zen is
listening to the song
of the crows,
hearing my intuition;
flowing like a creek instead
of trying to force my way
through a rock—

zen is taking a deep
breath of the forest,
walking through the wildflowers,
getting lost as i count the stars;

zen is choosing myself
instead of the chatter
of the world—

zen is simply being,
drinking in life;
conscious of every action
and reaction,
but enjoying my journey
instead of comparing it to that
of others.
–linda m. crate

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She is absolutely killing the challenge! How are you doing with the prompts?

breaking free of socks
chickens wearing socks
quickly lose them,
as they run to be rid of
constraint;

just as i quickly
lost you when you tried
restraining me

found instead a white
butterfly and a rainbow—

a promise of something
better than the
dystopia of yours that you
meant for me to inherit,

you thought you could wretch
into me all your darkness
and you’d shatter my light;

but i rose from the darkness
with every flaming feather—

so in the end you could say
that your socks were barely
any obstacle to my freedom,
they were every bit as weak
as that love you claimed for me.
–linda m. crate

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She is absolutely killing the challenge! How are you doing with the prompts?

misunderstood magic
the flying flock
of crows caught my
attention against the
backdrop of a blue sky
so clear and so blue
it was nothing less than a
song of beauty;

as i watched the murder
go about their way
i wondered where they were going—

they love the ravine
behind my apartment,
i remember once i journeyed
there and as i sang and danced
in the creek they flew
overhead singing songs of their own
happiness;

once a majestic crow welcomed
me into my favorite majestic forest—

i know these beings
are misunderstood and full of magic,
just like me.
-linda m. crate

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She is absolutely killing the challenge! How are you doing with the prompts?

red capped grotto
in the mushroom grotto
of red capped mushrooms,
i imagine there sings something
of beauty;

dangerous but gorgeous
full of energy and light
whose wings are anything but fragile—

they say you should avoid the
fae,
but i’m too curious for my own good;
would probably try to watch,
at the very least to see what they were like—

i know better than to give them
my name or my birthday
or make any deals with them,

but surely it couldn’t hurt
to watch them?

i can’t help but wonder about
the creatures
who make such lovely grottos.
-linda m. crate

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She is absolutely killing the challenge! How are you doing with the prompts?

break the machine
imagine living life
so well,
death bows their head;
i want an adventure
like that—

so tired of holding on
just to struggle through
another day,
think we all deserve more than to
simply exist;
we were meant to live—

so many beautiful things in this
world that i have yet to
see or experience,

and so many stories i have yet
to write;

never seem to have enough
time of my own to make me mine
so i’m not sure what to do about that,
all i know is i wasn’t born to be
just another cog in their machine;

and i’ll break it if i can find a way to.
-linda m. crate

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She is absolutely killing the challenge! How are you doing with the prompts?

our magical selves
shady picnics
beneath the wizened
and wise old maples and oaks,

a blanket of red and white
checked squares laid
out among the blades of grass;
little finger foods perfectly portioned
and preserved to keep the bugs
out—

we sit and tell stories
of old and new,
recalibrating the star dust
of our souls;

as we sing a song of our own—

no threat of work, chores,
or reality to come crashing in;
just us and these blue skies
full of puffy white clouds cheering us
on to be our magical selves.
-linda m. crate