Passage #writephoto

Sue Vincent’s#Writphoto.
Hi everyone just a quick note if anyone would like to re-post any of their old #writephoto prompts please do. While Sue is not posting a photo prompt due to not being well, she would love to see old ones reposted.Now if you would like to join in please use the #writephoto badge

This part of Sue Vincent’s Thursday Photo Prompt – Passage #writephoto. I wrote this one in 2016.



The Passage Home : a Nonet 

Slowly floating, feeling light as air

Pain gone, relief beyond compare.


She’d heard the voices calling

Yet taken the passage

Elated soaring

Towards the light

Don’t stop her 

Going

Home.

Ronovan Writes #Weekly #Haiku #Poetry Prompt #Challenge 342 ROUGH and Season.

Ronovanwrite’s

Rough & Season

Bitter chill night fall
The din of roosting birds call
Harsh winter Season
Hope they find food tomorrow.
Each ones loss is our sorrow

A Tanka for Ronovanwrite’s Weekly Haiku Challenge.

Peace.

Just a little explanatory  word. I wrote this poem one  afternoon June, 2013, I do not know where it came from I just wrote it. It is about a person dying peacefully of some disease  it could be one of many. I do not know if any of my lost friends have passed this way  but I wish  they could of died peacefully like this . I wish death could of been gentle for them and for all  of us………..

The sun shines warm and strong

The washing on the line dances, it will be dry before long!

The birds are twittering and singing

Bees around the flowers buzzing  gently, no thought of stinging.

Children are playing along the road, they must be home from school.

Time, time is  my enemy always too fast, too slow never anybody’s fool.

I feel rested in the sun, relaxed maybe this is a new journey I have begun

Nothing to worry about anymore, nothing to rush for, nothing to come.

Gently things begin to fade, is this it or is just that I am lying in the shade

No I can no longer move , here comes the silent  peace I crave.

I am happy that there will be no more treatment or  pain

I am sorry for those who I love that will have to remain.

The sun shines warm and strong

The washing on the line dances it will be dry before long!

The birds are twittering and singing

I hope  they will not think me selfish, I could really fight no more

Here comes death to claim me and I feel safe as he leads me to his door.

Peace, peace  no pain, no needles  no scans  no tired smile

I am going now, I love you all and I shall be here but  not seen, loving you  all the while.

The Friday Reminder for #SoCS & #JusJoJan 2021 Daily Prompt – Jan. 9th

Your prompt for #JusJoJan and Stream of Consciousness Saturday is: “sky’s the limit.” Write about something that has or seems to have no end. Enjoy!

Badge by Shelley Krupa

This part of the two above prompts, both are prompts run by LindaGHill.

“The sky’s the limit” Greg shouted as he burst into the office. “I got the contract guys we are on our way!”

Later that evening as Greg was leaving the bar after celebrating the new contact he was the happiest and felt for months and the most secure he had ever been in his life. He crossed the road. ….Bang ……he was hit by a bin lorry.

There was so much noise and pain he was cold and covered in blood. He stood up and stepped away from the lorry . He was pulled up short by the sight of himself on the road all smashed up and blooded. He found it so strange, suddenly there was no pain, no cold no fear.

A man was standing by his side, good-looking chap casually dressed but no shoes. He smiled at Greg and took his arm, unfurling his huge white wings he laughed and said “Smile Greg, the sky’s the Limit.”

We shall never forget.

They lie not in that empty grave
Beneath the foreign sod.
They do not lie forgotten
In that cold, and desolate Land of Nod.

Soldier Boy … Solider Boy,
The trumpets blast, and blare;
And wreaths are laid at the Cenotaph,
To show … that we still care.

But … there’s a greater love than Man’s
Who knows the price you paid.
He spared you the indignity,
And lifted you from that cold, cold grave.

He created a Great Celestial Shrine,
And the moment it was done …
With a gentle hand, placed the Valiant heart,
Of each dear Mother’s son.

