#Writephoto # Transition/Changes #Poetry

Thursday photo prompt: Transition #writephoto



Image by scvincent.com




Time and space

Cannot change the light to dark

It has been that way from the start

In your mind, you hold the key

Remain in darkness or set yourself free

Walk from the hidden shadows

You have inhabited too long

There are many vistas for you to see

Take a chance, walk through the garden

The blue-grey path

Use the key, set your feet on new ground

Become a part of beauty all around

Key in hand you reach the door

Do not hesitate, don’t turn back

Let new life sustain you

Bring you back from dark to light…


#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…


#Writephoto ~ Rooted

Thursday photo prompt: Rooted #writephoto


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Image by scvincent.com




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…


#Writephoto ~ Monochrome

Thursday photo prompt: Monochrome #writephoto





My house of black and white chevrons

Sunlight cannot kiss colour into its bones

It glows under the moonlight, a beacon to the past

A time of Shakespeare whose words knit together

as if spoken by a strange tongue

Intrigue walks beside soft meadows along the river Avon

My house of shadows echoes lost stories spoken by the bard

His voice lingers throughout Stratford

Walk the streets, you cannot help but hear

The whispered voice of that bearded genius

May this giant wordsmith’s words echo

and be heard a hundred years ago…



#Writephoto ~ Shade #Poetry

Thursday photo prompt: Shade #writephoto




Image by scvincent.com



I felt as though I walked in a dream,

The air, soft, silk against my skin

The shade afforded me by the woods welcomed me in

The heat of the sun no longer at my back

Leaves dancing to music only they could hear

I slowed my pace, hoping not to miss the spot

Where miracles are made beside an empty grave

It’s lid missing, moss-grown edges

When I find it, I will set up camp, wait for the lady

Dressed in twilight who kneels beside the hollow grave

Small trinkets lay within thanking the lady for the dream,

The wish that came from tokens given

My mind was not ready for the vision before me

She was the embodiment of twilight, that something in between

She knelt beside the hollow grave, her hand gentle on the mossy edge

Her head bowed, not in prayer

I felt her sadness, the want of her loss, her deep longing

To be reunited with the love that is no longer there

Her beauty, her sorrow moved my feet towards her

Like a sudden gust of wind, she vanished

I knelt there, taking my silver medallion of St Jude

From my keyring and placed it inside the hollow space

It was sometime later when I heard that

The lady of twilight was never seen there again…



#Writephoto ~ Beyond #Poetry

Thursday photo prompt: Beyond #writephoto

Use the image below as inspiration to create a post on your own blog… poetry, prose, humour… light or dark, whatever you choose, by noon (GMT)  Wednesday 24th April  and link back to this post with a pingback to be included in the round-up.  There is no word limit and no style requirements, except to keep it fairly family friendly.




Sunlight beauty beyond the trees

Pyramid doorway beckons

Ode to Pythagoras

I stand safe in shadows

This sunlit vale hides what my eyes cannot see

My heart weeps for want

A distant cry, drums beating

Forest burning

Loves memory written in smoke

A call borne from pain

How can I reach where my feet will not go?

A singularity of knowing holds me fast

Two hearts beat beyond the branches entwined

In triangular splendour they wait for me

Take time to feel their welcome

Reach out, take hold of safe hands

To hold under sunlight’s warm embrace…



#Writephoto ~ Decisions

Thursday photo prompt: Decisions #writephoto


Featured Image -- 47605

Image from scvincent.com



Where you are going, isn’t as important as the journey

Places you find along the way, people you stop to talk to

That one odd shoe by the wayside, what happened to the other?

The unexpected gift of companionship while eating lunch

A stranger taking time to talk to me

Telling me, I should visit the church of Mary Magdalene

‘You may find something you lost while you’re there.’

I thanked my visitor, deciding to take a look

A tiny church on the edge of a green field

Inside, the colour from the stained glass windows

Stole my breath, I had walked into a rainbow

I felt the warmth, a greeting.

I sat awhile and could think of nothing I had lost

Until I came across an old wooden sign post

Blank on all three sides

Until then, I was comfortable ambling along

Now I felt lost, with nothing to point the way

As I choose my destination, a song came to mind

I’m on the road to nowhere, what will I find?

What kind of story will I take home?

Will I return from an unknown destination?

Fanciful thinking there will be a town or village somewhere

After walking a while, I could see no rooftops, no steeple

Looking back towards the signpost, I could not see it.

Had I walked myself into the other side of time?

I had to keep walking, believing I would find something

Not a brand new signpost, each pointer leading somewhere

I could not read, the language was one I had not come across

My inner voice told me to turn back, away from this forgotten field

Each step became heavy, full of worry

I gave a sigh of relief, seeing the pub in the distance

Once inside I asked the landlord about the new signpost

He said there was only the old one, my lovely

Hold on, I said, I can show you. I took a shot with my phone

but scanning through, I found nothing.

I know it was there, I touched it, smooth, warm from the sun

I can still feel it on the palm of my hand…


#Writephoto ~ Threshold…

Thursday photo prompt: Threshold #writephoto




Image by scvincent.com



From inside the one they call the magician’s cave, it felt wrong.

On the other side of the small bay is the cave I always think of as his.

Where the fallen eagle with its beak touching the ground,

his wings guarding the threshold to a second cave.

One is full to the top with giant boulders, but on the other side of the giant beak, you can walk through to the sea.

Looking at this grand entry, with the Castle perched on top of the cliff, was enough to send my mind reeling back into the past.

I could almost see the magician sitting on one of the giant boulders, as I had done. It has been said that he was trapped by his love for a woman, and gave her his secrets. They say no man can free him, maybe a woman can?

I have searched all of these caves, one so beautiful it was worth the climb. I found myself standing inside a green jewel.

However, magic is not to be found inside a hollow cave.

On this small beach stands a large solid rock. I stood there wondering, is his soul alive inside. Does he want to be found?

Has he learned not to give away all his secrets? Could someone find the key to release him?

I doubt it, for love makes fools of us all…



#Writephoto ~ Bright #Poetry

Thursday photo prompt: Bright #writephoto




Image by scvincent.com




The woodland at the back of my house is a place I visit often. Today I noticed a bright pillar of light swaying as if windblown. There were shadows dancing, whispered voices, children playing.

The children in the light wait to be born. My mother and grandmother told me the same tale, but I never expected to see it. I could sit here forever watching, wanting to hold it in my mind. I may not be lucky enough to see it again.

Two hours I sat, before going home, where my wife told me she was pregnant.

Floored by the news, telling my wife of my experience, I had to wonder, had one of those dancing shadows waited to make me a father?

I like to think so…


#Writephoto ~ Rift #Poetry

Thursday photo prompt: Rift #writephoto


Image by scvincent.com



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…