Dagdia Island
Life in the trenches


Daily Prompt: Twenty-Five
by michelle w. on March 4, 2013

There are 26 letters in the English language, and we need every single one of them. Want proof? Choose a letter and write a blog post without using it. (Feeling really brave? Make it a vowel!)

Beneath the branches of the sycamore tree
I dreamt a dream of my darling and me
In a lovely, distinct and far away land
Of swaying palms and warm white sand
There we frolicked and sipped sweet drinks
Stayed on the shore ‘til the sky streaked pink
Then off we went to share the night
I awoke with remnants of dreamy delight.

Poem without the use of “u”.



Sorrowful notes fall upon my dancing heart
as tears upon the heaving flame.
Soothing words that once quenched a thirsty throat
be wrested from my mind,
leave no evidence of thy presence hereafter
The wilted rose bore hues of red and pink,
colorless remains of blushing cheeks.
How now? Thy honorable, ghostly Knight,
warrior for truth, slayer of tyranny,
wordsmith of whispers fluttering on rippling winds,
barely breathed, little more than vapor swiftly dispersed.
Darkened, steadfast eyes of the raven, turned irksome crow
lurks on yonder bough.
Haunting memory, find fascination nay fancy
more neatly near your nest.
Thy cawing colors my complexion an irritable and saddened shade of grey.
At the dawning of day, the lark lifts my weary lids with a lively melody,
a hopeful song of all things passing.
His heart, small and fickle, ventures far from roaring fires.
Oh, the safe, sensible, happy lark.
©MG Mack


Heat weighs heavily upon the garden path
Hazy, hovering, humidity presses down on the day
My clothes cling in a rumbled mass against my drenched body
An errant strand of sweat-soaked hair lays draped over my cheek
I tuck it behind an ear as meandering streams trickle between my breasts and down the center of my back
Alone and immersed in discomfort, my moody heart curses a recurring memory and the stifling lack of oxygen
Searching, always searching…
Pain from old wounds prods my senses
My aching chest is flooded with restlessness
Like a woman, I cry
I find a fallen log and sit, overwhelmed with anger, frustration and oppressive rays
Kicking off my shoes and squinting out over the still waters of the lake bring me thoughts of you
You would have known just what to say…just how to handle my mood
But you are no longer here to hold my face in your hands and look beyond my pupils into the depths of my soul
There are no whispers to put out the fires
No arms to offer protection
No lips upon my face
I search myself for strength and balance
I find little in the trees that whisper your name
Copyright MG Mack all rights reserved


He saw movement in her eyes, a message beneath a thought
She spoke slowly, softly of her disenchantment at being caught
Aimlessly drifting with the erratic current, battered on the river bank
He listened with interest as her heart gently sank
“Turning like a leaf in a whirlpool is a sad and loathsome fate,
passively moving around each bend, a tiresome dizzying fate”.
He let her tell her story, stoked the fire and faintly smiled,
deeply stirred by the sound of her voice, her silhouette, her style.
He pushed her hair back and pulled her close.
He fought back remnants of yesterday’s ghosts.
He knew this well, blood, sweat and fear
He said “all that matters is what is right here,
river high, soul laid low, the truth depends on how deep you go.
Stay here with me in the warm firelight.
Clarity will follow when daybreak runs off the night”.
Wrapped in each other, they drifted away
Peaceful acquiescence, no words left to say.
©MG Mack


Out of The Hive

Immersed in the hive of humanity struggling to hear and be heard, constant humming, hovering drones transform every word

Surface from the oblivious masses, emitting heat and noxious gasses, angry minded, poisoned asses

an existence so absurd

I break away from the darkened confusion, to the open air free from illusion, where time and place find no conclusion,

my thoughts no longer deterred

Your warm embrace waits for me there, whisper my name, run your hands through my hair. You know me well and hold me with care

In your presence, I’m reassured.

Copyright MG Mack all rights reserved




The tale comes to a close with the turning of the final phrase.
Blue birds, white horses and sunny, green knolls disappear.
Peace and contentment skitter off on a cool wind
Eyes snap open to reality
The here and now slaps the face like shattered glass

Head spinning
Tension invades tissues
The heart winces and goes into hiding
A soul, tormented and twisted, gets caught up on jagged edges,
trapped and swaying in sorrow.

Just yesterday I was holding onto a dream
that lifted and carried me wistfully into blue skies
Lost in possibility, I smiled.
Inhaling hope, I sang.
Imagining eternity, I danced

The possibilities dwindled, barely a trickle from a drained and weary well.
Hope withered and fell, like the last October leaf.
Eternity simply ceased to exist

Sacred secrets are discovered, not told.
Ancient scrolls carried by gentle souls imprint hearts,
and live in the Shadowlands of memory
to be revisited when we find ourselves back at

©MG Mack all rights reserved