Eternal Heart


Bedelia sat by the window where the slipping sun shot through her prism, splashing rainbows on walls and ceiling, and mused softly: “which is eternal—love, or the heartache it holds?”

She held the Victorian watch, fingered the sterling scrollwork which resembled ocean waves, and thought of him…

He’d seen her sitting in the dark, the whispering palms and surf behind her, moon glow lighting silent silver streams that slid down her cheeks.

“What is it, Love—tell me,” he’d spoken tenderly, his matinee idol face in shadow…

Etched like scrimshaw on eternal heart, forever ago…was it true memory, or merely recurrent dream?

Closing her eyes she could feel his hand, warm and smooth against her cheek…real as fading prism rainbows.

©Rhen Laird/Cobbled Contemplations,  2020 ~ All rights reserved.

Two Gulfs (6-Sentence Story)

Prompt: GULF

It had been decades since Bedelia visited the Gulf, though her soul held the sounds and scent of rippling waves gilded by sunlight.

Each year she ordered a calendar featuring beach scenes, silvered shells and bright coral, to liven up her drab kitchen.

These misted-dawn, seaside thoughts were disrupted by a knock at the door.

Peering through a slender slit in the drapery, she hardly recognized the man with gray hair and mustache…she began to tremble, heart beating rapidly out of sync.

How had he found her, and what did he want…perhaps to seek her forgiveness?

She remained still, breathless as a glass figurine, waiting for him to leave the paltry property she could claim as hers, unmarred—the gulf between her ex-husband and herself was forever-far too wide, turbid, and serpent-swirled to wade across.

©Rhen Laird/Cobbled Contemplations, 2020 ~ All rights reserved.

Nothing of Value Lost

Reena’s Prompt:

“He had lost everything of value to him. There was an empty canvas on the easel, his colors and tools. What would he paint?”


He had lost everything of value

To him…there was an empty

Canvas on the easel, his colors

And tools…what would he paint?

I tell him he has only lost

His perspective, merely a

Cloud, soon to move along.

He has wealth, talent

Unstructured time to fill

As he pleases…and has he

Forgotten?  He has me.

I ask if he remembers

The day we met, when I

Was still a child.


He wipes un-shed tears

On his denim shirtsleeve

Smile tracing shyly ’round

His perfectly etched lips.

“Yes”, he says, “you thought

I was really something.”


“I knew you would save

My life,” I say.


“And now you want

To save mine, huh?

You can’t hold back

Time, Love…I’m an

Old man.”


He used to say I

Kept him young.

I tell him time, the whole

World, stopped when I

First saw him…my heart

Locked upon his eyes, the

Planes of his face

Excruciatingly handsome

And his voice became

Melody e’er repeating

Through my mind.


Ego salved, he asks

“Shall I paint you another


He knows I never tire of them

Nor tropical flowers he

Brings to life in acrylics.


“Why not try painting ‘love'”

I whisper, blush rising ‘gainst

My cheeks, forever flame.

He studies me, muses, asks

“Think you could hold a pose

Long enough for me?”

©Rhen Laird/Cobbled Contemplations,  2020 ~ All rights reserved.