Soldier Boy … Solider Boy,
Under Dutch blue skies,
The gentle Breeze of Holland …
Kiss your grave … as they pass by.

Written by  Earl Doucette

I could not find anything about Earl Doucette apart from the fact that he was Canadian.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

This  is a beautiful poem. It speaks of God, whatever name  you give him/her, lifting all the dead soldiers from their cold or hot and bloodied graves all over the world and  in all times past and future and even present. He takes  them to Heaven ..whatever name you have for heaven. It is a comfort to us all, for the violent deaths and hurried burials that soldiers on the battle theatres  of war received. It troubles us all and so we have these poems to salve our consciences and please our tender souls .

We all have Remembrance Days but this is a way of saying they got a greater remembrance. I shall say no more you have all heard my feelings on War .

Lest we forget. Rememberance Sunday 2020.

Today is the nearest Sunday to Remembrance Day  here in  the UK . Because of Covid 19 the Veterans will not be Marching. Also we will not forgetting all those men and women injured and killed in more recent conflicts.

I  thought I  would  remember  the  women  for  WW1  and  WW2 who  took over  all  the  jobs  that the  men  who  had  been  sent  off  to  war  left  empty here in what  was  known then as  Great  Britain.

Not  only  did  the  women  do  these  , sometimes  very  dangerous  jobs but  they  looked after  the families  and  homes. Now  I  do  not  wish in  any  way  to  detract  from  the huge  sacrifice  of  all the  men  who  fought  for  our countries during  the  two  wars .

d8552036f3202261b6105c6ce5442594

Remember the women left back home.

They made the ammunition for Tommy

Dangerous work,they died too it was not funny.

Women became officers of the law

Something never heard of before.

Nurses, drivers  even pilots for planes

Remember  them  we  will never  know  their  names

Someone had to give  the  farmers a hand

Remember   the men  were  at war  in a  foreign  land.

The members  of  the ” fairer  sex ”

Drove  the  buses, trains  and  lorries

Kept  all essential job going , however  complex

They  also  fed  the family  and kept  the Home Fires  Burning

twr_crop__homeb1_iwm-q30040-shell-factory-uk-40-iwm_ipad

During  the  wars ww1 and  ww2  women filled  in the  gaps  that  the  men  who  had  been sent  off  to  war  left. It  is  not  always  remembered  that  they worked in  the factorys  drove  buses trains and flew  planes and  probably  sailed  ships.  They  became  members  of  the  forces, nurses at  home  and on the  war  front  too. They  were  also  seconded into  the police  these  jobs  were almost unheard of  for  women before  the  first  world war. They  also  had  to do hard  farm labour  on  the farms to help keep  the  food  supplies  going.

Women worked in  shipyards, built  planes  and  also  made  ammunition, hard  and  dangerous  work.

It  was not just  the   fact  that the  bombs , shells or  landmines  could  explode  if  mishandled  but  the  TNT  was  dangerous  to  the  women’s  health.

” Munitions workers whose job was filling shells were prone to suffer from TNT poisoning. TNT stood for Trinitrotoluene – an explosive which turned the skin yellow of those who regularly came into contact with it. The munitions workers who were affected by this were commonly known as ‘canaries’ due to their bright yellow appearance. Although the visible effects usually wore off, some women died from working with TNT, if they were exposed to it for a prolonged period. As Ethel Dean, who worked at Woolwich Arsenal, recalled, ‘Everything that that powder touches goes yellow. All the girls’ faces were yellow, all round their mouths. They had their own canteen, in which everything was yellow that they touched… Everything they touched went yellow – chairs, tables, everything.’ (IWM SR 9439More  imformation  here

Women did  so many  jobs that  before  the  first  world  war, those of  the middle  and  higher class would  never  even  contemplated. Many  died of  injury  and  of  disease  due  to  chemicals,  asbestos  used in  badly  ventilated  buildings.

