Florence wears her poppy with pride.
Bloody Mary at the ready ,
fag a dangle from painted lips,
burgeoning breasts child bearing hips.
All a wobble; she waits for the last post.
Lips a tremble; as she drinks a silent toast.
Her eyes and demeanour belie her pain the most.
An orphan of war; his body unfound.
Buried deep beneath foreign ground.
For peace he fought and lost his life,
then suicide tore away his grieving wife.
Alone, eyes all a puddle, she stands. Two minutes never brings them back. Silently clasping her shaking hands.
While, we all remember them.
Do you think my attempt is too fickle for such a poignant rememberance? Leave me a comment its good to talk.
Thanks to the artist of Florence who holds full copyright, giffy for use of tumbling animation. Both poem and poppies are my own.
Armed with their look
They’ve a gut full of fears,
Their anger disguised
Behind tattooed tears.
They hook youth to bring
New music to the masses,
To stir unrest amongst
Secretly it’s about
Statement and look,
under the guise of a
new-age punk book.
Courting social media
With Insta and Mix,
To highlight the movement
With moody selfies and glitz.
Power hungry fools
with political agendas
Infiltrate the movement
To fulfil their vendettas.
Soon they are castigated,
Pilloried as militant fools.
Credibility lost, they are
just punks without tools.
Another new direction for this have a go woman of words. Let me know if I grabbed the emotion and threw it out there. Maybe it is a step too far? Let me know I value your opinion.
I love the crunch beneath my boots,
Crisp mornings and coloured trees.
Fingerless gloves and owl hoots,
Long scarves down to my knees.
Conkers burst their, spiked armour,
Spill their seeds for conker wars.
Scarlet and golden paint a scene,
To cover paths and forest floors.
Without Autumn there’d be no respite
a harvest moon would not appear.
No Halloween or cosy suppers
To bring us all our Autumn cheer.
So many of you asked, ‘what are conkers?’ I have popped this link for you. Here . The shaddow fighter picture above was found un credited on the internet and depicts a conker war. All other shots are of my own making.
What do you like about Autumn? Have you played Conkers? I’d love to hear … go on, you know you’d like to.
press to join in. Sue Vincent’s picture prompt.
Here is this weeks photo. All.entries to be in by March 22nd.
Stalactites hung like chandeliers from the roof of our cave, the formation split it into two rooms. Since his leaving I had made it welcoming, sweeping the animal waste in a pile, hanging a lantern from a root that pierced the ceiling. The rosy welcoming glow was encouraged by the minerals in the rock that cast a sunset; perfect for this night. Animal skins shone silver on the vine that provided cover.
My heart bounced in my chest, as his shadow fell on the ridge. I trembled and perspired at the shape of him. Picking up the mewing bundle I stood at the entrance and thrust it towards his broad chest and said… “Your gift” With his huge hands he twisted the neck, a crack of splintering bone was heard. A gasp left my throat and I wiped my eyes with trembling fingers. With swift strokes he skinned and gutted it, throwing the debris aside. Taking me roughly in his arms to the inner chamber he reminded me what we were together for.The calf spat and cooked on the fire as we writhed on its soft skin. Now I was his, I had successfully filled his needs and his belly .
I remember my son asking what it was like when we lived in caves. Though I am not quite old enough for that, I think maybe my story would have fit.I bet you thought that bundle was something else… leave me a comment I am dying to know 😀 😄 😮
For my virtual friends all over the world “Merry Christmas” Happy Holiday’s whatever your beliefs be kind to each other. To you all “Peace on Earth”.
I will be away for a while but will See you next year. Xxx.
Our Christmas tree.
Enjoy festive music if you can keep your eyes off Mariah’s chest… ooooherrr missus.
November 9th 2016 charli’s carrott ranch weekly prompt.’The End’ write a story that pivots around an unexpected ending. Press here to join in or to read the others.
- Thousands gathered, some rode, others walked to the stones. Drawn some say by forces, maybe magnetic, psychic or coincidence. Either way we all gravitated here and more arrived daily, with scraps of lives some in rags.Escaping the turmoil, that destroyed life as we knew it.
In a flash, unease spread tempers began to flare. Before long gangs tore people limb from limb they burned and ate the bodies in that once sacred place. Until the ‘Hum’… the light, In a suck of a vacuum a gigantic slurp all evil was gone. We clung together as one; to begin a new end.
I will stay
In this selfish
Where life Is
Wipers of time.
Found in a book.
No one sees
Lives of millions,
Is used to
For what is
Time to give tolerance a chance, I am reading some awful things in the news today. In Bristol a ten year old boy was snatched off the street he was forced in to a disused building beaten and left confused and scared; because of the colour of his skin.
This was one of several hate crimes I read today and each day brings more, homophobic attacks, religious and ethnic hate and discrimination, fear of the unknown can never be an excuse. Neighbours who wouldn’t cross the road to help, people without conscience or morals. Where will it end? When will we remember what it is to be human?
.Leave me a comment, let me see the disgust in your words restore my faith in humanity. Please.
On the outskirts of Volterra
In the heart of the rolling Tuscan hills.
With the windows thrown wide … we lay still and listen,
We listened to the wonder of Tuscany.
When the Bullfrog’s and Cicadas compete for air time,
Wild Boar and Deer bark and call to their mates.
The firefly’s hop and prance throwing sparkles in their wake,
Rays of luminous green light whizzing here and there,
As if being chased by the sunrise.
Silent streaks of Tuscan sun warm the distant hills.
It’s still, hot and quiet.
Except for the sound of Tuscany breathing.