Ballerina Fish

Prompt: Compare a fish to a ballerina

A fish moves through the water
Effortlessly twirling fluttering fins
Shimmering scales reflecting sun
A ballerina in costume
Leaping, sliding, graceful gliding
Floating, suspended, motionless
Tirelessly practicing time-worn routines
Lurid motions mesmerizing
Beautifully harmonious melodies
Swaying, swinging, bobbing, singing
A dynamic flight of frenzied flurry
Slow and mournful, quick and hurried
Dancing, swishing, whispered wishing
Incessant motion,
Never ceasing
Around and around and around once more
Never touching floor
Living, breathing, loving, being
This never-ending masquerade
Activity that never fades
Dazzling display
Glittering, glowing, flowing, gleaming
A ballerina in a bowl

Stormy Gold

This post has a little story behind it.  My dad is currently preparing for an interview to be a 5th grade teacher, and in an effort to find a suitable "lesson" to teach to his interviewers, he has been looking for inspiration in the world around him.  Well, the world is currently involved in the biggest international sports event there is: the Olympics.  By searching for a subject to teach on, my dad has inspired me by some of his ideas.  So, thanks in advance for this great prompt!

Prompt: How would it feel to be standing on the podium receiving a gold medal in the Olympics?

I take a step into the room and a roar greets me.  It is as deafening as thunder.  The bright lights of the room are blinding, like lightning, and I can imagine I’m in the middle of a storm.  That isn’t too hard to believe: just hours ago wasn’t I drenched to the bone while making a mad dash for the gold?  The pool isn’t so different from rainclouds.


I take the step up that will elevate me above the other two medalists.  As the strap is placed around my neck, I feel myself swelling with pride at what I have accomplished for my country.  I listen, although it is no longer thunder I hear but birdsong, the ballad of my nation.  The storm is over; I’ve made it.  The camera flashes glitter like raindrops on the landscape.  I take a deep breath, inhaling the air of victory.  It smells sweet like the earth after a rain.  I raise my arms, smile, and know that this golden sunlight is where I truly belong.

Barefoot

Some shoes tell a story: where you’ve been, the places you’ve seen, the streets you’ve walked.  They can tell of where you are, or where you’re going.  So much can be said for a single pair of shoes.  The ratty holes of the worn out boots that sit on daddy’s shelf.  They speak of hard times in the fields and long days at work.  The soft mauve slippers under mom’s desk.  They whisper the lullabies she sang when the storms blew loud outside.  The dusty baseball cleats in the hall closet.  That game brother almost won.  The dancing shoes hung in sister’s closet.  A routine much-practiced and rehearsed, only to be crushed by a sprained ankle.  So many shoes for so many stories.


I walk barefoot down the streets, in the halls, and through the crowds.  My story stays the same, for my shoes, they never change.  My feet are always with me, wherever I may go.  They come when I want no one else to follow.  They hold the stories that make my life, my personal repertoire.  Other’s shoes can tell their tales, every single pair.  For me, there’s only one shoe to wear, and my feet are always bare.