Category Archives: Self compositions

Personal literary offerings

RonovanWrites #Weekly #Haiku #Poetry Prompt #Challenge #237 Answer&Question


History tells us

a question with no answer

is yet to be found.

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Filed under As you read it, Haiku, Old knowledge, Self compositions

Sue Vincent’s #Thursdayphotoprompt #Writephoto


Princess Murano

her face framed in furnace fire

slowly raised her eyes

memories of fragrant blooms

fragile, fading, as of glass


Filed under As you read it, Otherworldly, Self compositions, Tanka, Temperatures rising

In Other Words, dancing…


There was a young lady from Lancing

who on her wedding night could not stop dancing

if she had gone up to her room

to look for the groom

she’d have found him with the bridesmaids romancing





Filed under Comic verse, Self compositions, Whimsical

MLMM’s #Heeding Haiku With Chèvrefeuille, January 16th 2019, first day of spring

Entombed in cold earth

dormant daggers are unsheathed

then thrust to the sun.


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Filed under Factual, Haiku, nature inspired, Seasons, Self compositions


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Alone in her room

she dons mascara and rouge

hoping  to allure.

What secrets may be hidden

underneath the  painted smile.



Filed under As you read it, Inspired emotion, Self compositions, Tanka

Once more #RonovanWrites #Weekly #Haiku #Poetry Prompt #Challenge #236 Sage&Vine


The sage may find truth

if not in himself, then through

the fruit of the vine


Filed under As you read it, Factual, Haiku, nature inspired, Old knowledge, Self compositions

Invitation to write from Willow poetry #poetry #whatdoyousee


As with a child’s eyes, I see

a wondrous world

arrayed for me,

each shelf book-lined,

offering such fantasy,

or half-truths imagined

to answer life’s mystery.




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Filed under As you read it, Otherworldly, Self compositions

Another Sue Vincent’s #Thursday photo prompt: Man of Honour #writephoto #Villanelle


I had never been to St. julians in Bardington. It was a red sandstone parish church with what appeared to be a tower which may have dated from Norman times. I entered the church and was immediately struck by the light streaming through the stained glass windows on all sides. Beside the nave there was a set of black railings with gold fluting. Behind which a large marble tomb stood in it’s own chapel. A freshly picked rose, it’s red in sharp contrast to the white stone, was placed on the finely carved chest. A piece of paper rested on the stone. Intrigued, I passed through the bars to get a closer look. I picked up the paper and read the words finely written in black. There was no clue who had left the words so carefully laid out. They read;

My duty to protect this knight

all worldly woes no more to bear

reclining in his endless night.

A man of honour in God’s sight

with faithful friends and wife so fair,

my duty to protect this knight.

Death hides his fearful face in flight

for shame at causing such despair,

reclining in his endless night.

A bloom of beauty clasping tight

beneath his gentle marble stare,

my duty to protect this knight,

whose life was spent in God’s good fight

both piety and courage rare,

reclining in his endless night.

We pray he sits in heaven bright

his soul released from earthly care

my duty to protect this knight

reclining in his endless night.


Filed under As you read it, faith, Flash fiction, Self compositions

Colleen’s 2019 Weekly #Tanka Tuesday #Poetry Challenge No. 118, #SynonymsOnly


Gaily colored flags

festoon the arena,

chargers, knights and squires.

Battles to be joined anew

as the tournaments commence



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Filed under Alternative history, As you read it, Inspired by fable, Self compositions, Tanka

First Line Friday: January 4th, 2019

The borderlands grew wider and wilder every year. Old Seth had had plenty of years in which to note the changes. Now he felt tired. Of working, of the burning desert sun, of his aching limbs, failing eyesight and his life in general. 

Every year there were more repairs needed in the shack and since his two, now adult boys never thought to visit no-one was able to give him a hand. Neighbors never called, in fact it had only just dawned on him that he had no neighbors. The encroaching desert sands and ever increasing summer temperatures had cleared the land far more thoroughly than a team of property developers ever could.

He was beginning to regret the lack of trees. Nowhere to organise a good hanging, even if it was your own. He sat down on one of the scorched boulders and idly ran the sand through his fingers, perhaps he could will himself to death in the way the old occupiers  of the land did.

Resolved to try he closed his eyes.

Whether by accident or design the midday sun saved him the effort. Four days later the body was discovered when a real estate team happened to be passing on their way to his farm.



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Filed under As you read it, dystopian view, Flash fiction, Self compositions, Temperatures rising