Shelby’s weekly writing prompt!

[User690263]

New POTW: write about a winter night.

The sky holds its breath—
a hush draped over rooftops,
snow whispering secrets
as it falls in slow, silver spirals.

Streetlamps glow like tired stars,
casting halos on the sleeping earth.
A wind moves through bare trees,
not cruel, just cold,
pulling long sighs from the branches.

Somewhere, a window flickers
with the soft light of staying in,
and the world, wrapped in frost,
waits without wanting,
still and whole beneath the moon.

 

[User690263]

New POTW: write a short freestyle poem on hope, mercy, faith, etc.

Hope is the feeling
that something might change
even when nothing does.

It waits in quiet corners,
where light filters through dust,
where hands still reach out
though they’ve been empty before.

It doesn’t promise,
but it stays—
soft,
unreasonable,
alive.

 

[BigBlueHen53]

The sky holds its breath—
a hush draped over rooftops,
snow whispering secrets
as it falls in slow, silver spirals.

Streetlamps glow like tired stars,
casting halos on the sleeping earth.
A wind moves through bare trees,
not cruel, just cold,
pulling long sighs from the branches.

Somewhere, a window flickers
with the soft light of staying in,
and the world, wrapped in frost,
waits without wanting,
still and whole beneath the moon.

Very nice! I could see it and feel it. Well done!

 

[User690263]

Hope is the feeling
that something might change
even when nothing does.

It waits in quiet corners,
where light filters through dust,
where hands still reach out
though they’ve been empty before.

It doesn’t promise,
but it stays—
soft,
unreasonable,
alive.

I wrote this in my notes app, but apparently forgot to post it

 

[User690263]

All around the house the wind moans, seeking a way in, rattling the windows and tapping with frozen fingers at the doors. But inside, no one pays it any heed. One dog lies unconscious, stretched out before the wood stove as it roars its defiance up the chimney at the storm. A cat blinks sleepily atop the recliner behind the head of a man dozing over a book; a second dog, mop-like, snores on the quilted lap of a white-haired woman busily crocheting bright Granny squares as she gently rocks in an upholstered chair. The cinnamon-rich aroma of an apple fritter baking in the oven slowly fills the house and the kettle begins to sing. She smiles, setting her needlework to the side and gving the mop-dog a pat. "Let me up," she says, and the dog hops down.

I love how much detail you packed into this !