#Wordle 404

 

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Hope is an invisible thread to nowhere

like walking through life with lead-lined boots.

There is no song to lift my spirits

my foundations are weak.

The cement is mixed wrong, it’s dry, ready to crumble

I don’t believe in tomorrow

there is no surprise waiting around the corner.

The gate is closed firmly behind me

there is no turning back.

I let the trials break my life, and I have nothing left.

My heart is too soft, I let myself be walked on.

I step inside a gipsy booth, reason escapes me

I am walking blind. I placed a silver dollar on her table

her voice is soft. Cards laid out, a mystery to me

I listen as she speaks. You have let too many people

take pieces of your life.

Your revenge was not sweet, it left your heart empty,

a river running dry.

There is time to show mercy, so you too can receive.

Start your life over, let hope carry you forward

Believe…

AAAAA

#FlashFiction 99 word Challenge for Carrot Ranch Literary Community #Poetry

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May 16, 2019, prompt: In 99 words (no more, no less) write a story that goes in search of trees. It can be one particular tree, a grove, woods, or forest. What makes the tree worth seeking? Go where the prompt leads!

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I don’t have to go too far to find a great tree.

It is in my garden, my beautiful gum tree.

Tall and magnificent, a small amount of wind

sets it swaying like a row of flamenco dancers

I can almost hear the roots tapping away

in time with the rhythm above.

Soothing and calming my mind.

I sit there often unburdening the misery

I have accrued over the last few days.

I know it listens, never judging.

The soft sway of its leaves above my head,

A blessing, a benediction.

Gentle giants, they are the air we breathe…

AAAAA

Colleen’s Weekly Tanka Tuesday Poetry Challenge… #Etheree

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Colleen is still not back from her housing adventure, so this weeks poetry challenge will wing its way to her by magic!

I

have one

yesterday

to remember

Sweet summer kisses

Running from sudden storm

Cave we found out of the rain

Emerald walls on Cornwall beach

Where salty kisses are still the best

How long will I remember yesterday…

AAAAA

#Writephoto ~ Wicker

Thursday photo prompt: Wicker #writephoto

 

Image by scvincent.com

 

Twisted sisters

From willow branches, we three are made

Step inside our sweet embrace

We will take you to the gates of hell

Knock three times, receive what is offered

If you have not wet your pants by then

We will grant the wish that is in your hand

That is if you dare to let us see

Thinking nothing good ever comes from hell

On our return, remember this

The third one is the charm

That is me. No, it is me,

I told you, it is me. Now make your choice

Which one of us will free the wish you hold?

Only one can grant it well

The wrong choice will take you back to hell

Do not linger too long in our embrace…

AAAAA

#The Sunday Whirl ~ #Wordle 403

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Image by Leonard Bentley

Old London

The name’s Sparrow and this is my story.

Born on the wrong side of the tracks, the dark alley down by the Bull and Rag is home to many like me. Life don’t hold out no gold permit for the likes of us.

Unwanted, we live in the shadows. The fog of London turns us invisible, helping us to find food and old clothing. Anything we can find to keep us warm in winter. Twelve years now, I have seen many, much younger. Not all survive. When one goes, we shift the body under the street lights, where for once in their lives they will be seen. When we hear the siren, we know they have been taken away to be buried, a permanent home.

A plain wooden cross with no name, he’s a number. Someone should have loved him. One of these days, I will tear down this invisible barrier, the blocks that stand in my way. I will walk the streets of London in style. Men will doff their hats; ladies in their Sunday best will smile as I pass by. The name’s Sparrow, I am part of this world, I will be seen…

AAAAA

May 9: Flash Fiction Challenge ~ Growing Old… #Poetry

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May 9, 2019, prompt: In 99 words (no more, no less) write a story about growing older. It can be humorous, dark or poignant. It can be true or total fiction. It can be fine wine or an old fossil. Go where the prompt leads!

 

 

I don’t look in the mirror these days, because there is a road map where my face used to be.

Time makes strange marks on all of us, some you cannot see.

From my window, I have watched my neighbours grow old. Two that used to walk to town, now in wheelchairs. One used to pedal his bike everywhere, now uses a stroller.

We are shrinking back to childhood.

Others I have watched through nine months, waiting to produce new life. Now that same child walks beside her mother on her way to school.

 I watch life go by…

AAAAA

#Writephoto ~ Rooted

Thursday photo prompt: Rooted #writephoto

 

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Image by scvincent.com

 

 

Sacred

Two trees grow side-by-side, time weaving their pattern across the dusty pathway, a strange maze of hard bones, like arms waiting to greet you.

Below, soft roots entangle like lovers holding hands, searching for the life- sustaining water so new leaves can grow on the branches above.

This dance of love can last for more than a hundred years.

The spirit of any tree is gentle. I have noticed when walking in the woods, the wind drops and the trees stand still as if in salute, a thank you for your visit.

They communicate with each other, leaning their branches towards oncoming footsteps. If they feel the approach is harmful, they lean away from danger. From young boys with sticks beating against their trunks.

They remember your touch, the sound of your voice. In a way, they remind me of elephants for many of their trunks have a similar pattern to an elephant’s skin.

When I take a walk to visit my favourite tree, I have noticed on a warm day when there is no breeze to speak of, the leaves on its branches lift in a sweet rustling. The sound of welcome.

You may think me daft, but find a tree that speaks to you, put your palms on its trunk, lay your troubles at its roots. You may just feel a good deal lighter on your way back home.

Something will call you back to that same tree.

It is a friend of a different kind…

AAAAA

#BlogBattle: Airtight

May 2019 Blog Battle

Our word this month is:

Airtight

You can start writing at any time, but make sure you post your story by the 30th of the month to have your story shared here and on social media.

Once you’ve posted your story to your blog, put a link to it in the comments section, and we’ll add your story to the Battle Stories Line-up post.

Make sure to check back and read some of the stories of your fellow battlers. Leave comments to encourage these writers, and share each other’s stories!

 

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Airtight

 

A new neighbour moving in is always an interesting event. This time it was a smartly dressed man in his forties.

Within a week, he had alienated half of the neighbours on his side of the street with his constant complaints about the bins not being taken in quickly enough after being emptied.

Thank God I lived opposite. He was a real sweetheart.

Dave, in his seventies, lived next door to him with his Jack Russell terrier. He lost his wife last year, so a few of us take the time to care for Dave. Today, I could see Mr Jenkins, the new neighbour, standing inside Dave’s front garden.  His name was all he allowed anyone to know about him.

Today, having lost his cool, his voice loud enough to hear on my side of the street. ‘If you don’t stop that dog yapping, I will!’

Two days later, Dave was seen putting up posters. His dog, Mickey had gone missing. It didn’t take me two minutes to know who was responsible, after seeing Mr Jenkins digging a new patch in his front garden.

I went to the police station and found out he had been questioned and had an airtight alibi. I asked why they had questioned him, and they said one of our neighbours had reported him bullying his neighbour. I walked home thinking that nothing was airtight. I would find his mistake and put some air into his so- called alibi.

I decided later that night that I would dig up his new patch, so sure I would find Mickey. I was about to turn away from my window when I noticed a young man holding Mickey in his arms. I watched him knock on Dave’s door and saw the joy on his face. His beloved companion was back.

How wrong can one person be?

His alibi was airtight after all…

AAAAA