This weeks New Poem:Are You Afraid Of The Dark?

Here is my latest piece of writing, another poem. This time a sombre piece, written again to a creative writing prompt from a random pass on the web sites offering these. 

A strange one for me, I started without any idea of where the subject would take me as I often do when using a prompt. And in this case I actually started the poem (the first verse and a half) by using a poetry generator. I use the strategy to give me a first line or two but never take what is offered without some heavy editing.

The prompt I used was "Are You Afraid Of The Dark?" As an adult, I am not but what would make me feel this way? Perhaps a dream .... a nightmare? Or did something happen on a camping trip as a child? Maybe You could make your own mind up?

OK, here it is...

sourced from Pixabay (creative commons)

Are You Afraid Of The Dark?

Once upon a midnight sombre,

Through which came tapping, tapping, tapping.

In there stepped a haunting downbeat,

Still is rapping, still is rapping.

I felt compelled to scour the setting

I awoke with such a start.

Ah, distinctly I was strumming,

"Take thy woe from out my heart".

At that my soul knew fear.

The thunderclouds spoke of death.

Whilst in the earth I saw a grave,

My body failed to draw a breath.

I heard a maniacal, muted moaning;

A solemn, sepulchral shrieking.

I believed my time was over

As I heard my spirit weeping

I had never been so frightened,

Never dreaming of these shadows;

And the creatures I imagined

From long forgotten barrows.

But just before I drew my last breath

A light appeared in the eastern sky. 

The coming dawn rode to my rescue

The demons dissolved before my eye.

Years later grown into adulthood,

Still remembering that fright;

When asked why I am afraid of the dark,

I confess the happenings that night.

Thanks for reading, I have actually collected enough poems for a fourth poetry book ( well perhaps a pamphlet would be a better description) but it will be available on Amazon sometime soon if things go well.

A new Poem; Hear the waves

Phew, missed a few days, I thought my new writing phase had ground to a halt. However, it has been a very busy few weeks and needs must. No matter how much I want to write, I was just too tired. But tonight, I took a break and decided to check out a few ideas for a new offering. I found a photo which I liked and this gave me a little inspiration for a new poem. Hope you can empathise and enjoy it.

Hear the waves

Hear the crashing of the waves;

The wind blows hard, but doubt remains.

I'm lost, alone, forsaken. 

What happened, was something taken?

Something's changed, a minor shift ;

Something has changed, a mournful rift .

I find it hard to understand,

Overshadowed in this pleasant land.

But listen, who sings at the water's edge?

Could they but help, provide a bridge.

He is nought but a singer,

Creating stories that shimmer.

A fantasy narrated,

It speaks to me, awaited.

A reverie conceived,

A future, now brightly revealed

I no longer feel alone,

All along I should have known.

I no longer feel so lost,

I no longer count the cost

Hear the lapping of the waves;

The breeze blows soft, whispering my name.

Well there we are, another completed poem and I feel really happy. Still got the writing bug after all.

The Journal Jar, A Surprise Poem

A surprise because I was looking at one of Monna Ellithorpe's post on Writing prompts and she mentioned a Journal Jar. Never heard of this ; then surf over to see what it is all about.

Anyway, I had written a poem from one of the prompts offered and feeling at a loss for something to do, I though I might try another. But upoon reading the post I though, "Why not?" and proceeded to write a poem about writing a poem. Mmmm, I seem to have done that before now I think about it.

Well here it is:-

THE JOURNAL JAR

Each day I open up my journal jar,

When I find time to rest. 

I pick a slip from deep within,

To provide a little test.

Chose at random that's the key 

And write a poem upon request.

A poem based upon the prompt

Now in your hand, Just do your best.

That's all I ask, and nothing more,

Apply your writer's mind. Invest

In words, attest to deeds to come.

Or maybe even deeds repressed.

Just write, compose, transcribe your thoughts;

Don't leave them unexpressed.

Don't wait, it will work out in the end,

resulting in a poem, to leave you  most impressed.

Seems like there are days when words just flow, of course there are many days when it is almost impossible to start. Just take things as they come and make the most of the good days. Seems to be the best way to treat it, don't you think.

Thanks for the visit and hope you enjoyed the poem.

Information Overload, A New Poem

Another light-hearted piece of creative writing based on a writing prompt from Monna Ellithorpe. I do enjoy writing from a limited set of prompts, as I don't have to think, "Now which one shall I choose?" I pick the one of two or three which Monna has selected for that week and then I can concentrate on the subject matter. I find it so much more fun and easier. Lists of hundreds can be found on the internet but they simply confuse me. I suppose that I should pick a number at random and use that one but .....

