Category Archives: Self compositions

Personal literary offerings

Thursday photo prompt #Writephoto

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A very British subject

We love to talk about the weather, though
it seldom promises fine, we know
winds from the West bring cloud and rain
if from the North, cold and cloud again
and from the East it’s colder still
guaranteed to cause a chill
sometimes though, but in truth rare,
a Southern breeze will warm the air
the clouds disperse, the skies turn blue
a brief respite from English gloom
so it is at times like these
we see man’s footprints on the  beach

 

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RonovanWrites #Weekly #Haiku #Poetry Prompt #Challenge #196 Shy&Sweet

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The sweet memory

of our shy stolen kisses

lingers in my heart

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Dawn chorus

Early morning mourns

the disappearing moonlight

thirsty calves lowing,

from up on high the robin

accepts the thrush’s challenge

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Filed under Factual, nature inspired, Self compositions, Tanka

Thursday photo prompt: Shelter #writephoto

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“Look at that dad!”

”What are you pointing at Joey?” I asked straining my eyes to see what he meant.

”Over there, in the hedge, it’s a big black teddy bear, can I go and talk to him?”

I laughed at the curious bush which even I thought was rather bear-like, “Go on then, see if he wants to come on our walk, but be careful, he might want to gobble you up,” I joked.

Then I said, “Take Sandy with you, you can let him off his lead, if there’s anything there he won’t let them hurt you.”

Joey and Sandy ran up to the hedge, Sandy started to bark loudly, I saw Joey shaking his head and it looked like he was speaking to someone.

Regretting my decision to let him go I decided I had better see who he was talking to. It somehow seemed a bit odd.

Before I had got half way to him I saw the bear like black shape rear up and hearing a high-pitched yelp watched as the dog was enveloped in a black mist before disappearing without another sound. In disbelief I called his name but there was nothing there, no sign of him. Joey was screaming and crying as he ran back to me.

”Dad, dad, what’s happened to Sandy?”

“It’s okay son, he’s probably fallen down a rabbit hole,” I tried to comfort him, we’ll get you back home and then I will come back to look for Sandy.

I could see he was unconvinced but could think of no other explanation to give him, better I thought to get him home to his mother.

So that’s why I’m out in the middle of this field waiting for a couple of friends to start the search for Sandy. But who’s going to believe this?

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Sue Vincent’s Thursday photo prompt: #writephoto

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illuminated
outlines etched in burning gold
amidst pale blushes

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RonovanWrites #Weekly #Haiku #Poetry Prompt #Challenge #195 Regal&Hopeful

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Serenely regal

always smiling as she waves

to the hopeful crowds

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Bone of contention

dandelion

Each yellow outstretched

finger, reaching for the sun

in adoration,
loved by bees, hated by man
they brighten any canvas

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COLLEEN’S 2018 #TANKA TUESDAY #POETRY CHALLENGE NO. 77: CHARM & TIME, #SYNONYMSONLY

The old woman said

that there is only one way

to remove a wart

bury a toad before dawn

it will be gone by sunset

 

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Filed under Factual, General competitions, Inspired by fable, Old knowledge, Self compositions, Whimsical

Sue Vincent’s weekly photo prompt #Writephoto-Newborn

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At four o’clock that morning the stags on the hillside had commenced their belling. The eerie bellowing echoing all around the valley. This morning however Abel was more interested in the loud gasps and cries from behind the skins hanging from the line, forming a curtain which divided the single room in his hovel. Pacing up and down the room he was anxious to know what progress, if any, was taking place with the birth of his second child. Continuously stroking his beard he strained to hear what was happening. At last there was a loud gasp from the assisting nurse followed by the sound of a slap and a loud shriek accompanied the sound of crying. Abel turned then stopped and watched as the nurse raised the skin and silently with sad eyes, looking at the floor, held up a white bundle. Abel knew what this meant and with tears in his eyes grabbed the bundle and turned to the doorway. Outside stood three elders, ready to perform the customary baptism. Taking the rudely wrapped child from Abel’s hands the three started the solemn procession up to the ceremonial site at the head of the Tor. Amidst the granite blocks there was one which formed a natural basin, it’s waters continually replenished by the frequent, heavy Exmoor rains. For long centuries this had been used as the villager’s font where all baptisms had taken place. Abel watched them depart then returning inside, retired to a stool in the corner, where he sat with his head in his hands, the grief he felt for the abomination he had witnessed so great that he had no heart to go in and try to comfort the mother of the newborn. Meanwhile on the hillside the elders arrived at the site and gathering around the stone they held the child up to the rising sun before placing the white mewing parcel into the water. This was to be no ordinary baptism for instead of a brief immersion in the icy waters the child was held under the water till there were seen to be no more bubbles rising. The body was then laid on a bed of grass on the large flat boulder adjacent to the basin stone. The child had been chosen to atone for the tribal perceived sins. The raven and the buzzard would help to consign the child’s spirit to the all-seeing God, where forgiveness may be obtained. Though the only sin this child had committed in it’s brief life was to have been born a girl. A crime worthy of death in the patriarchal society in which she had had the misfortune to enter this life.

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Filed under As you read it, faith, Inspired by fable, Self compositions

A day of darkness

22nd. March 1832 and one of the greatest thinkers of the age dies at the age of 82. Johann Wolfgang Von Goethe , whose last words are reputed to be, “More light.” A poet, novelist and philosopher he was probably most famous for his work, “Faust,” written in two parts the second of which being completed in the year of  his death and published posthumously.

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