Purple top
To buy this or that
Fake prints
Bric-a-brac
Bare bum or native woman
A Sunday in May
Friends do meet
Curiosity
Did you see?
So old
Complimenting my décor
Bargains all around
Written for: http://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2014/03/29/bastets-shadorma-photo-prompts-2/
Purple princess stands up tall
Looks for her knight the valiant Sir Jasper
She knows he is out there
She knows as he told her he would return.
For so long, she lived in loneliness
Unloved, uncared for, accepting of her lot
But her Prince has given her a shred of hope
She clings to it, believing he’ll be back.
They met by chance, accidental it seemed
She stumbled in front of him
He reached down to lift her out the mud,
They spoke for hours, eyes locked.
She tends her farm now, crops and livestock
She dreams of Sir Jasper away on his conquests
Wonders as she cooks if he thinks of her,
Considers it unlikely he would come back for her.
In the heat of battle the knight is wounded
Blood flows, his heart thuds, mortality looms
He fights this wounds, he struggles back
He has one last prize, he yearns for, he craves.
The mist is lifting, a lone figure appears
Slumped in his saddle, resilient to the end
She looks up from her labours, her heart skips
Runs, her love has returned to her arms.
Written for: http://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2014/03/28/fairytalechallenge1/
It’s the door that has thrown me
Open when I was sure it was shut.
Why I ask?
Forgiveness you said
Comes in simple terms
My door ajar
My heart open.
I ask the question
Are you worth the risk?
To venture once again
Into your web
Its twists and turns
No clear passages
Conversation convoluted
Meaning obligatorily stupefied.
Where circles are the norm,
Fatuous argument
The order of the day.
Rather I elect
Acceptance, understanding
The kindness of a true heart
Always open, no fine print,
A quiet soul, who looks and sees,
Me, in all my flaws
Takes my hand
Leads me slowly
Through tales of magic.
Written for: http://dversepoets.com/2014/03/27/meeting-the-bar-rhythm-and-blank-verse/
My world is bright
A myriad of colour
Every shade and hue of green
Beyond my back door.
I contrast in my many blues
But I welcome the reds and the purples
The yellows and the splashes of white
I see within my garden.
A butterfly flutters past
Black and gold wings
Flocks of birds, the colours of nature
Some blending, some prominent
They chorus among the red bottlebrush
Fighting over the dark seed pods
Messing the floor below with
Droppings of their unique kind.
In the cool of the afternoon
We sit among this riot of colour
Your beige giving way
To the eclectic shades
Thrown before us.
Our guides had warned us that any unwarranted noise could attract the Goblins of the Forest and that was not going to result in anything satisfactory.
It was single file until Carstairs tripped and fell.
Covered in the slime of the forest he struggled to his feet, looked around and looked startled at the two goblins sitting on a branch not five feet away.
They stopped their game of solitaire, wiped the slime that was accumulating on their lips and looked at Carstairs. Clearly repulsed they looked away, remarking to each other, that Carstairs was the ugliest of men creatures.
Written for: http://rochellewisofffields.wordpress.com/2014/03/25/28-march-2014/
Literary Quote
To have the sense of one’s intrinsic worth … is potentially to have everything
~ Joan Didion
The minute is approaching. I will soon hear my name called to step out and deliver what many believe will be a message of hope and rejuvenation.
To say my knees are not knocking is to pretend I am not nervous about my coming announcement. It has taken me a long time to arrive at this point where the nation will listen to my words of change. There have been an abundance of past winters and long long nights journeying from place to place across this vast nation.
Now in the enveloping spring, with apple blossoms sprouting on the many trees surrounding this auspicious building, with hope that with the coming spring my words will lift our nation out of its present darkness and into the light and growth of the coming season of renewal.
The bell of introduction rings. A deep breath, my time has come.
hope can ring true
springtime wishes of rebirth
a nation waits
Written for:
Written for: http://haibunthinking.wordpress.com/2014/03/25/haibun-thinking-week-10-march-25th-2014/
My people talk to
Your people talk to
My people talk to
At the third stroke it will be 10.28a.m. and three seconds
My people will arrange for
Your people to be informed for
My people to act.
At the third stroke it will be 10.29a.m. and three seconds
My people will meet with
Your people to discuss with
My people, then decide.
At the third stroke it will be 10.30a.m and three seconds
My people will enact with
Your people to institute with
My people the desired change.
At the third stroke it will be 10.31a.m. and three seconds.
My people
Your people
One people.
At the third stroke it will be…….
The room in which I found myself was dark and when I first hit the floor I was thankful for the straw that lined it. I lay there a while but quickly became aware of the effluvious aroma seeping under the attic door. It was the whispers I heard from across the room that startled me. I could make out what appeared to be a bassinet along the far wall but that anomalous thought only troubled me more.
I was at a loss to understand what was going on. The rumours of voodoo being practiced in this area came to my mind. That might explain the shears I could see suspended from the wall above the bassinet, a crude method of sacrifice as I recalled having done some homework on local customs before I arrived in this area.
Whatever the sounds were that I was hearing and what if anything was in the cause of those sounds was secondary to my immediate concern of the wounds I had suffered during the capture and treatment. The pain was intense and the rough sutures the peasant doctor had inflicted on me hurt more than anything I had ever experienced.
The pain was intense but in the back of my mind was the need to survive which may mean having to recant my previous confession as I feared the ultimate aerial torture, which I knew there would be no return.
Written for: http://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2014/03/24/wordle-1/
Performance night
Crowd in,
Expectation a plenty
Children rehearsed,
Everyone ready.
A chord is struck,
Voices ignite in chorus
What is that?
Somebody bring in the cat?
A child crying?
No. It can’t be.
First violin is out
Violinist looks mortified
Twenty minutes still to play.
The cat screams louder
Audience squirm
Ears assaulted
Conductor ploughs on
That high note is now a screech
Painful,
Chorus look distressed
We carry on
Everyone pretends all is well.
Final note
Relief
Heads bowed,
First violinist in tears
Bows
Embarrassment personified
She thinks worse than public speaking.
Prays for the curtain
To swallow her up.
Written for: http://mindlovemisery.wordpress.com/2014/03/21/prompt-48-escalating-humiliation/
Sunday lunch,
Visitors.
A morning of prep
Cooking, cleaning
Washing up
Orders barked
Abuse delivered
Humiliation a plenty.
Keep stirring
Caramel sauce
How I hate it.
Not the purple tablecloth
What were you thinking?
Its not ironed anyway.
No thought for others
Impression the name of the game.
Cost?
Immaterial.
Dollars? What it takes.
Emotions? Who cares?
Wounds festering
Resentment abounding
Job done.
Knock knock
Happy families.
Now who’ll say grace?
Written for: http://bastetandsekhmet.wordpress.com/2014/03/23/all-in-a-word-bastets-sunday-prompts-2/
Morpethroad 