Monthly Archives: December 2017

Ronovan writes #180 #haiku

In crimson chambers

slow, burns the flame of desire

till passion erupts

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Thursday photo prompt – Mists #write photo The Aftermath

fog

 

 

Atop the grassy mountain stands
a stark grey silent ruin
of the mighty tor on high,
below, the marshy vale sits
in a sea of swirling mist
the clammy dew-drenched
woodsmoke from the
long forgotten campfires
now only memories
of that once mighty army
standing nervous,
proudly waiting
for the trumpets sounding
bright wind-blown flags unfurling
where the once and future King
desired stout hearts and bodies
for the sacrifice once more

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Weekly Tanka prompt challenge #75 Shining&Winter

Orange, shining globe,

tethered to the horizon

by watery strands,

shadows lengthen as dwindling

daylight proclaims the Winter 45D68003-CDAA-42C2-9AB1-9717A49883C8.jpeg

 

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Thursday photo prompt – Mists – #writephoto

fog

Arthur shivered, drew his crimson cloak over his shoulder and looked once more over the Plains of Avalon. Although it was mid-morning the sun was still unable to break through the wet, damp, pestilential mist. He knew that less than a league away the Viking warband would be making ready for their final assault. If his small band of warriors, brave and skilled fighting men, though they were, were unable to beat them back, all of Wessex would be lost. The pagan hordes had subdued the whole country to the North of the Avon and only he and his followers could prevent the subjugation of the whole land under the barbarian yoke. He had dispatched a small group of men during the night to find how near the enemy had advanced but they had not returned and he feared they may have been taken or lost in the seething bog that was their strongest defence against attack. Not even he could find the safe pathways in this murk. A familiar voice called from behind and he turned to see his kinsman Aethelfled. They clasped hands and without speaking both understood that there would be no battle today and they would all have to go about their business, preparing their weapons and armour in almost silence. The fog that surrounded them would magnify any sounds they made but would also act to their advantage as they would be able to hear the approaching foe thus denying them the element of surprise. If the mist cleared they would be ready but if not then tomorrow was another day.

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COLLEEN’S WEEKLY TUESDAY #POETRY CHALLENGE NO.62 The crow’s nest vigil

colleenbadge3

High  above the deck

while watching the rise and fall

of the cold, dark waves

below, the deep throated gong

measures each hour completed

 

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Colleen’s weekly poetry challenge #62 #haiku

The countryside chimes

are now only memories

for peace in our time Continue reading

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Photo Challenge #192 → Twittering Tale #62 – 12 December 2017

twittering-tales-12-dec

“Look mummy the note says to make a wish, it’s signed Jeanie.” “Make a wish then dear.” “Ok mummy done.”

High above their heads the cliff started to crumble and a rock fell, knocking the woman, head bleeding, to the ground.

The girl smiled.   137 ch.

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Ronovan Writes Haiku Challenge 179 Flare / Steam

Each night the sun’s flare

is baptised in red oceans

but no steam rises

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Sue Vincent’s Thursday photo prompt – Portal – #writephoto

portal

I took a look round the small, cramped room, no bigger than the average walk-in wardrobe and tried hard to picture how I would feel shut up in there for an indeterminate time. I shuddered at the thought. Having introduced me to the Priest’s hole, John led on and I followed him along a passageway towards a welcoming looking doorway. On my right was an opening which appeared to be illuminated from above.

“Look up,” instructed John. I glanced up to the source of the light in expectation. Above me was a dark-wood varnished platform consisting of two short planks with a hole cut about the size of a washbasin. “A couple of hundred years ago you wouldn’t like to have been standing there, “ John said with a smile.

“Go on, tell me why?” I asked.

“Does that bit of wood look familiar?” John replied, “think about the size and shape.”

”I could only think of it as a medieval lampshade but that is obviously wide of the mark.” a remark I immediately regretted.

”Well I could say, ‘here’s mud in your eye’ it’s the garderobe, the forerunner of en-suite bathroom facilities, amazing eh!”

”Brilliant, “ I replied, with more than a hint of jealousy, “are there any more features you want to tempt me with.”

”Wait until tonight, you’ll be well impressed I guarantee but that is something for later, meanwhile it’s nearly time for a drink.”

 

The story continues…….

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Friday fictioneers flash fiction challenge

apple-tree-icicles-rebecca-siegel-flickr.jpg

 

I look out of the window to the old apple tree at the bottom of the garden. My inheritance you may call it for though valueless it has repaid me many times. Now it is a naturally decorated tree, the light shining and glinting on the frozen streamers. In Spring blossoms appear, pink snowdrifts in short-lived glory. Leaves slowly unfurl, changing hue as the sun passes overhead, food for marching caterpillars. Bright red apples form then wither and fall for hungry animals and birds to scavenge before in readiness for Winter, the leaves form falling, orange-brown carpets. My living calendar.

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