In spiral circles
no leader, no followers
all remain equal,
tracing each line with finger
connection of the senses
Monthly Archives: Jul 2019
Celtic knot #Tanka
Filed under Alternative history, As you read it, Factual, Old knowledge, Self compositions, Tanka
First Line Friday: July 19th, 2019
Picture from Bob Williams, Arx Cynuit
They congregated up in the hills, far away from judging eyes. This would be the last time that any of these people would see these Northern barbarians. Fight or die Cobanorum had said and they would follow this exhortation to the end. Far below they could see the torches zigzagging up the heather-clad slope. The Norsemen had beached their boats at sunset and after making their usual offerings to their ineffective Gods had decided the auspices were right for an assault on the lonely village.
Toothless old men, young boys, women with babies at the breast, young girl, all were assembled at the call to repel this parasitic invader. Those who would take their women and children, mock their Christ, their priests, and without compassion, maim, disfigure and take the life of their brave fighting men.
Their weapons were the tools of the field but they had one advantage, they were fighting for their lives, their homes, all that was held dear. Death had no meaning, for life would never be the same if they were defeated. In their favour was the gift nature had bestowed upon them, the sheer sea cliff, the stone, turf-clad walls, built to protect them from this predicted onslaught. All they had to rely on was the knowledge and belief that their courage would be as strong as the mighty earthen banks built over time with the strength of theirs and their ancestor’s own arms.
The result of their struggle is well known and I am happy to tell you of their victory. Thus was the legend born we know as the battle of Arx Cynuit, the last attempt by the accursed Danes to subdue this island race.
A pirate’s tale, though not so tall #seashanty #young-at-heart
Pablo the pirate
is home from the sea,
his left leg has a wooden stump
just below the knee,
ask him how he lost it
and he will tell to you,
a crocodile bit it off,
in the land of Umpaloo,
he would have had the other
but for him he was too clever,
he tied it up behind his back
making it difficult to see,
so that big green, nasty, greedy croc,
only got one leg for his tea.
Filed under As you read it, Comic verse, Inspired by fable, Self compositions, Singalong, Whimsical
Friday Fibonacci, Crossing the lines
Stop
look
listen,
for the shrill
blast on the whistle,
a warning to the unwary,
or a promise of release to the broken-hearted.
Colleen’s 2019 Weekly #Tanka Tuesday #Poetry Challenge No. 136 #Decadent
Sounds of jollity
carried on electric light,
pierce ivy shutters,
through twice glazed frames declaring
Neo-Georgian mockery
Filed under As you read it, On the lines of romance, Self compositions, Tanka, Uncategorized
Crimson’s Creative Challenge #36
When over the bow
the great wave breaks,
rearing and plunging
the whole vessel shakes
the binnacle spins,
the helmsman takes
a firm grip on the wheel while
between decks the sailor makes
the sign of the cross
as for a lull in the storm
he patiently waits
Filed under Factual, Self compositions, Stirring the memories
RonovanWrites #Weekly #Haiku #Poetry Prompt #Challenge #262 Ripple &Wind.
Time and space ripple
as they wind their endless way,
ad infinitum.
Filed under As you read it, Factual, Haiku, nature inspired, Otherworldly, Self compositions
Sammiscribbles Weekend Writing Prompt #114 #fibonacci
I
could
never find
what it would
take to make her smile
because every time she tried to show humour
her eyes would soften but her lips would curl up into a grimace.
Filed under Fibonnaci, On the lines of romance, Self compositions
The Thursday photo prompt: Castle #writephoto
“There it is,” the high-pitched cry pierced the gloom. As one, we looked across the dark, calm waters of the loch. Where once had been foreboding darkness we watched as the beam of a lantern appeared, illuminating one of the openings high in the castle wall. It was a wonder that no-one else could have seen it but it was our agreed signal. We trotted down to the shingle bank and positioned ourselves on either side of the little wooden boat resting just above the seaweed strewn tideline. Taking up positions either side we pushed the boat into the water stern first. Then all four of us, standing knee deep in our breeches in the cold water, clambered aboard. We took up the oars and carefully fed them through the muffled rowlocks. Each one wrapped in strips of cloth to cover the sound of the creaking oars.
“Easy lads,” the coxswain breathed, “we don’t want any splashing to be heard or the game will be up.” We strained at the oars and the dinghy slid silently across the waters with barely a ripple. It was only a short pull but we realised the current was against us and though the evening was cold I could feel the sweat forming under my tunic and salty streams running down my brow. We finally got to the shore below the castle wall and shipping the oars ran the little craft up the sand. We three oarsmen leapt over the gunwale and leaving the coxswain seated in the stern, we started to drag the boat out of the water.
The lantern still shone from the walls but the beach seemed ominously quiet. It was supposed to be a secret mission. Our purpose was to take the sole prisoner held in the castle back to the mainland where a troop of horsemen were waiting to accompany her carriage on the route to Edinburgh.
From high on the wall we suddenly heard a shout and more lights started to appear. When the first discharge was heard we realised the plan had failed. We scrambled back into the boat and started to pull for our lives. Musket balls were raining down and forming fountains all around the boat but luckily none of us were hit.We finally arrived at the far side and found it deserted. It appeared everyone had run away when the first shots were heard. We thought it best to do the same ready to plan our next attempt at rescue.
Funtime with Crimson’s Creative Challenge #35
picture “uphill path” from Crispina Kemp
Sally lived at the top of the hill,
when she walked into town the boys got a thrill,
by design or just by chance
she often forgot her underpants,
every day the menfolk hoped for a breeze
when she went to pick up the groceries,
her mother said Sally this will have to stop
but her dad said she should also forget her top
why say that to her said his despairing wife
because I won’t have a bill for the rest of my life.
When the pen takes control. 