 This week I read a contribution from another writing friend (before writing my own) and found it was very similar in direction to what I at first, was intending to write. So I took the hard way out and changed my attitude to the prompt - of course this is always possible. Part of the fun really.

Anyway, a little tongue-in-the-cheek attitude in what follows is not amiss in light of the research I have been involved in on the internet over the recent past.

Information Overload

As a scientist, I am used, to searching out the truth;

Information is the basis of my trade.

But so many of my friends just click a link and find, 

That truth is not always what's displayed.

Information is at hand, for those who wish to search

The problem is to know what to conclude.

It's tempting to believe simply everything you read

And forget it's information overload.

The first and easy choice may not provide that truth,

Despite it being easy to believe.

The resourceful knowledge seeker, will not presume

To find. the truth in all that he perceives

Anyone at all, can with illusions fill a screen.

Anyone can write though not bestowed

With intelligence and knowledge of the simple facts.

Take heed, reject information overload

Thanks for visiting and reading (you did didn't you?) my newest poem. I hope you enjoyed it and smiled -  just a little.

New Poem - Wild River

Well I am having such a difficult time and my poems are reflecting this, Another dark image in this one.

Wild River

I see a wild river blocking my path

I see a bridge destroyed in their wrath

I see a dark army no quarter allowed

I see myself lonely but brave, head unbowed

River Wye at Ross, photograph by the blog owner

Ahead's a wild river,  I must cross o'er

A boat is the answer, but would it be slower

Than the approaching horde at my back

The bridge is no answer; ruined, burnt and black

The Rollright Stones, The Kings Men
photo by the blog owner

I'll cross that wild river, cross and survive;

I'll summon my friends, let them know I'm alive.

My supporters will rally and help me across,

I'm not done yet, I'm no albatross.

I wont be a burden, wild river or not

But I know I need help, to cut that knot.

I'll take what is offered, no more and no less

And I'll pay back my dues by being a success.

. 

Christmas display at Wyevale garden centre

photo by blog owner

Excuse the "silly photos but this poem would not come easily. In these circumstances, I often create a photo board. Just a little trick which helps me to get the story together - sometimes.

A New Poem - Daffodil Destruction

I am usually very much against poetry that doe not rhyme. Of course when I put this view to friends and others alike, I am inundated with examples of non-rhyming examples. But today, I was in a hurry to complete a poem and found that rhymes were not forthcoming. And so, I found myself writing what I would normally call a piece of prose. OK, it is based on lines and at least it has a metre of sorts, but I feel that I have failed. It is a compromise which I am not really happy with. You might say it is out of my comfort zone but I was desperate to get out of the "Slough Of Despond" I have found myself in over the past couple of weeks.

A vase of floribunda daffs, blown down by a storm

So, aims achieved, I present a new poem. Actually I used the same prompt for this poem that I used for the poem in the last post. Of course it was a prompt which could be interpreted in a very free way. It was provided once more by my friend Monna Ellithorpe, one of her weekly writing prompts.

Make up your own mind and please feel free to criticise, or otherwise, in the comments section below. The poem is called ................

Daffodil Destruction

Yesterday, 

We had a beautiful array

Of daffodils in our garden.

People passing

Had commented on the colours,

Of the late spring display.

But that wind

Blew up fast, from out of nowhere

And kicked the best for six

The floribunda,

With their heavy heads bowed;

Were no match, and fell prostrate.

I found them,

Their heads in the dirt this morning.

Wistfully, I collected the fallen heroes.

An assignment

Beckoned, to make them proud;

A gift for a mothers grave.

   

A Crumpled Sheet Of Paper - A New Poem

Another difficult poem. I selected a prompt for this with an idea in mind. It is not quite what I had planned but it is what it is. A very untenable / illogical metaphor. I offer the poem with no further eplanation and make no apologies if it seems to make no sense.

A crumpled sheet of paper

A crumpled Sheet of paper,

It has no use, no more.

It's final destination,

That trash can on the floor.

A page so full of memories,

A story barely told;

Well written, but forgotten.

Disallowed from growing old.

A faded, yellow page.

The words no longer clear.

So difficult to read now,

But it still brings forth a tear.

But I cannot bear to lose

that which had meant so much.

In better times, supporting me,

an undeniable crutch.

I'll make a promise to myself,

I'll find a way to free

That crumpled sheet of paper,

Bring it back, as it should be.

Winding Rivers, A New Poem

Winding Rivers

                                       water colour painting by the author

Winding rivers

Sending shivers

Mental quivers

My life withers

Raging torrents

Stormy comments

Constant torments

Makes no real sense

Understanding

So demanding

Notwithstanding

Lifelong stranding

What's the meaning

No redeeming

Constant screaming

Pain repeating

Inside my head

A new poem from a prompt which surprised me, kinda came from nowhere.  Without further comment this time.