Also  they played  their  part in  SOE   read here   and also  here  .

worldwar_2727016c
womenswork6
world-war-two-these-four-women-of-the-waaf-the-women-s-auxiliary-air-b3p4r0
women_at_work_during_the_first_world_war_q28345
5574414-3x2-940x627
cloaks

All images  from  Google Images  women  at  war  ww1 and  ww2

And the Men

We sent them off to war,

These bright young men

We had no knowledge of what they saw,

They came home, bright young men no more .

Yes though brave they were no longer whole

Those that survived had no soul.

Many died,the lucky ones, death to them was kind.

Those who returned were faded in body and in mind.

Their loved ones at first relieved

Soon found they had much cause to grieve.

Though there, in body broken,

Their fears left unspoken

Their minds were left behind.

They went out whole, these bright young things.

They returned lost, holding on by gossimar strings

Taplow Court

They went full of pride for God and King

They ran head long into hell

On return they could not relinquish it’s spell.

So we had a nation of half men, half ghosts

Fearful, their heads still had them at their posts.

The trenches and the blasts of bombs, the smell of death

Clung to them and bled them dry, the whole in body, the blind of eye

The amputee, it was as if they had never left.

We sent them off to war,

These bright young men

We had no knowledge of what they saw,

They returned, bright young men no more.

SONY DSC

Paintings by William Rothenstein.

Treacle Part 2

A splatter of mud hits Treacle on the snout, followed by another, sailing above overhead.

Splat!

 Onto the pressed white shirt of Sixlegs.

“Treacle!”

Wot in butt-lickin’ hell?

As two small muddy fourlegs scramble up from the pooping pipe hole and trot towards him, crossing the High Street and dangerously dodging roundlegs.

Hi ho Treacle, snifz yuz Treacle! yaps Smudge, who lives with hindlegs in a right proper house den.

Yo, blind doggy, snifz yuz adds Mouse, a daft streetlegs who tags along with any fourlegs wotz out walkies.

I’m not blind yer butt-lickin’ muttwit, that’s him Treacle starts for the thousandth time wotz behind, lyk

Thwack

The roundlegs catches Mouse and sucks him underneath, brakes squealing, Jemmapackmate screaming, fourlegs barking.  Mouse tumbling over and over beneath the roundlegs and spitting out behind.

I’m okay, I’m okay Mouse squeals, staggering in the road, snapped legs attempting to carry him towards Treacle.

“nowlookhereTreacle,what’sthehoohaa?”

Mouse sinks onto his snout. 

I’m okay, real-

Continue Reading at Source at the Usual Muttwits.

The Friday Reminder and Prompt for #SoCS Oct. 3/2020

Shelley Krupa

Your Friday prompt for Stream of Consciousness Saturday is “new/old.” Use either or both of the words “new and old” any way you’d like. Bonus points for starting and ending with either one. Have fun!

News hit my email that made me sad. Though it was not other than my I might of expected yet I am railing against it. Nothing new, age old it’s the circle we all go through no one and nothing lives forever.

I tossed and turned and in my dreams I was lost on a journey on a train. Again nothing new about that, it seems I am forever lost. I awoke ever hour on the hour, same old scared feeling. Life goes on until it stops. None of this makes sense.

New Life brings new hope

Old nightmares retreat quietly

Souls never grow old.

******

This is part of LindaGHill’s Saturday Stream of Consciousness.

Sue Vincent’s #writephoto Serenity. 4/9/20

This week’s prompt ~ Serenity

For visually challenged writers, the image shows a blue-lit landscape, land and calm water mirroring the cloudy, silver-lit sky.

My feet are cold, but I am past caring there is nothing left for me here. I step forward water rises up my legs, it’s no longer cold. My dress billows and the silver light touches my face. I am no longer tired, the pain is lifted from me as if I am cutting the ties that bind me. I move even further from the shore my steps unsteady now as the water reaches my chest. I am warm, I am rested I am happy. I slip beneath the waves and all I see is blue , as I look up I see the last of the silver light in the sky.

