By Robert Krenzel
This Lady has lost her way.
She is an immigrant: a French girl, originally.
She welcomed others, lighting the way to a better life.
She watched, twice, with pride as the boys sailed off to rescue her homeland. She counted them back; too many never returned.
She wept as she watched the towers burn and fall. They were immigrants, like her. How could they?
She grew angry and suspicious.
Lately she has lost her way. The light has gone dark. She no longer welcomes the wretched refuse.
Only for a time. Maybe just for a few years. Maybe just four.
Bio: Bob Krenzel writes historical fiction in his spare time. A 24-year Army veteran, he served in the Balkans, Iraq, and Afghanistan.
By the High Guru of Haiku
phones in our pockets
sweatshop blood on our fingers
Siri, don’t you care?
To celebrate the conclusion of the second calendar year of our existence, Drabble editors (both of us) have compiled a list of some our favorite posts of 2016.
While we are grateful to every Drabble reader and writer for helping to make this small corner of the Internet such an unexpected success, we wanted to call out a few pieces that we feel truly accomplished what we were setting out to do when we began this blog back in March 2015.
Here (in no particular order) are ten drabbles we truly loved in 2016, enjoy:
Writing Advice by Jamie Thunder
Dear Me by Anonymous
Goodbye by Mentalist at Work
The Field by Ali Grimshaw
Vesuvius by T.N. Haynes
The Haunted Mirror by Rufus Woodward
Her Blank Page by Isabelle Andres
Q & A by Nick Dunster
The Color of Poppies by S.S. Hicks
Run by Vidur Sahdev
You will fall in love with words and writing, and in the process, you’ll hear this a lot: “Don’t write like a victim.”
Don’t listen! Don’t let anyone else tell you how to express your truth.
Someday soon you will come to realize the Universe is arbitrary. Things will happen that are outside of your control, and some of those things will be painful. Yet, somehow you will make it through, I promise.
I’ve written this because I love you, and I don’t want you to ever forget that.
Your future self
By Mentalist at Work
I can’t recall our first kiss
but I remember our last.
You tasted of coffee and toothpaste.
I murmured goodbye,
still naked, bleary eyed.
You let yourself out and drove back
to your work
I fell asleep and didn’t dream
By Ali Grimshaw
followed by a breaking open.
As the walls fall,
you will no longer be contained,
Grieve and they shall crumble,
until the last stone is still
Leaving you in a field of golden openness.
Wide and light,
No need for protection
In the warm air.
Bio: Ali Grimshaw is a poet and blogger. Her blog called flashlight batteries, https://flashlightbatteries.wordpress.com/, offers hope for those struggling in the darkness and a mirror for tough times in life.
Damn the dawn that stole from me, sweet visions of the night.
Oh heartless sun, could you not wait until my dream was done?
Like a knife you cut the cord that bound me to her breast.
Reverse at once your climb, cruel thief, so I might slumber on.
Spiteful light, do not allow this precious picture fade.
I grasp her hand, it will not stay; pleading eyes, forlorn, dismay.
Allow I beg, one final chance to plunge back into sleep,
Before this dying dream of love is torn from me away.