A little more nonsense from a poetic prompt

Well now I was missing my regular weekly writing prompt due to Easter and so I turned to google this week.Well I looked at many different prompts before I found one which seemed to turn my head. It was actually about morning being the best time for magic (?) well who knew, but I added a soupcon of another prompt and this poem developed on the page (or screen as it happened).

You might know that the weather is a standard, fall-back topic of conversation for us Brits because of our wonderfully creative weather and a the fact that we are really quite reserved when meeting and talking to people. In fact I have written many time before about various aspects of the weather. For example:- A Blast From The Past,  My Poetry Takes A New Direction,  The Wind And I.

In fact just browsing thru this blog for these few examples I realise I have written more poems about "Morning" and different aspects of a new day. I find that I have sadly forgotten many; I guess I need to sort out another book of poems.

Anyway where was I, oh yes - a title? What else but, "Morning In The Rain". Not very catchy, but I always have problems with titles. Usually the last thing I do with a poem.

Morning In The Rain

Another rare morning

Spring in the air

A red sky is warning

I'd better beware

You know what they claim

The weather could turn 

A whole new ball-game

Will I ever learn

Don't trust the weather

Mom always advised

You'll find that its never

worthy of compromise

So dress for comfort

But back-up your choice

You know that you ought

To heed mom's good advice

Another thin morning

It's cool, beginning to rain

Can't stand here talking

Nice to meet you again

Well that's it, hope you liked it. Hardly cartries an earth shattering message but then that's me. Down to earth and real.

Still writing, this one a poem for laughs

Well, back again for another new poem written using a Prompt from the Weekly Writing Prompt from my friend Monna, have you visited her site yet?

I was looking out for this one and when it came at first I scatched my aging head. But I took up the challenge of a bonus prompt! To create a short story or poem of your own that is totally unbelievable or ridiculous.

Well, how to start? As usual, I selected the first idea which came into my head and that just happend to turn into the first line of the poem. I called it, Moonwalk. Here it is I hope it makes you smile.

Moonwalk

I took a little walk last week

To the moon and back

I climbed a shining moonbeam

And I took a little snack.

I knew it would take a while

So I took along our Jack.

Great company with his pet monkey;

Which I think is a macaque

Along the way we were treated

To an astronomic thrill.

Passing meteors and rainbows

We danced an old quadrille

We had such fun, the three of us

But could only stay until

We remembered it would soon be time

To head back to Jacksonville

The title came to mind after the last word in the poem. I did not start with a title in mind, but let the poem just take me where it will. The last line needed a rhyme and Jacksonville popped up. After that the title seemed to put itself forward for me. I dont often think too hard about what I am writing, as far as I am concerned it is all a bit of fun. Although sometimes, rarely, it is about sad memories.

Well there you are another poem thanks to Monna, and do visit her blog, especially if you are a beginning writer and hope to self publish. I  managed to self-publish my first book on Amazon with Monna's advice.

Poem - "My Dog Ran Off With The Keys"

Can't believe that I am started to write again, creatively. But having just a few prompts to choose from instead of hundreds on the majority of sites which offer to provide them seems to concentrate the mind, I would recommend it to anyone enduring "writers block" or simply a lack of time.

Try this weekly prompt, just 2 or 3 offered on the site owned by Monna Ellithorpe which will offer a gateway to many more pages by Monna.

Mmmm, this one was a lot more light-hearted than the last. I enjoyed (and found myself silently laughing) whilst I put this one down on paper, well on to the screen. Hope it makes you smile too. Oh beware the french; a little trick to make a rhyme. I do feel that rhymes are so important.

My dog ran off with the keys

My dog ran off with the keys to my car.

its true, please believe what I say.

The distance from home to here is so far,

I'm just lucky to get here today,

At all!

How on earth did it happen, you want to know.

Well, I was just letting him out for a wee;

When I happened to sneeze, I dropped the keys

and he ran off, overjoyed to be free.

You see!

My phone was inside, what was I to do?

Had to follow the dog, for sure.

Lest he lost the keys, dropped me in the stew

with no means of contacting vous,

cet jour.

So pardonez-moi, I'm here at last

And ready to do what you need.

I'm ready and willing and able if asked,

except for one little problem, this hound on the lead.

No keys, no car, no home so far

had to bring the dog!

The prompt for this piece was actually, "Make up a creative reason for being late to an important function." Don't know why this sprang into my head, we don't even have a dog these days; our last pooch passed away a number of years ago. But it did and I like the outcome. 

Until the next time ....................

