Hiding

Picture prompt for Magpie Tales

Hiding from me
I cannot see
who
I
really
am

Magpie Tales Sweet Summer

Sweet Summer, 1912, John William Waterhouse 

Modesty reared his ugly head
When he first saw the maiden there
Then he paused to drink the beauty
Of the maiden pale and fair

As she nursed the summer day
He became entranced
And began to sketch her
Without another glance

Alone she thought shaded
By the rose and cooled by mist
Alone she pondered life's romance
But screamed when she was kissed

Modesty had taken the dare
While he painted unseen
The image forever frozen
Shattered when she screamed

For Magpie Tales

Darkness for Poets United...

In the darkness death crawled
A slithering snake unseen
But duty called
Light appeared
Making Lil our heroine and queen.

For Poets United

Birds for Wordle

Wish they had built
On a cliff instead of here
No chimney available
They chose a place
Close to  drink

Six in all
Four babies
Whistle with open mouths
The parents drilled the air
For insect fortunes

No porcelain throne
For their habits
They let it rip
Building a pit, a pile below
The split tail parents sing

For Sunday Whirl...Wordle

For The Mag

Not To Be Reproduced, 1937, Rene Magritte 

A week has passed and once again it is time to stretch our creative muscles for Tess Kincaid at Magpie Tales.  Each Sunday we get an art prompt that inspires us to write.  Join the fun.

Fear

Keeps us faceless

Be certain

Show your face

To the world

Shouting

I am worthy

I can write.

Creating For Magpie Tales

Days long past
We worried
The film would break
Leaving us with slapping sounds
And empty views

Now with Progress
(Such a dirty word!)
We can repeat
Endlessly
If we have power.

Play the same scene
Over and over
Like The Omega Man
Know it by heart
Pretending you're not alone.

For Tess at Magpie Tales

The Moon At Poetry Jam

As the moon 

Pulls the tide
It seeks
My blood
Causing it to rise
And boil
With the call
Of lunacy.

I howl
The moon smiles
Knowing the pull of years
Continues in the blood
Of my blood
Howling
We sing to the moon
Bathed in her light.

For Poetry Jam and the moon.

Jonestown...

dVerse~Poets Pub  has challenged writers to speak of tragedy with poetry.

JJ's Followers

The innocence of Grape Punch
Died forever that day
Along with many
Who saw with
Blind eyes
Holding the hands
Of their children
Believing this was
The Way
The Truth
The Light
When it was only
A crazy man
With crazy people
Grasping for an excuse
To feel worthy
As they helped
Their children die
For NOTHING

The Mag 151 My Cocoon

Magpie Tales with Tess Kincaid

I am safe
In my pink cocoon. 
No bad colors allowed. 
The barrier
Shuts out the dark
The cold
The things I don’t want.

I am safe
In my pink cocoon.
I will emerge
Like a butterfly
Leaves its chrysalis
Beautiful and vibrant
Ready to gather nectar
And explore the world.
Until then

I am safe
In my pink cocoon.

The Mag: The Squall

It's time again!  The week doesn't move fast enough to get to Magpie Tales' challenge.  I love these!  No restrictions except keep it short and clean.  Sign up and give it go.

Squall, 1986, by Andrew Wyeth

 Clearing skies,

The squall had passed.

Coats empty now

Dripped and waited.

 

Watching the path

One, two, three

The empty pegs cried

Watching the sea.





The Leaves Crunched...Saturday Centus 129

It's time for Saturday Centus with Jenny Matlock!

PROMPT: "The leaves crunched under my boots until they didn't."

WORD COUNT - Not to exceed 109 (including the prompt)

STYLE OF WRITING - First person

PICTURES - Any additional 

The regular restrictions apply: PG, no splitting of the prompt, play nicely and visit the other links, please.

The cabin was still standing. That surprised me a little. I’d expected it'd be broken like me. It was built in the back of beyond so isolated it seemed only we were left on this world.

That fall the first days were romantic and tender.

I soon discovered he was always watching me. Nothing I did was right. Writing in my journal or even sketching pictures of the cabin became a personal insult to him.

When he hit me I was shocked but every day became the same.

The ax was the answer. I did it.

I walked away and the leaves crunched under my boots until they didn’t.

The Mag 137-Draw A Fork

Our weekly writing challenge from Tess Kincaid at Magpie Tales is always a delight where we have to match our words to her choice of picture.  Give it a try or just read those who entered.  Either way you will not be disappointed nor bored.

It Must Be Time For Lunch Now, 1979, by Francesca Woodman

I must remember
Draw a fork
Draw a fork
If I draw a knife
They take me away
Where there aren't even spoons

It must be time for lunch now
My stomach growls in unison
With the voices
I must remember
Draw a fork
Draw a fork

THEY
The ones who take my knives
Do not know the damage a fork can do
I must remember
Draw a fork
Draw a fork

Through the pill fog I know
This innocent fork can end the nightmare
But I cannot give my secret away
I must remember
Draw a fork
Draw a fork.

The Mag 125

Chilmark Hay, 1951 by Thomas Hart Benton

Once again,

I am stumped

The picture's real

I'm in a slump.

Farmer John has hay

And green grass galore

We have nothing

Just dead grass and spores.

I guess I'm suffering

From hay envy now.

Can't cut, can't rake

Can't even plow.

Cattle auctions are full

Selling into the night

Trailers lined up

Far outta sight.

Trying not to fail

Survival mode in place

This county is going to...well,

Pray for rain and say Grace.

Join the fun at THE MAG.

Saturday Centus 112

Welcome to week ONE HUNDRED AND TWELVE of Saturday Centus from the wonderful Ms Jenny Matlock. 

The prompt this week is: 'It's an amusing little whine...' (and, yes, the misspelling is deliberate)
Number of words: 100 plus the 5 words of the prompt. 105 total.  Style of writing: Any

I don’t like a noisy dog

One that growls or barks

I want them to be quiet

As we’re strolling in the park.

I want them to lay silently

At my feet while I read

I want them to look at me
And communicate their needs.

I’ve had yappers

Who drove me quiet insane

Their persistence barking

Stuck needles in my brain

I’ve also had some growlers

That seemed to growl for fun

Didn’t need a reason

They growled at every one.

Now I have a whiner

He does it all the time

But I have grown to love him

It’s an amusing little whine.

SC 110...A Writing Prompt

She married young and she married “up” as they call rising above your present condition. Her parents agreed. Instead of providing a dowry they were given one.

It was a whirlwind courtship.

Alone except for her new strange husband in a large mansion, everything most young girls dream about.

The nights were not what her mother had told her.

She found her solace outdoors and with the horses.

The husband was not pleased with her newly found distractions.

In bed he softly said, “You could have had it all.” His large hands closed tightly around her neck. Her last sight was insanity in his eyes.

Click the picture.

Join the fun with Jenny.

SC 106 Moon Madness

Jenny's prompt this week is: "Cream together butter and sugar..."

Number of words: 100 PLUS the five words of the prompt for a maximum word count of 105

Style of writing: Any
Pictures: As many as you like

The family curse…moon madness some called it or Wolf Time.  Name it what you want, it didn’t change.

Every generation one of us was affected by the moon.  Badly.  The curse did not leave us.  Each generation we waited to see who would hear the moon’s call.

Years ago the affected person would just be contained until the moon changed.  Our secret was kept.

Great Granny knew the magic of herbs so she discovered a combination that curbed the madness.

We use an old family recipe. Cream together butter and sugar, dried Wolfsbane, flour and eggs and bake.

During the full moon we eat cookies.