Monthly Archives: September 2017

You’ll Never Be A Good Writer If You…

Source: You’ll Never Be A Good Writer If You…

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#SoCS September 30-17

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Due to the very fair weather and the promise of rain later I decided to take the dogs out for an early walk. sadly I failed to realise that the dew on the grass would be so heavy this early in the morning at this time of year and when I let them off for a bit of a free runaround their legs and fur took on the appearance of having waded through a fast-flowing stream. These two take rather a lot of grooming so I knew that their rightful owner would not be impressed if they returned and bounced all over the furniture leaving wet trails everywhere so a brisk rubdown in the yard with a fleecy towel was the only thing to do.

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Forebears

SAMSUNG


a sentinel stands
where the ancient dust settled
stranger wait awhile
rest your hand upon the stone
let it’s gentle guidance flow
voices from the past
words unwritten in their time
waiting to be heard
listen to your heart while minds
left open will surely find
bold revelations
answers to the mysteries 
innermost desires
Gaia will at last reveal
secrets hidden in our souls 

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Colleen’s weekly poetry challenge #Haiku #Tanka #Haibun Spirit and Joy

haiku

May the Holy Spirit

bring you joy everlasting

by the Grace of God

tanka

Typically British, don’t you know

A cricket fan’s joy

lies in seeing the two teams

playing by the rules.

As players we should always

keep the Spirit of the game.

Haibun

The Queen, God bless her

A toast to bring joy to all

of British spirit

On the occasion of the announcement of a major Royal event, such as engagement to marriage, the birth of a child or significant Royal birthday it was customary for a signal  to be transmitted to all serving members of the British Armed Forces wherever they were, be it on ships or on land in all corners of the world. The signal was generated and was usually personal from Her Majesty The Queen inviting all to join with her in celebration. The instruction would be given to, “Splice the mainbrace!” All were then entitled to draw a free drink which had to be consumed immediately and generally accompanied by the toast as described above. In a true spirit of cameraderie, great joy was felt by all at her generosity.

 

 

 

 

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Ronovan writes #168 #Haiku

No more the sweet scent

of lavender and jasmine

Summer memories

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Filed under Haiku, Seasons, Self compositions, Uncategorized

MLMM Elfje, Saturday mix #Lucky dip

Bronze

beaten shields

A God’s gift

seen in Autumn leaves

Civilisation

 

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#SoCS hot/cold

“hot,” that’s the word I would  use to describe the girl’s photo that accompanied her profile on the well-known online dating site. After a bit of to-ing and fro-ing, exchanging messages I asked her to give me a ring. She agreed and shyly, although I don’t know why as it was only a phone call, I answered the call with great trepidation. Her voice was pleasant enough but there was something in it that was not quite right. We chatted and despite being quite suited on the website it turned out we had almost nothing in common. We didn’t agree to call each other again or meet and the whole experience left me quite cold.

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#Daily prompt Leaf Leaf

Their day is done
Chameleon leaves,
 red,yellow, brown,
spiralling down
 to carpet the ground
and muffle wild sounds
once  English greenwood fair
stark now the grey and bare,
limbs reaching heavenly
bereft of their canopy
call out for the sun
stand in supplication
withering, slumbering
till Spring comes calling

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Get Ready to Rodeo! — Carrot Ranch Literary Community

Norah Colvin writes in the upcoming The Congress of Rough Writers Flash Fiction Anthology, Vol. 1: “Flash fiction is a form of short writing. In its various forms, it may be known as, for example, micro fiction, sudden fiction, or six-word stories; the length may vary from as few as six to as many as […]

via Get Ready to Rodeo! — Carrot Ranch Literary Community

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Thursday photo prompt – Flow #writephoto

river-wye-weir

Just below the surface of the fast-flowing stream he lay waiting. Below the bubbles and foam the water was clear and cool, he could see all the way up to the steel-grey rocks ahead. He had waited here for many days, occasionally rising to the surface, looking upstream, judging the depth over the first stone. This morning was different, in the dark he had felt the raindrops crashing into the waters inches above his head. Now it had stopped but long experience and instinct told him that further up the valley where he would be heading there would be a rush as all the small streams emptied their collected waters into the river in which he lay. It took many hours but soon the level would start to rise and he could attempt to make his way further up. He would try to be early at the spawning ground, this year he was stronger and larger, his red-flushed flanks were brighter than the last throws of the sunset. His hooked jaw curved over his upper lip, making it impossible to feed. He was starving but he did not have time to feed on the juicy maggots, flies and morsels that drifted lazily over his head. He was only concerned with finding one of the many spawning females, ready to woo and persuade her to release her eggs into the sand in order that he might spray them with his milt. This would be his dying gift to the river, a new batch of young salmon to clean and purify the waters before they departed on their long journey downstream to where the river flowed into the dark sea and set off on their three year journey before they too returned to the place of their birth.

 

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