Part of our Nature
is the pursuit of progress
and a life of ease.
Giving in to temptation,
your soul is a Wilderness.
Category Archives: Self compositions
#Weekly Tanka Prompt #119 Nature and Wilderness
Filed under As you read it, From the heart, Self compositions, Tanka
100 Word Wednesday: Week 94 #100WW
It was the first day of our guided tour. Myself and the other thirty passengers exited the luxury coach as we arrived at the forbidding wire mesh gates. I assumed that like me, all were on a personal pilgrimage.
i looked around at my fellow travellers, there was no look of expectant excitement on any of the faces. On the journey the atmosphere was subdued as everyone was visiting to bring closure to stories of their family’s fate.
Photography was allowed so I sent my drone up, instantly tears formed as it picked out the child’s toy on the roof.
Ronovan writes #Haiku 224
Art of the sailor,
with only stars and compass
the world made smaller.
Filed under Factual, From the heart, Haiku, History, Old knowledge, Self compositions
Sue Vincent’s magical #Thursday photo prompt: Glimmer #writephoto
I gazed at the ashen faces and tired expressions of my companions. For three days we had been hiding atop this rocky outcrop. Shivering in the dark of the cold nights and crouched among the rocks by day, reluctant to light a fire for food and warmth in case of discovery. We had seen no aircraft overhead for the last forty-eight hours which we all agreed may have been a good sign or perhaps a sign of something worse to come.
Far below, the dark, oily, clouds of smoke drifted lazily across the plain where only a few days before there had been green, lush fields and trees. Now all was a scorched , brown, devastated wasteland.
There was no way of knowing if it would be safe to descend and although we could obtain fresh water from the numerous springs our food supplies were running low and would soon be extinguished.
There was still no phone signal and the batteries would soon be running out leaving only the radio from which we had heard nothing since we saw the bright glow in the Eastern sky with the ominous mushroom shaped cloud that could only have meant one thing.. We could only hope that there were others down below but it had all happened so fast that we could not be sure we were not the only survivors.
Had we few not been members of this expedition we also would have been victims of the catastrophe. unleashed in such a brief time.
We decided to take a vote on finding volunteers to make a descent into the valley. This would be the only way to check if there was a glimmer of hope for our and the rest of mankind’s survival.
Filed under Flash fiction, Self compositions, Temperatures rising
Colleen’s Weekly #Tanka Tuesday #Poetry Challenge No. 106, “Ghost and Hollow,” #SynonymsOnly
The future beckons,
behind me lies the spectre
of my empty life.
While you remain at my side
dark days are just memories.
Filed under From the heart, Inspired emotion, Self compositions, Tanka
RonovanWrites #Weekly #Haiku #Poetry Prompt #Challenge #223 Rise&Fall
As the waters rise.
the civilisations fall
fables of the Flood
.
T
Filed under As you read it, Factual, faith, Haiku, History, Inspired by fable, nature inspired, Old knowledge, Self compositions
Portent of frost on an October evening
Fading to dull grey,
like old snow, a halo forms
in spiralling clouds.
Whiter yet the smiling disc
of the early evening moon.
Filed under nature inspired, Self compositions, Tanka
Sue Vincent’s Thursday photo prompt: Bone #writephoto
Over the western hills the sparse, silver clouds are tinged with red. The sun, not yet set gives up it’s daily battle with the revolving Earth.
A slight breeze starts vibrations in the tall grass heads previously still in the heat of the day as the first chill wind from the shore heralds the onset of evening.
The rain-washed, sun-bleached skull lies on the path of low foot-worn grass between the heather tussocks.
Tonight there will be no moon to cast it’s glow over the silent tors. The evening air remains curiously warm, almost sultry.
Imperceptibly, as if guided by some gentle, unseen hand the skullbone is turne to face the darkening Eastern sky. d
In the distance, a low unearthly sound as of the moaning of the wind in the mast of a storm-tossed sailing vessel can just be heard. The skull shudders and begins to roll to the side of the path. Like the growth of moss but vastly accelerated, a black downy growth begins to form a shadow on the stark, white surface. The black down grows longer until it resembles the short, thick fur of a dog. An impression helped by the impression of long limbs and thickset body of a hound which appear to be forming around the single skull.
At last there stands a large hound. Saliva drips from the muzzle as the jaws open showing a row of strong teeth where once were just sockets. Red, unblinking eyes like cinders stare out as snorting nostrils flare and a snarl escapes the shaking head.
Darkness reigns but the black fur is embued with a dull, green lustre. If anyone was near they would start to sense a foetid smell, increasing in strength with each shake of the thick flanks.
While out over the darkening hills the previous low moaning is now distinguishable as the baying of a pack of hounds.
The newly reborn beast raises it’s head turning to the right and left. Upraised newly grown ears point straight up, cocked, listening.
With a snarl and a huge leap the beast runs off in the direction of the approaching pack.
Across the moor a dark-cloaked rider sits atop a heavy black steed. His hood rolls back allowing a glimpse of a white, gaunt cadaver-like grin. He frowns. he struggles to control his rearing horse, while in his free hand he holds a horse-whip which with every flick emits a stream of red and gold sparks. Around the horse’s feet a pack of identical black hounds snarl, circle and fight, cowering at every crack.
Soon the pack will be complete again and the Heath hounds will start their nightly hunt seeking out the souls of the wicked.
Sue Vincent’s Thursday photo prompt: Faraway #writephoto
I walked back down to the slipway at first light. As expected there was only one reminder of our work from the night before, at the last low tide. Of course none of us could be sure if the Gods had smiled favourably upon Ulrika and allowed her to escape ready to rejoin the world of men.
Not that she could come back into our community. The prejudice of the villagers was too great. Many of the young men would be unhappy that she had been taken from us before she had given her acceptance of a marriage proposal.
Apart from the memory of her long, flowing, red hair nothing was allowed to remain in the minds of men. Her name could not be spoken. Her supposed crime never again mentioned unless as a warning to naughty children who failed to eat their meals or refused to carry out their chores.
Elder brothers and sisters would frighten their younger siblings by telling them she was hiding under the beds, as older children do.
I was saddened for I did not believe the tales they told of her. That is why I had returned to the place of the crabs. I was not disappointed. if the Gods had not intervened then overnight the crabs and fish had done their work.
The white rock which had been so carefully placed upon her bare chest sat lonely in it’s place. No scrap of flesh or bone remained. Picked clean by snapping claws and teeth.
Ulrika was now far away, either in the hands of Gods or men and I would be the only one who would feel remorse.
RonovanWrites #Weekly #Haiku #Poetry Prompt #Challenge #222 Breath&Unite
Do not waste your breath
asking peoples to unite
fear and conquest works
Filed under As you read it, Haiku, History, Self compositions
When the pen takes control. 