She pines for her lost dreams

A villanelle for the Secret Keeper’s writing prompt. The words are (with the odd synonym)

STRIPE | ABLE |BLUE | COLD | REVEAL

Sailors Take Warning

The red-striped sky is full of dreams,

Tomorrow’s stories yet untold,

And hopes that grow in silver beams.

 

Above the ocean, white cloud creams

In frosty blue and glacier cold,

The red-striped sky is full of dreams.

 

Bedecked in silk, the full moon seems

To pour a balm of pure white gold

And hopes that grow in silver beams.

 

Yet in the darkness sorrow streams,

For wishes lost that grew too old,

The red-striped sky is full of dreams.

 

That I could find hid in the seams,

Some unspoilt rose that might unfold,

And hopes that grow in silver beams.

 

For love is never what it seems,

Desires can be bought and sold,

The red-striped sky is full of dreams,

And hopes that grow in silver beams.

Microfiction: Lost in space

For Sacha Black’s flash fiction challenge, 52 words on the theme: the distance between.

Nothing left to say, our hands lie still on the white tablecloth in the candlelight, where once fingers would have entwined, inextricable as tree roots. Now in the silence of no more words, hands lie idle, our fingers leaving a white space between your warmth and mine, the distance between the stars.

 

Written in the river

For the Secret Keeper’s writing prompt. The words this week:

REFLECT | WRITE | SPEAK | SMILE | WARM

Painting ©JF Milan

721px-la_cascade_bleue

In the rushing river write

The words reflected in your smile,

The song I wrote for you and me.

 

Beneath the warm sun of my dreams,

I hold my breath, too full to speak and

In the rushing river write.

 

Green cords that twist and pluck a song,

They ravel up the tender notes,

The words reflected in your smile.

 

Plucked by the rushing river, tossed

Into the wind blown out to sea,

The song I wrote for you and me.

Microfiction challenge Lost: the entries

Another fine crop of stories this week and so many ways of not writing about a drowning at sea. Very well done!

First in was a piece of childhood writing from Patricia, reproduced here because there isn’t a blog post link.

The forest black, cold, frightening looms before me. My heart pounding, shaking fear is all I can feel. Frightful noises all around me, crackling branches thump as they hit the ground.
I want to step forward to see what I can see. I can not move, every fiber is frozen. I want to cry out help me please help me, my voice will not respond. I want to hang on to a branch to steady my shaking legs but my hand will not reach up. My throat dry the words stuck.
Suddenly I hear a voice calling my name in the distance. Again I hear the voice this time stronger still. It gives me courage. I will go to it, what is it saying? It is my savior, it is my helping hand. I find my strength, my feet start to move, my feet feel the ground beneath them now. The voice is clear now. The fear is gone. I am not lost.
It is my mom’s voice, she is calling me in from the garden, it’s time for lunch.

Pensitivity

https://pensitivity101.wordpress.com/2016/10/14/microfiction-challenge-18-lost/

My frilly Freudian friend

All things wash ashore – My Frilly Freudian Slip

Ken

Calm Before the Storm | rivrvlogr

Michael

Microfiction challenge #18: Lost | Morpethroad

Sarah

Leverett Island Interviews: transcript 17. | fmme writes poems

Carol

Come Ashore – WritersDream9

Merril

The Lake: Microfiction | Yesterday and today: Merril’s historical musings

Geoff

Penny for ‘im, mister #pictureprompt #microfiction | TanGental

Bill

The Garret

and after the ghostly white space, my own story

https://janedougherty.wordpress.com/2016/10/19/the-sea-kings-wife/

 

 

Microfiction challenge #18: Lost

I’ve had this painting on my list for a while, and although cheery it isn’t, there’s a good story behind it (Kat, feel free to ignore this week’s prompt) although I challenge you to write a story that is not the story of a drowned person. For one thing, if you’re drowned, it’s impossible for you to be telling us about what it was like. Think backstory, meanings, motives and reasons. Who are the people on the beach, why are they there, who are they carrying, is it a corpse, a grieving lover?

Please post your stories in the comments box before next Thursday. Despite everything, have fun 🙂

andreassen_olav_johan_stormnatten_olje_pa%cc%8a_lerret

Lost and found

A cascade poem.

Painting ©K.Meziani

Bleu_Meziani

 

Take my hand and I will guide you

To a place of love and laughter,

For I know where hearts are mended,

Where gulls soar beyond the sunset.

 

You were lost and you were drowning,

But there’s a strand where waves lap gently,

In a lullaby of sealsong,

Take my hand and I will guide you.

 

Beyond the pain, beyond the anger,

We will fly on wings of pure white,

Wrapped about in cloaks of swansdown,

To a place of love and laughter.

 

Leave your tears to jilted lovers,

And the thorns of scented roses,

Bring your longings and your dreamings,

For I know where hearts are mended.

 

Where the sun falls warm on my hair,

And the rain falls soft on your face,

Bound together we will find peace,

Where gulls soar beyond the sunset.

Lost in the pitch black

This poem is for the Secret Keeper’s weekly writing prompt. This week’s words are:

| WEB | LOST | BLACK | SCRATCH | LOCK |

I’m not sure this one works. I might try to write a tighter version.

798px-'Starry_Night'_by_Edvard_Munch,_1893,_Getty_Center

Lost in the pitch black, clinging dark,

Wandering through the empty rooms,

Filled with shadows and drifting dust,

The hollow creak of footsteps’ echoes,

I scratch at the locked and bolted door,

Though I know it will never open more.

 

Beyond is the silence, tender and opulent,

Violet folds of petal-soft night.

The passionate stars are all still there, I think,

Radiant scraps of hungry happiness,

Caught in the black sky’s tenebrous web,

But night is balanced ’tween flow and ebb.

 

When the harsh sun returns they’ll fade,

Those tiny sparks of love’s fierce fire,

Filling the dark and dusty room

With the unforgiving blue of day,

While the creaking footsteps fade and die,

For it was you who walked away, not I.

Microfiction: The golden dog

1280px-Espargos_dog

The dog lies, her golden head resting on her front paws, watching the passers-by. She is tired. For four days she has trotted back and forth along the route she knows best, between the two campsites, the park and the bridge, the bridge and the park. She and the man slept together in the same sleeping bag, sometimes under the bridge, sometimes under a tree. Now he has gone.
She waits and she watches, and she trots back and forth, back and forth. But she is hungry and tired. She plays with other dogs but won’t go near people. Her eyes search for a single man in the whole mass of humanity. Her fur is muddy and she is tired and hungry. But she waits and watches and trots back and forth.
I would catch her if I could, the golden dog, and bring her home. But she won’t be caught. I would take the place of the man who went away and didn’t come back. But she has more faith than I, more hope. She will watch and wait and trot back and forth, back and forth, forever.

Lost at sea

Night,_1889_Edward_Simmons

Tossed like a leaf on a stormy sea,
My heart drifts, weightless, rudderless,
Too light to sink,
Too broken to steer.
I search the darkness for a star
To guide me home beyond the jagged rocks.
Call me from the distant shore,
And light a beacon for the night is dark.
No god in heaven speeds my limping ship
Or calms the angry wind with gentle hands.
So light a beacon for me, love,
Forget the words that made you turn away.
For though I try to mend my leaking heart,
The night is fallen now, too dark for me to see.
The healing words are only on your lips
And you are all the matters in the world to me.