#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

 

#Writephoto ~ Sign #Poetry

Thursday photo prompt: Sign #writephoto

 

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Endless

 

Another mindless Christ, preaching endless syllables of nothingness.

Whose soul does he think he can save with words that have no meaning?

There are no signs, no road to redemption.

Let me start my life over without the broken pieces behind me.

Let the ocean swallow my useless life.

My life did not flash before me.

All I could see, the full moon above dancing fingers of light through water.

That pub sign I passed, The Green Wizards Hat swung in front of my eyes

Misshapen, like the crazy mirrors at the carnival.

My air seems seemed endless, I should be drowning by now

no more than a body to be found on some shore by a passing stranger.

Others gather, looking down,  voices…

“How sad, she is so young, what drove her to this?”

Among the crowd, someone stepped forward to close my eyes.

He could not hear me screaming, “Please don’t. Let me see the wizard in the green hat.”

My eyes closed, my hearing gone, how will I know what he had to say to me?

I awake in hospital, had he closed my eyes too soon, thinking me dead?

Did some strange pub sign save me?

Flowers by my bedside, a card, a small green wizard hat in the corner.

Inside I read, “Now you can start your life over…”

There was no signature.

Did an ancient wizard step through time?

AAAAA

 

 

#Writephoto ~ Tranquil

Thursday photo prompt: Tranquil #writephoto

 

 

Image by scvincent.com

 

Beauty of the Moment

I came across a clearing, tall trees,

a small pond glowing red

I was wearing rose coloured glasses

that I couldn’t remove.

The magic of nature, tiny bacteria,

not something  associated with wonder.

The beauty took my breath away

My mind travelled as if taken

 by a time machine to a time of peace.

Twelve years old, on top of the cliffs of Dover

running free, no parents, no brothers to nag me.

The grass damp beneath my bare feet,

the freedom awe-inspiring.

I am alone in the world, I like it.

I found a crater full of crickets

For a moment, peace had been snatched away.

I ran back the way I came

knowing I would never feel it again.

A moment in the scrapbook of my mind.

Here I am, so many years later

Bathing in the glow of friendly bacteria.

It doesn’t sound romantic, yet the tranquillity

stole my thoughts. Words fail me.

How can I describe the beauty,

the magic of this wonderful space?

I want to bottle it, take it home,

selfishly keep it to myself

A different time with the same feeling of peace

Are moments like these meant for sharing?

I think not.

They belong to the secret part of me

My secret, like the day on the cliffs.

Others will walk this way

find this place, have their moment

of tranquillity to carry home…

AAAAA

#writephoto

 

#Writephoto ~ Portal

Thursday photo prompt: Invitation #writephoto

 

 

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Image by scvincent.com

 

Open Doors

My invite read, don’t past go, don’t collect 500 pounds

Go straight to the Pearly gates and have a word with St Peter

Start with the fact he is not doing his job well

The gates are open, any fool can walk in

What would God have to say about that?

I wanted to ask where my invitation had come from

Was he hiding some joker behind a cloud?

How come this piece of fancy card

became my passport through the Pearly Gates?

After I awoke from what I can only describe

as a mind meld, my dentist  looked at me strangely

Apparently, while I was coming too, I said,

“You can’t kick me out, I have too many questions for St Peter.”

I do have a few thoughts I would like to discuss with him

What can I say; maybe I need more gas and air

Take another trip…

AAAAA

#writephoto

#Writephoto ~ Timeless ~ #Poetry

Thursday photo prompt: Timeless #writephoto

 

 

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Image by scvincent.com

 

Dancing Stones

A giant fist thrust through the earth,

warning beware stone giants sleep below.

You move our limbs from place to place

Arranging circles, corridors, lone monoliths,

Then call them sacred.

They belong to Mother Earth

As your bones will

when you bury your dead beneath our stones.

Should you dare to visit

when the Dragon’s breath covers the land.

You may see the ancient ones dancing,

leave to remain…

AAAAA

#Writephoto… New #Poetry

Thursday photo prompt: New #writephoto

 

 

Image by scvincent.com

 

 

Faceless

Where are you now, my faceless one?

Do you hide in the sunset, the rain,

the smile of a newborn, the flowers in Spring?

Are you there in the face a neighbour, a stranger?

Are you the face of the new moon as she rises?

