It’s the third week of the month! Time for an Ekphrastic #PhotoPrompt

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.

*******

This is part of Colleen Chesebro’s Weekly Tuesday Tanka Challenge.

What do you see # 44- 24 August 2020

Picture courtesy of Joel Valve- Unsplash

( 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

.

This is Sadje Keep It Alive’s What do you see.

COLLEEN’S 2020 WEEKLY #TANKA TUESDAY #POETRY CHALLENGE NO. 192, #THEMEPROMPT

WELCOME TO TANKA TUESDAY!

It’s the fourth week of the month! Are you ready for a theme prompt? Kerfe Roig from last month’s challenge picked the theme…

This month’s theme is:

Maps

Image from Pixabay

Pawed over with care
Diversions, fresh starts, my story
The Map of my life
Sometimes in total tatters
Sometimes it’s almost perfect

This is a Tanka for Colleen Chesebro’s Tanka Tuesday Challenge.

COLLEEN’S 2020 WEEKLY #TANKA TUESDAY #POETRY CHALLENGE NO. 191 #PHOTOPROMPT

WELCOME TO TANKA TUESDAY!

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 .

This is part of Colleen’s Tuesday Tanka

Thursday photo prompt: Worn #writephoto

This week’s prompt for Sue Vincent’s #writephoto ~ Worn

For visually challenged writers, the image 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.

Ronovan Writes #Weekly #Haiku #Poetry Prompt #Challenge 316 Destruct&Self

This is my entry for Ronovanwrite’s Weekly Haiku Challenge. This week I chose a Tanka.

Image from Pixabay.

Here held in my hand

All life could ever offer

Nothing to desire

No one to blame but my self

I forged my own destruction.

Colleen’s 2020 Weekly #Tanka Tuesday #Poetry Challenge No. 187 #PhotoPrompt

It’s the third week of the month! For Colleen Chesebro’s Tanka Tuesday. Time for a #PhotoPrompt!

I thought I would try another Haibun .

Sally Cronin provided the photo for this month’s photo challenge:

Image Credit: © Sally Cronin

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.

Washed up on life’s shore

Ties broken full of salt tears

Hope gone, deserted.

Wordless Wednesday:Nature undefeated.

Thursday photo prompt: Torrent #writephoto

For visually challenged writers, the image shows a waterfall, its peat-coloured waters cascading over a rocky ledge and surrounded by trees.

This week’s prompt ~ Torrent

Like life the waters are muddied

What has tainted them we don’t know.

A rust hue has them sullied

As they dive so far below.

Standing on the edge, eyes open wide

Not sure of my feelings

I turn my head to hide.

Wherever I go, whatever my dealings

I cannot escape the the dive.

*****

This is part of Sue Vincent’s Thursday Photo Challenge.

Death Writes Life’s Poetry

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++

The room would appear to be empty and dark

But what is that, a scratching , scratching,  hark!

Slowly your eyes grow accustomed  to the lack of light

There in the corner is an old guy working,  a curious sight .

Who is this, who can it be ? It is Death ( in his civies ) writing  Life’s Poetry.

I almost feel sorry for the Reaper and I feel you should agree.

He is  exhausted by Life’s demands and quirks

He has to go out collecting the dead  but what irks

Is he has Life’s poems to write, so his times not free

Can you hear that shusshing sound, lets see what can that be …..

It’s  billions of egg timers  set out on shelves .

The sands of time running out for you and me.

I almost feel sorry for Reaper and you should agree.

He  is exhausted by life’s demands and quirks

He is always busy now writing poetry and collecting the  dead

And there’s  more’  for he now has an apprentice to teach and keep fed.

Don’ t you feel a pang of sympathy?

He holds the number’s of you and me.

There is never a moment when he can be free, not even time for hot cup of coffee.

Well he is very busy right now as we can see

And I think there is somewhere , anywhere  else that we should be.

I almost feel sorry for Reaper and I feel you should agree.

He exhausted my life’s demands and quirks

He has to go out collecting  the Dead  

He has to write  Life’s poetry.

Previous Older Entries

Follow me on Twitter

Follow Us

Follow Us

Follow Us

Follow Us

Sacred SoulSongs

Sacred Paths and Detours

🐝 The Bee Writes...

poetry & posts about life & everything

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

Write to Inspire

Lance Greenfield - Night Writer

Thoughts by Mello-Elo

Books, Poems, Stories...and a cup of coffee, or two!

Tent Stories

The untold tales of paths trodden, fears conquered and battles won.

Jemima Pett

Writing and reviews with an environmental, science fiction, and fantasy touch

My Colourful Life

Because Life is Colourful

Marian Wood

Aspiring Author and Poet