This challenge explores Ekphrastic writing inspired by visual art (photographs). Lisa Thompson, from last month’s challenge, has provided the photo for this month’s challenge:
In these dark days I remember the saying my hubby often uses now about our leaders. Who try to keep us in the dark and give very mixed messages and ever changing information. I have chosen a Tanka to express my feelings.
Image credit:Unsplash, and the photographer is Wolfgang Hasselmann
Mushroom management.
Bright read for danger Upwards pursuing the light Escaping darkness. Our lives are managed like this Kept in the dark and fed shit.
( For the visually challenged reader, the image shows a girl dancing under the jets of water of a fountain, which are meeting above her in an arc)
Dancing in my head
“Your stuck with curvature You’ll never look the same. So you better make friends with that pain.”
Looking out the window I heard the words they said But I was miles away dancing in my head .
When I get upset, not feeling free. In rain, sun or snow . Those words come back to haunt me . So into my head I go.
When I feel pushed and pressured All I can think of is the words they said. I close my eyes and bugger them,
I go dancing in my head!
When looking in the mirror is too much to bare My clothes look like something I shouldn’t wear. I close my eyes and let the music flow. Then dancing in my head I go.
When pain is over baring and I can’t get out of bed I close my eyes and bugger them I go dancing in my head.
I am still the me I was before.
Though not quite the same. When I am at my worst I play my saving game. I am sorry if you think me rude and blanch at things I’ve said.
But when it all becomes too much I go dancing in my head.
So don’t judge me by my cover I am still a happy soul. I may not be perfect but I am whole. When things get too much and depressions wanting fed. Bugger it I shout and go dancing in my head
It’s the third week of the month! Time for a #PhotoPrompt
Aishwarya, aka, Kitty from Kitty’s Verses, was Colleen’s selection from last month’s challenge. So Kitty has provided the photo for this month’s challenge. Colleen says “Remember, don’t just describe what is in the photo. Engage your senses and work with implied metaphors to make your poetry sing!”
This week I have written a two versed Shadorma about life choices. The railway track disapearing into the distance makes me think of the straight and narrow.
Image credit: no attribution
Look forward Leave what’s behind you The line leads Direction As sure as night follows day One step at a time.
Like a train Forward momentum Rolling on Growing strong Straight ahead into the light One step at a time .
For visually challenged writers, theimage shows deeply worn stone steps, scattered with plants growing in the cracks, leading up to a blue-painted door.
Before Cissey died she stood in the ginnel looking up at doors. Nothing had changed. The steps they used to climb up and down to school, to work to home. Still there worn and full of stories. When babies the pram would be stood at the bottom of the steps and the door was left open so a watchful eye was kept.
As Children they’d perch on the steps and shell the peas and peel carrots and potatoes. Each would have a job. The house was small for a family of ten so often they spilled over on to the steps. Noisy, rowdy, quiet pensive, laughing crying all life flowed out of the two up two down housr on to the steps.
One by one they left the safety of the home, walked down the steps either with Dad or Mum or alone to set up a new life. Some went far some just to another street.
They always came back, for birthdays, anniversaries, weddings, christenings, Christmas and funerals. Always at any event they spilled out on to the steps.
As time past the traffic on the steps become less yet somehow the indents looked accentuated deeper worn. Over the years the generations grew until there was no one left to truly know the significance of the worn steps. Who’s feet had left their mark on history.
Sell it the young ones said, not knowing the reasons for the worn steps. They painted the door, they painted the railings, they thought about repairing the steps but left them.
The for sale sign went up, people came to see the house. They saw the potential, they saw the new paint, the newly added kitchen and bathroom. They didn’t see the generations of family on the steps so many joys and dramas.
Nobody saw them but a special few felt them on the worn out steps. One couple saw them too and they bought the house and the steps.
Early morning on the beach my mind being swept clean by the North wind. Waves lashing at my feet I contemplate the mistakes I have made in life. I see a lobster pot washed up on the beach, coloured ropes attached to it, full of detritus. I stop and look.
