Category Archives: Self compositions

Personal literary offerings

Ronovan writes #weekly poetry challenge #206 #Haiku

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Nose twitching in bliss

watch the butcher slicing brawn

a treat for teatime

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Sue Vincent’s #Writephoto #tanka Sky swimming

 

dawn

Swollen scarlet shoals

swim in the pale blue waters

framed for an instant

the golden halo stretches

out it’s hands to cradle them

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#Weekly Tanka Prompt #Poetry Challenge – Week 100 – Celebrations & Century,

How nostalgia works.

A hundred years pass

another generation

join celebrations,

hoping each new century

will be as good as the last

 

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Paintstorm

When the leaf-stained sky

forms a canvas for the wind’s

deep pastel palette

I watch the artist’s brush strokes

through a blur of misty tears

 

 

 

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F Haiku

yesterday becomes

a loop in the tapestry

on the loom of life

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Ronovan writes weekly #Haiku 205

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Under the tyrant

the people never lose hope

often rewarded

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Sue Vincent’s Thursday photo prompt: Remains #writephoto

O hear me, ye faithless for I have a warning to retell.

My name is M’neptah and I was formerly the tutor of the son of my sovereign master Thutmose, Lord of all the dominion of Egypt.

On the night of my death I boarded the barge that traverses the Land of Nut and was brought before the one they call Anubis, before whom I knelt in subjugation.

He placed before my bowed head a finely wrought gold balance and with one swift move placed his hand upon my breast. From within he took my heart and laid  it gently upon one of the scales. From his head-dress he plucked a feather and placed this on the opposite scale.

To my horror the weight of  my heart was greater than that of the feather. I begged forgiveness for my unknown sins, committed whilst upon this Earth. It was to no avail . My heart was cruelly thrown into the jaws of the crocodile Ammit to be devoured and thus prevent me continuing my journey to the afterlife.

That is why you see me as I am now, devoid of flesh and condemned to lie unburied for eternity.

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Filed under Factual, Flash fiction, History, Old knowledge, Otherworldly, Self compositions

A Summer meadow

eyes

closed

lying

in mown grass

reflecting upon

the inconsistency of clouds

pictures conjured as minds make order out of chaos

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RonovanWrites #Weekly #Haiku #Poetry Prompt #Challenge #204 Choice&Faith

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Traitors  to their faith

whose choice was free Barabbas

forever blameless

 

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Thursday photo prompt: Conflagration #writephoto

conflagration

It was one of the saddest sights I had ever seen in my home county of Devon. For days we had watched the articulated lorries with trailrrs attached. Each one bigger than the trailers we had only witnessed before on the one train line in or out of the area. The papers were full of the stories of the outbreak but only now was the full scale of the disaster beginning to show itself.

Of course, everyday life had been changed, signs were up at all farm gates that led onto the narrow lanes with dire warnings of the danger within. Road blocks were everywhere restricting passage to all but bona fide government workers. No more ramblers enjoying the countryside. In the towns and villages, anywhere where cars and other motor vehicles were likely to congregate the entrances were strewn with straw and all around the pervasive smell of strong disinfectant.

Minibuses drove up the lanes following the heavy lorries. Through the windows, it was possible to see human figures. All dressed in the same white coveralls, reminiscent of the NBC suits we donned during exercises whilst in the forces, It was more like a scene from the Roswell or Area 51 movies. Behind these came the oil-tankers all in a convoy heading for the high ridges. Ridges where recently excavated trenches were now filled with the carcases of many thousands of newly shot farm animals, cattle and sheep piled up to the lip in their mass graves.

The hills resounded with the shouts of these eerie white figures as they lit the bonfires and stood admiring their sad handiwork while all in the land looked at the flames and the towering clouds of smoke. Nostrils filled with the acrid smell as of over-roasted beef and greasy smuts of soot blew wherever the wind carried them to land on car and house windows throughout the area.

By night the fires continued to burn. It was like looking up to the edge of some once-forgotten but now suddenly alive volcano. The gloom and sadness was all pervading and for once there was sympathy for the farmers on whom we had always poured such scorn. An attitude that perisits to this day. Even we felt sorry for the victims of the dread, “Foot and Mouth disease.”

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