Monthly Archives: October 2017

Ronovan writes #173 #haiku

Spooky things happen

in the darkness of the night

if you admit them

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lament of the lark

The combine drives its lonely round
and leaves no speck upon the ground
agri-farmer’s pockets lined with plenty
whilst crop and gizzard remain empty
no butterfly, aphid nor yet a bee
to feed my growing family
no swarm of insects overhead
between the stalks the soil is dead
not long ago the farmers horse
leading on his steady course
would pull the plough, the hoe, the rake
leaving in his stately wake
mounds of dung which left to lie
would feed the beetle or the fly
each juicy grub a feast for me
and other dwellers on the leas
across the field at stately pace
to beat the weather was their race
in numbers ever exponential
no thought of problems consequential
now I fear those halcyon days
are lost forever in the haze
of time and deepest memory
set down in our planet’s story

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Thursday photo prompt #writephoto Ebb

It was Spring, the time for renewal. In a show of respect to the Old ones, the gathering was beginning.Our tribe was gathered at the water’s edge for today the seas were withdrawn as the lowest ebb tide of the year allowed a glimpse of the old beliefs. We were assembled to pay homage to Ogopogo, an ancient, terrifying sea serpent who lives here off the coast of British Columbia. His hunger can only be satisfied by offerings from the resident North American Indians. At unusually low tides such as experienced here our Elders will go and seek the cavern where he dwells. Of all the caves, usually hidden by the cold waters, they will look for the bones of the unfortunate departed, our ancestors and forebears, arrayed in mystical patterns at the entrance to his lair. Then by centuries old invocation and ritual dance they will hopefully persuade the monster to stay away from the coastal villages, on it’s periodic but regular forays on the land, slaying and devouring the inhabitants in their homes, in their beds. Our prayers and rituals will compel this dread, ancient curse of our people to remain in his watery realm and plunder the denizens of the deep to slake his immense, ravenous, unnatural, unrelenting hunger. Protection has been sustained over the generations and will continue until such time as the monster is either slain or proven to be a superstitious myth as some of our sons and daughters believe.

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WRITESPIRATION #138 52 WEEKS IN 52 WORDS WEEK 43

DSCN1441 (2)

“Hey you, what do you think you’re looking at, these are my bitches, oh, sorry I suppose I shouldn’t really call them that, I mean with the dogs being so, how shall I say, uppity, about people talking about their ladies in derogatory terms. Anyway they’re mine, you know what I mean?”

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Weekly poetry Tuesday

Senryu, I think

it seems so eerie

someone in a clown costume

makes me so nervous

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Ronovan writes #172 #Haiku

one wrong decision

the touchpaper of war lit

humanity lost

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Ronovan Writes #171 #Haiku

calmly she swims in

the lake of oblivion

salt laden tears fall

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Thursday photo prompt – Tower – #writephoto

up-north-060

Untold centuries have passed since first I stood sentinel on this lonely mound. My cold, brick skirts pressed modestly round my granite ankles. But as if in recognition of my awesome power no human blood was ever spilt within. Only life’s juices draining from the ox, the sheep and fowl in preparation for the daily feasts once held within my smoky halls. When minstrels played and goblets raised in song and celebration of deeds of valour if only from the minds of fawning scribes enthralled and eager to placate their Lord and raise him high above his peers. Tables heavy laden with the weight of wood and pewter platters, their contents overflowing. Fruit and bread and choicest meat supplied and oft replenished by ragged boys and comely maidens whose faces set in lying smiles promising hopes of delights to follow but at a price, far above the reach of those who could only listen from without the heavy oaken doors.

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Colleen Chesebro #Weekly Poetry Challenge NO. 54. Ghost & haunt #Haibun

“Was there ever such a heinous crime as that of fratricide, for what, the stealing of another’s bride, once one’s own brothers wife for sure.  May those found guilty of such an act be cursed in people’s memories forever.”

A Prince of Denmark

haunted by a father’s ghost

merits compassion

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Colleen Chesebro #Weekly Poetry Challenge NO. 54. Ghost & haunt

The three ghosts appeared

each a haunting tale to tell

their messages plain

Let us watch the tale unfold

and witness transformation

 

Memories only

haunt these ancient hallowed halls.

Ghosts in the mind

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