Obsession… #Poetry

 

This weeks inspiration comes from Lord of the Rings and this image…

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This is one of my favourite pictures of Gollum. Painted by P E Pracownick

 

 

Obsession

Dark, dank wet cave is no place to call home

Yet for one small creature it has become so

His passion having driven him underground

After taking the life of a friend for a ring of gold

His world turned upside down

Over time his skin grew pale, translucent

His body shrank, his eyes bulged

Strange maladies, a madness ruled his world

His inly thought, his ring of gold. His love

Ever vigilant of losing what he stole, his madness grew

The fearful day came when his ring could not be found

What heart was left, broke anew, his mind split further in two

He spoke as if a twin stood close

“They pesky hobbits have it, we will find it soon, my precious.”

The hunt was long, fraught with danger

A glint of gold ever in his mind, he found the culprit

His shock was great, for he could see the pesky hobbit

Meant to destroy the ring of gold

He is here to take back as his own and watched as the Hobbit’s hand

stretched over the evil flame from whence it came.

The creature’s pain, too much to bear

He ran as sound escaped his lips

Heavy with pain enough to split the world apart

The ring flew in the air, one tiny pale hand snatched in time

To hold again his love now joined in flame

He was no more

The hobbits eyes filled with tears, for once this forlorn creature

Lived in Shire’s green and pleasant land

Before obsession stole his soul away…

AAAAA

My Genie… #Poetry

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I dream of Genie, not the soppy kind from TV

My genie is a desert dweller, dark skin from Arabian Nights

blue jewelled eyes that say, set me free

I will grant what you wish

I have read the stories of how he tricks

I take the bottle from the sand

He pleads with me to understand

The thousand years he has dwelled within

What foolishness did put you there, I ask

His eyes grow dark as memory comes

She swore her love would be mine

If wish I granted

With all haste I gave the bag of jewels she craved

Still she did not believe I was the genie from the bottle

She bid me enter to show her proof

My size you see, made a liar out of me

Wizards spell I now control

Safe I thought, love made me enter

Shrink in size to please my emerald eyed goddess

Quick as lightning she capped the bottle top

With cold wet clay iron filled

Which held me still

Buried me beneath the sand

Until now you hold my image in your hand

Tell me what it is you wish

I have no choice but to believe you will set me free

I thought a while,

then said, life was not hidden from your eyes

Help me write the stories of the thousand years you have seen

So that is my wish

Remember, they must not rush through my mind all at once

A gentle whisper one by one will do

Now I am 24, three best sellers to my name

I watch the Genie melt away

I wonder what story the he will tell today…

AAAAA

Perchance… #Poetry

 

 

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Image by Pixabay.com

 

 

I dream of a smoke-filled room

With deep red leather chairs

An old boys meeting place

Where all my favourite poets and storytellers

sit with their philosopher friends

Pen poised, ready to change the world

With their great imaginings

Magic to soothe the mind

Help your own thoughts to expand

Lewis Carroll speaks of a young girl

fallen down a rabbit hole

My ears tingle with anticipation

H G Wells speaks of the time machine he has in mind

Reading from his notes I want to interrupt him

Beg him to please take me with you

Today they have a foreign visitor

by the name of Mark Twain

He speaks of a strange land

and people of a different kind

Of a boy, Tom Sawyer, made to paint

 a picket fence with white paint

Getting into all kinds of trouble

Helping a slave to escape when no one else would

His heart as big as the Mississippi

I would have helped with that expedition

A run for freedom that belonged to his all along

Morning wakes my still tired eyes

I look to my notepad by my bedside

Wishing I could write as well as my favourite authors

My mind still held in half dream

On my notepad I read two words, You can

Written by a hand that was not my own…

AAAAA

What Do You See Photo Prompt for Willow Poetry

What do you See? June 11/2019

Come join us!

Weekly Challenge  (June 11 to June 17/2019)

How to join: write a post on your own blog,  your choice of poetry or a story.

Link back to this prompt:  leave a link of your post (or Pingback)  in the comment section –  (Do check that your link shows up in the comment section).

Monday “Round-up” includes all links posted in the comment section of this post.