All of a sudden he is there his long red hair, his blue eyes and his beautiful silver fish tail. Wrapping me in his arms around me he whispers, “I told you I would wait for you, all you had to do was come to me.”

In the ICU the doctor shook his head , “We’ve lost her” he said, “Time of death 21.27″…the long whistle of the machine stopped as he turned it off leaving the low but determined beeps of the other patient’s machines in the background.

Her assigned nurse said quietly, “She really tried she kept on fighting, why did she just give up like that?” The team looked at her in silence then one of them said, “She looks amazing, there is a real aura of serenity about her”

This is part of Sue Vincent’s Thursday Photo Prompt #writephoto

Ronovan Writes (TIP) This week, it’s the D rhyme line.

Ronovan Writes Decima Challenge Image

For this week’s challenge, the word TIP must be one of the line words. Then the other line(s) word(s) must rhyme with TIP. I have also used the prompt words from Ronovanwrite’s Weekly Haiku Challenge Morrow and Surge.

Welcome to the Décima Poetry Challenge. Each week we’ll be attempting a Décima, also known as an Espinela, poem.

If you don’t know how to write a Décima, click HERE to go to a post on How to Write an Espinela or Décima Poem.

This is part of Ronovanwrite’s Décima Challenge

Image from Pixabay

We only get once chance at life
Sadly time is not infinite
This is true though it might sound trite
Why face the morrow filled with strife.
The pens of fate our lives rewrite.
In the morn all our fears will serge
Our hopes and dreams begin to merge.
Over the edge our feelings tip
As into the abyss we slip.
We all dance to Lucifer’s dirge.

Previous Older Entries

Follow me on Twitter

Follow Us

Follow Us

Follow Us

Follow Us

Hot Dogs and Marmalade

Salty like hot dogs (and tears). Sweet like marmalade (and life).

Two on a Rant

Rants, humor, sarcasm, and a haiku-like substance? It's hard to know what's going to come out of our minds next.

Ivor.Plumber/Poet

An Old Plumber, An Ex-Carer, An Amateur Poet, Words From The Heart

Trent's World (the Blog)

Random Ramblings and Reviews from Trent P. McDonald

Marsha Ingrao - Always Write

Having fun, while encouraging, and promoting bloggers

Caramel

Learner at Love

Chel Owens

A Wife, My Verse, and Every Little Thing

Sacred SoulSongs

Sacred Paths and Detours

Mr. Ohh!'s Sideways View

For those of you who aren't me...and I've noticed a surprisingly large number of people who aren't.

The Small Dog

Life from the Tail End

USUAL MUTTWITS

DOG TAILS by ZoZo and Jools

kimbladeswriting

poetry and short stories

Ben Naga

Gifts from the Musey Lady and Me. "Laissez-moi vous raconter ma vraie histoire."

About the Jez of It

Poetry, stories and strange odds and ends from the desk of a writer

The Sound of One Hand Typing

Music, Musings, Memoir, and Madness

"LIFE" ( You like it, I love it! )

"LOVE"-Keeping it real, and keeping it simple!

Our Eyes Open

Come along on an adventure with us!

Diary of a Dublin Housewife

Diary of a Dublin Housewife

J-Dubs Grin and Bear It

As Always, More to Come

Smorgasbord Blog Magazine

Blog magazine for lovers of health, food, books, music, humour and life in general

Colline's Blog

a potpourri of thoughts and experiences

pensitivity101

An onion has many layers. So have I!

lynz real cooking

lynz real life

Darswords

Musings about Havenverse

From Cave Walls

The Journey Home

Sue Vincent's Daily Echo

Echoes of Life, Love and Laughter

like mercury colliding...

...moments of unexpected clarity

G-Bears Blog

Real Life - Hard Facts !

All in a Day's Breath

Art, Love of Life, Philosophy, Writing, Spirituality

Kevin Parish

Poetry, lyrics and other words...

Claire Ladds

Crime and dark fiction author

adamdixonfiction

Short stories from a fiction addict