A sea symphony

Last try for today.

 

I dream a sea symphonyscreen-shot-2017-03-04-at-16-47-17

of water pounding,

watch the diamond spray

mist the sky

with purple shadows.

Sun and storm,

spring rain or shine,

whisper music,

the language of the moon.

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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: Bronze Ocean III

Six lines instead of three in this installment.

1024px-pink_clouds

The fumes of alcohol mingled with the pink clouds of mist and left his head clear but empty—he still had no idea where he was, up or down, dead or alive.

Somewhere, everywhere, coarse laughter reverberated and he remembered the whispering voice, the hand that shoved, and he searched the air for a face—instead he found a gull.

Don’t take any notice of him, the gull said, banking off into the scintillating cloud, just follow me.

“How?” he asked, immediately feeling stupid, but raising hands that dripped molten bronze.

Fly! The voice came back to him, muffled by the mist and fading, but he found himself spreading his bronze-dripping arms that became long, bronze-feathered arms, and beating the misty air in pursuit of the gull.

Liquid bronze and pink cloudy air vibrated with a roar of anger that he knew came from the mocking presence, but before fear could take hold of his wing beats, the gull wheeled about, fixed him with a bright, black eye and winked.

Leaving

For the Secret Keeper’s weekly writing challenge to use these words:

PLACE – SHARP – CHIME – FIRM – PACE

Painting ©Feliks Paszkowski

1110px-Baltyk

With steady pace,

I leave this place

Of harsh stone fields

That nothing yield.

The morning air

Is sharp and fair,

Step firm and bold,

I leave the fold.

Beyond the swell,

A chiming bell

Calls out to me

From ‘cross the sea.

A boat, my boat,

My dreams afloat,

To carry me

To where you be.

Poetry challenge#46: Meter

This week’s challenge is more about the sound of the poem than the content. Sometimes it seems to me that we work hard to get our thoughts either into rhymes or simply into the right line lengths, and don’t listen to the sound it makes. This week, I thought we could concentrate on listening to the beats in the line rather than simply count syllables or find an appropriate rhyme.

Tetrameter (four beats to the line) and pentameter (five beats) give a rhythm that helps to make a line memorable. Try to think more of the way the stress falls than the number of syllables. It will inevitably mean shuffling word order or occasionally choosing a synonym, but you will end up with a poem that flows like a song.

You can use either four or five beats, and you don’t have to rhyme unless you want to. I’ve chosen to rhyme occasionally, and find it’s effective to end with a rhyme.

The theme is

Stars, night, and water

The rather lovely image is loaned by ©Jess Mann

My poem is in unrhymed (mostly) tetrameter. I’ve bolded the stress syllables so you see what I mean.

Forgot to add, usual rules, post the link to your post in the comments before next Tuesday for the round up, please 🙂

1280px-Shadows_looking_at_stars

One time the stars wheeled just for us,

A midnight dance across the sky,

We’d watch their brightness cabriole,

Leap into unimagined depths.

One time the stars shone in a sea

Of wishes dreams and fantasies,

When you were all the world to me,

The dark, the light, the softest dusk.

That time is past, stargazing nights

When nothing could keep us apart;

No longer can I stretch my hand

To touch a star, your face, your heart.

Perhaps one day you may recall,

How love was plucked from night’s dark pall.

Sea breeze

A minute poem (yes, I know) for the Secret Keeper’s weekly word prompt. The words to use:

OPEN | STRANGE | TASTE | FRESH | TENDER

1280px-Vaszary_Coastline_1905

 

The flower opens with the dawn,

Never a thorn,

Fresh dew spangled,

Sunlight tangled.

 

Perfume scatters on the sea breeze,

Tender rose trees,

Raining petals,

Beauty settles.

 

In this strange wind from the tide line,

I taste the brine,

The roses falling,

Your love palling.

Sea and birds

A sequence of twitter-inspired poems.

Photo ©Pdpics

1024px-Birds_Flying_Sea_Sunset

No sail upon the horizon,

no bird to show the way,

no path to show where you’ve gone,

no hope in the salt sea spray.

 

Gull dips and soars

with diamonds in its wings,

spray scattered,

sunlight caught,

so much unconscious wealth,

spirit untrammelled

and free.

 

Ploughing north

on grey-white wings,

wind-filled,

star-guided,

tireless navigators.

Geese.

 

Wave breaks,

green glass shattered,

scattered foam,

flecked with salt,

and in the mist of boiling sea,

the sleek-plumed masters of the sky

weave and plunge.

Fishers,

scavengers,

joyous clowns,

lead me home

and find the smooth strand

far from the storm,

kelp-wracked and turbulent,

pebble-piled and thundering

with the song of the deeps.

 

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#writephoto: The glade

This flash of fiction is for Sue Vincent’s photo prompt. Why not visit her site and have a go yourself?

dancing-trees.jpg

The stories spoke of this place, a wicked world engulfed by the ocean. For aeons it had lain beneath the waves, a turbulent, capricious sea that boiled and tossed within the rim of the horizon. The coast was deserted. No fishing boats ever cast off from this shore to risk the strange and treacherous sea that muttered low and evil on calm days and howled with the voices of the damned in a gale.

Now the ocean has retreated and left behind squat, algae-covered ruins, bare trees, black and dead to the core, and the deep brown sludge of a thousand years of decomposed human refuse. The rumours say that vengeance walks the slime among the dead things though no one has dared venture beyond the sheltering forest to see.

A strange compulsion draws me to the edge of the known world. Curiosity? Or does blood reach out to blood, and my stained hands itch to sink into the corruption of the dead world and feel the remnants of pain slip between my fingers, my ears to thrill to the echoes of those last screams? I shiver and follow the ghastly path deeper into the murk.

 

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A bottle of sea stars

 

HartleySchiff

Throw a bottle in the sea,

fill it with stars

and send it to me.

 

I take your bottle full of stars,

will I pour them out in silver streams,

watch them sparkle in the pools

of night and light and half-light dreams?

 

Where stars dance on the ocean’s skin,

torn by the wild wind from the sky,

from your blue boat with bellied sail,

throw me a lifeline and watch me fly.

 

Holding tight I skim the waves,

gull-backed and calling out to you,

hold out your hand, the one that saves.