Do you bring new hope with every sunrise,

with each lover’s first kiss?

Are you there when my tears overflow?

Do you kiss away the sadness,

And bless each renewed moment of the day?

When I am feeling jaded, do you help me

to notice something new?

There is a saying, that you are never too old to learn.

I believe it, for a gift from the faceless one

each day holds a new surprise.

Something I hadn’t noticed before…

AAAAA

 

#writephoto

#Writephoto ~ Blade #Poetry

Thursday photo prompt: Blade #writephoto

 

Image by scvincent.com

 

From the Mist

An ancient wall, an offering made

to Gods of old, whose stories

have never truly be told.

Of Arthur, Merlin and Guinevere

Of a time when a child was born

under cover of Merlin’s mist

From mischief born, a King he would make.

A time of peace was Merlin’s thought

The child is born, a king is made

With sword in hand, he promptly broke

Arthur’s blade lay on the ground

Merlin watching, knew what must be done

A King without a sword cannot be

The Lady of the Lake beneath the water

waiting, with sword in hand

The second blade would be the one

Excalibur

A time of peace ran through the land

Guinevere his second wife did break this peace.

Lancelot had fled to France

War did rage as Mordred thought to take Arthur’s crown

With scabbard lost, the wound was made

Arthur lay bleeding, death too near

His trusted Knight on bended knee

took Arthur’s sword and heard his plea

The sword he carried to the lake

The Knight returned to where Arthur lay

“What did you see?”

A lie was told and Arthur knew

“Go back and do as I have asked

Return and tell me what you see.”

This was done. A lady’s hand

thrust through the water

She caught the blade in mid-air

then sank beneath the lake.

I heard the whisper on still water

“He shall return…”

aaaaa

#Writephoto ~ Fragrant

Thursday photo prompt: Fragrant #writephoto

 

 

rose-garden

Image by scvincent.com

 

 

 

 

My grandmother always told me that Grey House is not a house of ghosts.

That there is nothing there but the smell the dead leave behind.

People leave their comments in the visitor’s book, telling of the scents they picked up in the house.

My entry, at age fifteen, read, “My nose must be broke. It is fine outside, where I could be overwhelmed by perfume of every kind. Nature’s best. Even the grass smelled sweet as I crunched it beneath my feet.”

I am twenty-eight now, revisiting Grey House with my daughter. Listening to the visitors talking about the smells. Bread baking, meat cooking, the scent of flowers brought in from outside, and now the smell of oranges where none grew outside.

Back home, once inside our house, there it was, the smell of oranges, clinging to my clothes, my daughter’s hair.

“Why are you sniffing my hair, Mummy?”

I asked if she could smell oranges. “No”, she said, looking at me as if I had lost my mind. “That was in the other house. The little girl told me her daddy had planted an orange grove for her on the day she was born, and when she died, he burned it down. ”

I could not believe what my daughter was telling me, and yet my house smelled as though I had oranges in every room…

aaaaa

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#Writephoto: Snowfall

Thursday photo prompt: Snowfall #writephoto

 

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I walk under a black and white moon

in fresh snowfall, soft and sparkling

as if made from fallen stars.

Shadows slide across the ground

Beneath snow-laden trees, lies Folcor

A beautiful white dragon, made from luck.

He sleeps, waiting for the first breath of spring.

Before he wakes, whisper your wish in his ear

he will carry it back to the beginning of time

opening new doorways

Letting new luck enter the universe.

The life you wished for circled back in time

to greet you under the snow-laden trees

where Folcor lies sleeping…

AAAAA.png

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This is what I saw when I looked at Sue’s image…

For those of you who won’t know who Folcor is, I include the trailer from Never Ending Story…

#Writephoto: Imagination #Poetry

Thursday photo prompt: Imagination #writephoto

 

 

art

Image by scvincent.com

 

 

 

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Image by Pixabay.com

 

 

Lady of Glass

Who is this strange lady made of glass

The wall behind her holds no answers

With its church-like window with flames of red

Have I fallen in love?

I see the red fire in her head

Her thoughts shielded from me

I see her bones

There is darkness where her heart should be

Did some evil hand steal it from her?

Could I find it, return it, make her whole?

The glass tulips splinter, lay broken on the ground

She doesn’t move, her face unchanging

My glass butterfly wears a halo of green

The last vestige of a life she once knew…

AAAAA.png

 

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