Photo prompt June 11 to June 17, 2019:

 

Weekly challenge

 

The light of spirit leaves the broken image

Of a long-forgotten saint

Holding an ancient scroll, said

to lead to the riches of Solomon

Fear destroys what cannot be understood

The spirit hides in the shadows watching

As they try to decipher the scroll

Taken from the hollow face

The head of a serpent slides

from the sleeve of the Saint

Wrapped around the scroll

Seems to have gone unnoticed

Is it wisdom that hides there,

Or the face of evil?

The alcove echoes with forgotten whispers

Of a time when Solomon entertained demons

To do his will, build his temples

Punish when needed

The weak of mind still wonder whose footsteps

They hear behind them on their journey home

Will they sleep well tonight, knowing

the shadows pulse with old magic?

AAAAA

#The Sunday Whirl ~ #Wordle 407

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Is it possible to be born without a soul?

To walk through life backwards

Vulnerable to the talk of careless lips

Whispers like a constant mantra

She will amount to nothing

To struggle with the stories told about her family

Bad seeds, the lot of them.

Life had been messy

Fuelled by the downward thoughts of others

With no exit in sight

Lisa’s life spiralled deeper into the mire

The road ahead paved with dark shadows

Whispering, this way.

Lisa’s damaged mind had no positive thought to lean on

No shoulder to lay her tears

No one to help her find new courage

A dark blue pebble picked from the kerb

Kicked a memory back to mind

Of old magic, healing waters at Glastonbury

Her mother had spoken of before leaving her alone

Lisa returned home with the pebble in her pocket

A seed, hope like a flower growing in her mind…

AAAAA

 

 

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Image by Pixabay.com

 

 

Foretold

What darkness traps my mind in time over?

What thoughts travel from hell

Placing claws in tender flesh?

The night air foul with danger

Sewers run thick with blood

No respite from the sound

of towns and villages burning

People run with nowhere to go

Death knocks on every door

This too is prophesied

The sun will shine again,

the rain will wash the streets clean

Ill wind shall be blown from its moorings

Town and village will rise anew…

AAAAA

11111

 

Our 5* Review for A Thousand Yesteryears by Mae Clair #ParanormalSuspense @MaeClair1

 

“Masterful, bone-chilling fiction…one intense thriller. A Thousand Yesteryears will keep you guessing, gasping and turning the pages for more.” —New York Times bestselling author Kevin O’Brien

Behind a legend lays the truth…

As a child, Eve Parrish lost her father and her best friend, Maggie Flynn, in a tragic bridge collapse. Fifteen years later, she returns to Point Pleasant to settle her deceased aunt’s estate. Though much has changed about the once thriving river community, the ghost of tragedy still weighs heavily on the town, as do rumors and sightings of the Mothman, a local legend. When Eve uncovers startling information about her aunt’s death, that legend is in danger of becoming all too real . . .

Caden Flynn is one of the few lucky survivors of the bridge collapse but blames himself for coercing his younger sister out that night. He’s carried that guilt for fifteen years, unaware of darker currents haunting the town. It isn’t long before Eve’s arrival unravels an old secret—one that places her and Caden in the crosshairs of a deadly killer . . .

 

Our Review

A Thousand Yesteryears – the first book in the Point Pleasant Series.

The opening prologue begins easily enough, schoolchildren discussing their missing friend and the rumours of a strange creature living in the swamps just outside of town.

What happened next ramps up the tension to full blast, setting the theme for the rest of the story.

Fifteen years later, Eve Parrish, one of these children, returns to Point Pleasant after inheriting her family home. Will she be able to settle the property and go back home, away from the past and its memories?

Walking back into the past is not usually a good idea, especially when such pain and sorrow is there is waiting for you. Things are never quite as you remember them, and that goes for the people too.

Eve has a job to do, settling her aunt’s estate and making it fit to be sold, but someone or something doesn’t want her there.

A Thousand Yesteryears is a fantastic story. A murder mystery, romance and a psychological thriller that will set your nerves on edge while doing its level best to scare you to death!

Beautifully written and full of tension, I enjoyed reading this story and will remember it for some time, looking forward to reading the rest of the Point Pleasant Series…

#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