Nursed unto the death,
final act of devotion,
eyes gently closing,
only memories remain
in that void once filled with love.
Category Archives: On the lines of romance
Colleen Chesebro’s Tuesday Tanka Challenge. Ending-Abyss
Crimson’s Creative Challenge #21 #Tanka -Quarry
Full green surrounded,
each shaded bank, where moss-lined,
torpid waters lap,
twilight stirring, surfaces
from below, an ancient carp
Filed under nature inspired, On the lines of romance, Otherworldly, Self compositions, Tanka
What do you see challenge: 2nd April
His laughter was as the echo
of a thousand crows
lined in serried ranks
upon the branches
of a hundred graceful pines,
each silent, standing sentinel
over the boundless plains.
I realised my folly
for had I not stroked
the curving brazen contours
and in one foul stroke, released
the fabled genie of the lamp
From my good friend the Exmoor bay
Rather eerie but this his tale for today.
British Summer Time, the evenings are lighter and the weather is colder. How apt. I love the lighter evenings as after work it’s possible to get out into the countryside, weather permitting, and do all the things you have been sitting in the lounge vowing you would do as soon as it was light enough after the day’s work is done. Today was such, my first foray out to try and capture a church spire in the evening gold. Sadly the church itself was closed but that is just a sad reflection of the times in which we live. Still, if you are looking for a little quiet contemplation and a moment away from traffic, hustle and bustle, a churchyard serves it’s purpose well. The church in question is in a little village called Wilby on the outskirts of Wellingborough and I was attracted to it’s spire with it’s magnificent ornate buttresses way up in the sky. Sources tell me that this church dedicated to St. Mary dates from the thirteenth century but was extensively rebuilt in 1879. The unique spire was built during the Decorated period and shows many features pleasing to the enthusiast.
Wilby church
One noticeable thing about this evening was the sighting of a bright, white grave marker close to the path leading to the porch. It is an official war-grave, probably the only one I have ever seen in all my years. It commemorates the death of a RAF pilot who died at the age of 22. Curiously it was dated on my birthday, but in 1944. So much has been said about their sacrifice but seeing a single marker like this lends a stark reality to the horror of war.
Thursday’s ten word photo prompt #tenwords
Consumed by vanity she was absorbed in her own reflection.
Weekend writing prompt #96 #Seashore
She stands alone above the shore,
where waves roll in, roll out once more
wet shingle sings throughout the night
reflecting beams of pale moonlight,
while those who visit from the land
leave loud footprints in the sand
each brief message only lasts one day
till every trace is washed away
like their dwellings built on banks of clay.
Filed under As you read it, On the lines of romance, Self compositions
What do you see? Mar 5 2019
While the tambours played
Psyche dancing, offered him
the key to her heart.
Colleen’s 2019 Weekly #Tanka Tuesday #Poetry Challenge No. 125#SynonymsOnly #Cinquain
Sensing
the beginning
of a relationship
we inscribe our names on the bench.
young love
Crimson’s creative challenge #16 -Weekend trip
Joe and Julie were sitting in the hotel room they had booked to spice up their rather tired marriage. Before returning for their dinner they agreed to get dressed and take a slow walk along the promenade despite the drizzle that was falling.
Outside the hotel was a long flight of steps which led down to the seafront.
Julie asked him what he was wearing in the evening, and with a wink said that she would be trying her new high heels and stockings. “My brown hand-stitched brogues with the leather soles,” he replied. Meanwhile he opened their suitcase and started unpacking. He thought about the wet steps, her high heeled shoes and the chances of an accident. He smiled.
Julie, went into the shower, thinking about the steps, his shiny soled brogues, and how easy it would be for him to have a nasty accident. She smiled.
IWH Haiku Challenge #8
The sentinels stand
unseen in our ream, they wait
sharpened lances crossed
Filed under As you read it, Haiku, History, On the lines of romance, Otherworldly, Self compositions
When the pen takes control. 