is a home, a place to rest.

She is neither tame nor safe. Even so, we cling to her for dear life, pressed to her bosom.

Father Sun is ever her constant companion, unmoving. He lets her dance. Ever patient.

©2022 Mary Grace van der Kroef

Photo sourced from unsplash.com


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Pristine Floor

I turned it over in my hand
This broken piece
Of self
Traced the cracks
Noted the gaps
Counted the missing particles
Now marking
A pristine floor

A broom passed by
Grabbing flecks that soiled
This hallowed place.

Its bristles shush
My shameful grief
Watching
In silence

I should have protested
asked for time
Told my story
Before
This piece of self
Crumbled
And I was left to mourn.

Alone
Or so perceived

Untill
Generous Silence
Gave them back to me
Cupped
In recognition
Bound tightly
With the string of memories
As I prayed

He gave no rebuke
As bits poured into my hands
Losing fragments
Between hesitant fingers
He helped me count the loss
That again littered marble paths
Highlighted against its wealth
As human filth

He waited
Cupping tears that spilled
Adding his own to the soiled floor
Besmirched in regrets as thick as aged blood

Patient
He shushed the onlookers
Ready to jeer the fallen

Then I was ready
He pulled each speck to himself
Dirtying his own hands to lift my loss
Into his apron furled
It was him who shook my remnant free
Of any last dust
It was my King who carried my shame
Out the door
And when returned
Knowing it no more

©2022 Mary Grace van der Kroef


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Nature’s War

Street lights cast
A shimmering glow
As sheets of rain pass
Row on row.

Drops hit pavement
Scattering dance.
A fight with earth?
Or nature’s romance…

Water escapes
In to each tiny crack.
Eroding man’s hold,
Turning time back.

From pavement to sand,
The battle is slow.
But nature has time,
Time? An endless flow.

©2022 Mary Grace van der Kroef


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Together

I ask for his hand
He holds on tight
A curve is coming
It might mean a fight

But we stand together
Hand in hand, we’re one
We won’t be separated
We can’t be undone

©Mary Grace van der Kroef 2020


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Stone Murals

Sharp edges
Multicolored pores
Showing off scars
Human endeavors

Broken stones
Blasted wide
Essence laid bare
In cascading lines

Painting a mural
History past
Our earth bleeds colours
Painting murals that last

©Mary Grace van der Kroef 2020


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Did We Ask

Did we ask to exist?
Think on it…
A sentient thought that
Could whisper to a woman’s whom
“I’m ready.”
Or…
Perhaps,
As the scene was written
The ghosts within the mind of God
Asked for life,
And he let them free.
Maybe,
We itched with in his ear.
Or twined inside his being.
Pulling,
Begging,
To be.
But perhaps not.
Perhaps we were but silence,
Pregnant with potential.
A question ready to be asked.
A lesson waiting for the right
Scholars interpretation
And that was He.
Maybe…

©2022 Mary Grace van der Kroef


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The Weight of Me

As the weight of me grew,
I found myself stepping
On dreams
Braking them to shards.
Dancing on the glittering
Fragments
Of loss.
 
They couldn’t support me anymore.
 
As the weight of me grew,
I found I could push,
Pull,
Cary,
Loads that dwarfed others.
 
I didn’t always need help.
 
As the weight of me grew,
I gained,
I lost,
I changed,
Paying the cost of filling.
 
Often hungry for more.
 
As the weight if me grew,
I knew I would burst.
Self saturation
Dragging me down.
Stagnant strength.
 
I was lost in my own veins.
 
As the weight of me grew,
Swollen limbs restricted.
Forced to sit still
In filth
Unsated want.
 
I had, had enough of self.
 
As the weight if me dripped,
I raged.
Sweating,
Cursing,
Hurling up bits.
 
They had turned to poison.
 
As the weight of me balanced,
I was shame.
Until it rained,
Washing clean my ruin.
Revealing empty skin.
 
Hunger lingered on.
 
Longing to fill sagging emptiness.
Hunting purpose.
Seeking strength I once owned.
Still,
Leery of gorging on self.
 
I still remember that slow poison.
 
Then you took my hand
And the weight of me
Felt weak.
So,
You gave me a drink.
 
Homely soup for my soul.
 
It satisfied
And I shared myself too.
With crumbs of words,
A sprinkle of laughter,
We nourished each other.
 
And the weight of me found peace.

©2022 Mary Grace van der Kroef


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Butternut Squash Soup

Thankful for tears
as I chop onions.
Release,
I didn’t know I needed.

Raw bitterness
dumped
atop sweet
orange flesh.

Juice
flows past my firmest grip.
Gentleness,
mixed with curry spice.

Squash and pear.
present with sadness.
Stewed together
then blended smooth.

A prosses,
as the bubbles rise.
God met me here.

The soup is done.

©2022 Mary Grace van der Kroef


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Walnut Greens, Falling Purpose/Door is a Jar Magazine

I have been waiting in great anticipation to share this publication with everyone. It’s always such a blessing to my heart to see my words in print, and as an acceptance from Door is a Jar Magazine was unexpected, it makes it even sweeter.

I first connected with this magazine on twitter #writingcommunity.

Door is a Jar is a print and digital literary magazine of poetry, short fiction, nonfiction, drama and artwork. Our publication focuses on writing that is accessible for all readers.

Door is a Jar Magazine

Their emphasis on accessibility for all and clarity so that everyone can enjoy and understand the stories and poems they publish is right in line with what I am all about. I enjoy academic and literary works but my heart is where the simple becomes beautiful.

“Within the cover letter please include your full name, contact info, and a fun 3-sentence bio, which will be published in the magazine. (We’re not as interested in how many degrees you have, or how widely you’ve been published. Instead, we want to hear about the real you. We want to know about the little things that spur you along.)”

Door is a Jar Submission page

My poems Walnut Greens and Falling Purpose appear in Issue 23 Summer 2022 alongside the work of 49 other writers. This issue is available on Amazon as an ebook and in print.

If you are a writer, I encourage you to take advantage of their rolling submissions.

Mary Grace van der Kroef


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Aracknid Atrist

Silken strands strung stunningly,
a woven web of artistry.
Secretions from innovations soul,
yet born to place each strand,
just so.
Elegant economic pattern,
drops of diamond dew bespattered.
Stops one dead in tracks this morn.
Now to face arachnid
scorn.
To such a masterpiece destroy…
A humbled apology employ.
Hours spent on spinning threads,
a masterpiece of newness
spreads.

©2022 Mary Grace van der Kroef

Arachnid Artist was originally published in The Dwelling Issue 7: BUGS UNDER THE RUG.


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