Colleen’s Weekly #Poetry Challenge #DoubleEtheree

Colleen’s 2019 Weekly #Tanka Tuesday #Poetry Challenge No. 129 #SynonymsOnly

This week’s words are  Hobby and Play…

 

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The

game is

made for two

no easy hobby

challenge met game on

I have played once before

remember, small also wins

guard your King, for I have Castled

the game is mine, today I shall win

Lay down your King now you must surrender

I fear I may have played my hand too soon

I forgot the small but mighty pawn

my sudden thought of winning dashed

the challenge has been renewed

I have not lost all yet

pleasure still remains

my Bishop strikes

he must move

his king

falls

AAAAA

Hunger… #Poetry

 

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Image by Pixabay.com

 

 

 

Watching the orange moon sail between tall trees

my hunger increased.

My back against the mighty oak, soothing my bones

I wait for orange to turn white, the full moon

For my true self to emerge.

Feed the hunger to remain hidden

deep in my forest home, the last of my kind.

On four legs, men would kill me, take my fur

Once I have fed, I will regain my other self

walk on two legs awhile.

Now I catch the scent of food, mixed with a new scent

human, one I have not come across in many months

They seldom venture here.

She carries another scent with her, a dog, a worse enemy

he sees me, I stand ready for battle

His speed surprised me.

The girl calls, ‘Meeka, stay!’ Obedient, he sat beside her

Our eyes locked.

She was not the kind I had come across before

her eyes the same as mine, the glow of orange lingers

Had she fed recently?

I should run, my heart wants to stay

my head took my feet before I could stop them

Safe beneath my oak, I will see her again

I felt her gaze touch the human in me

I remember, we will mate under moonlight

seek each other in daylight, live our lives in two halves

our souls inseparable, they were made as one…

AAAAA

Days of Wine and Roses… #Poetry

 

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Image by Pixabay.com

 

Wine and Roses

The days of wine and roses are behind us now

hidden by mist as we disappear from memory

The young ones no longer remember us

We are old Gods that danced on the head of a pin

The river no longer flows in our favour

Our lives turn to myth and legend, to be put aside

 like childhood toys. How easy they forget.

We do not disappear. We reform, returning

to take our rightful place in men’s psyche

we dance on the head of a pin once more

taste the sweet wine,

walk through the rose gardens we made.

Your earth belongs to us, we return…

AAAAA

#Wordle 396 ~Yesterday’s Moon #Poetry

 

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Yesterday’s moon

One forgotten spirit walks

beneath yesterday’s cloudy moon.

Searching for alchemy, transformation

old age magic to remove the sting of memory.

The song remembered under dark skies

to have a voice, to sing again.

The pull, the swell of life below,

a mix of bittersweet memory.

Chill thoughts of a life wasted

the need to be born again.

Haunted by the scarred face of the moon.

Would that a strong wind could blow

his spirit newborn,

beneath tomorrow’s full moon...

AAAAA.png

#Flash Fiction 99 Word Challenge forThe Carrot Ranch Literary Community #Poetry

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My Bucket

Sacred water, the giver of life

we do everything with it

bathe, clean windows, wash cars

Leave a bowl out for the birds

Christen our new borns

As children, we splash in it

laughing and screaming getting soaking wet

We go boating on a summer afternoon

hand held over the side

Gentle water slipping through our fingers

Hidden trails of water beneath our feet

The Hindu God of Oceans, Varuna

Salty water, secret life below

Water is calm and violent

we cannot do without it

It sustains all life, take time

to bless the magic that falls on us…

AAAAA.png

#Writephoto ~ Rift #Poetry

Thursday photo prompt: Rift #writephoto

 

Image by scvincent.com

 

Torn

Torn apart, my best piece of writing,

or so I thought by a cruel comment.

Like the backwash of a wave broken on our beach

The many rocks worn, cracked across their middle

still able to give a warm seat when I tire.

I have my favourites, where I can

run my hand across the small scars.

Straight lines, cruel whip marks

we all age and crack given enough time

The road marks on our faces as we age

The map of time passing,

the rift that marks all things.

The land falls away leaving a hollow

for the unknown traveller to fall int

A large cloud falls apart as if someone

had pulled a cotton ball in two.

It drifts on by, to be swallowed

by the other waiting clouds.

Whole again, as we too will be

when one puts a hand out to the other.

The rift is repaired. Would that everything

could be so easily mended

as a cloud drifting by.

With time and water, the force of the oceans,

the cracks in the rocks will be smooth again,

 their story untold. As if age had not touched them.

How do we mend a rift in time itself?

What falls between the space where

time has moved away from itself?

Like the wish written on paper as a child,

folded so many times

hidden in the crack of a rock on the beach.

My own wailing wall.

I have no recollection of the wish coming true

It may have done. Time has taken the memory

As I am sure the sea has taken my piece of paper

Smooth or cracked, a boulder

will tell its own story if you sit awhile…

AAAAA

 

Nine Gates… #Poetry

 

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Image by Pixabay.com

 

 

The door is open, do not enter

should you be foolish enough to step within

remember these three things

don’t lose the keys as you cannot turn back.

Love all things

Most of all, remember your name

It will carry you through the nine gates of hell.

The first is a three-mile swim

to the island, find the key to gate two

where time slows.

You must keep the same pace as before

think not of what is within, nor touch his skin.

Gate 3 is not so tough

pay no heed to what you hear.

Gate 4 is a bit sticky

Push hard, you will fall right in.

Pick not the flowers nor smell their sweetness.

Gate 5 will tell you lies about the ones you love

Gate six, time will tick louder in here

Do not let it make you rush.

Gate 7 will turn your mind around

do not lose direction.

Gate eight, no matter how you thirst

do not drink from the well of forgetfulness.

Gate nine stands the gatekeeper

He will ask you for the eight keys.

Do not worry that he is blind, he sees you

He will hand you the ninth key

here you must speak your name.

Let not all else be lost in flame

Remember the path behind you

for you will walk its length again…

AAAAA

The Wager…

 

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Image by Pixabay.com

 

The wager

I cannot wake from this nightmare

voices screaming below my floating body.

I dwell in darkness.

The devil takes what belongs

he gives no tomorrows.

I bet my life for one more day

place my coin on red for life.

Black would see me taken back

my seat still warm from the time before.

White lights, masked faces,

my spirit slammed back into place.

I hear one voice above the other

“We have a pulse, we’ve got him back!”

The devil lost.

I have one more tomorrow…

AAAAA

Returning Time… #Poetry

 

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Returning Time

The dead do not lie still.

Their long shadows

search those secret places, pulling your mind apart.

They hide behind damp patches on the wall

waiting for you to scrape through the layers of time.

Old newspapers beneath carpets

Lost photographs at the back of the drawer

A box full of records you can no longer play

Love letters you find.

That distant whisper lets you know

they have come back…

AAAAA