And do keep on writing.

A poem, "You Hide But Nobody Seeks"

I am still following up on the writing prompts posted by my friend Mona Ellithorpe, this weeks gave me the title for another poem. I know someone who I care for very much who has suffered from  aquired brain damage cause by a viral infection, the prompt, "you hide but nobody seeks ...", made me think of that person and this poem was written with them in mind.

You hide but nobody seeks

You hide but nobody seeks

you listen but nobody speaks

you look but no one is there

you cry but nobody cares

you hide yourself away

its another quiet day

your friends have long since gone

you've changed and they walked on

you never were to blame

but it happened all the same

an accident that left you changed

an accident, not prearranged

It never was your fault

that built this stifling vault

the man you were has passed away

look now, look to another day

to you your new life beckons

it only took a second

at least that's all you knew

until you learned what you'd been through

forget the past, mourn for that man

but live for tomorrow, yes you can

accept your new life and be awake

to opportunities that you can take

New friends will rally in your life

don't hide away you have a life

It can be good, it's not the same

but you never were to blame

I always capitalise my poems on each line and am obsessive about punctuation, but this time it did not seem important, even the title was an afterthought -- I have edited it into the post and added an image.

If this poem touched you then you may also like this earlier poem Helpless, which is very much connected to this one, you can find it on this blog from a few years ago

A little whimsy!

Sometimes I just feel that I have not enough time to write, and this was the case last night. I have been so busy of late but when I came across another post from my friend Monna Ellithorpe, another prompt which caught my attention on Facebook, I simply had to have a go.

This short piece came together in a very short time. No time to edit or anything like that, I just left it as it was. But boy did I enjoy the freedom not to worry about what it ended up looking like.

The prompt was to write a four line poem about your muse. Once when all lines rhyme and then again with no rhyming at all.

I put mine together and then simply had to get in another stanza to complete the poem. I enjoyed writing it, hope you can enjoy reading it.

Sir Galahad

We all have days when things seem bad,

When things go wrong and make you sad,

But never let it get you mad,

Summon up your muse, your Galahad.

We all have days we wish would end.

You’ve had enough and want to scream,

But don’t let your troubles grind you down;

Take a break, think of your Sir Galahad.

Sir Galahad, your knightly muse

Can help you through, he’ll help you choose,

Write a poem, don’t blow a fuse.

Think; if Galahad was in your shoes.

Wow it happened so quickly. It really liberated me although it is very trite and easy use of language I really enjoyed it. I experimented with limericks once (upon a time) and this seems to be on the same lines. Hope it makes you smile.

If you want to see a few limericks try this post

A Blast From The Past

Pardon the pun in the title, but this is a poem written after Hurricane Katrina wreaked so much havoc on New Orleans, a few years ago now. I was reminded of it today when I read a poem by my friend Monna Ellithorpe, also about a hurricane saying much the same things but in a very different style. As I have never included it this blog, I take this opportunity to address that now.

It was actually intended as a song - a folksy type of song - but after I had written the lyrics I found it difficult to actually sing them; or rather to put a tune to them. After some time trying I decided it should be a poem. The very first poem I had written - after years of writing song lyrics ! Hope you enjoy reading it

The Wind

The Wind sighed,

and the world turned.

The Wind whispered, 

But no one heard.

The Wind wondered, 

But no answer came.

The Wind cried, please

But few took heed.

The Wind shrieked, 

But the suffering had started.

The Wind warned us all,

But who had noticed.

And the world turned.

The Wind howled, 

But was it now too late

The Wind became man's enemy,

And they asked, each one,

Why didn?t we listen

Why didn' we care

Why didn't we do enough

We could have helped

And the world turned.

The Wind tore through

The remaining years.

Why didn't we listen

And the world turned,

In upon itself

If you should want to read more of mu early work, it is available to read or for free download on SCRIBD, Poems And Endings And Lost Loves 

I'm on a roll

I hate to say it but with a second new poem so quickly since the last, could I be on a roll? This is another in response to a prompt on the same website by as the last post by my friend Monna Ellithorpe.

Not quite decided on a title yet and it is still in a rough, unedited form but I am recording it here because I am so happy to be creating again.

The Mystery Parcel

One damp and dismal morning last week

I answered a knock on the door

The postie was waiting with a parcel for me

Unexpected, exotically packaged but more ...

It did not have a full address, 

He'd done well to deliver this mail

The name was clear, it was for me alright

But this delivery could well have failed.

I gratefully took it from his hands

With heartfelt thanks and praise,

And carried it carefully to my den

Prepared to free my prize, to be amazed.

I really had no inkling, no idea at all

Of who may have sent this parcel

Addressed with such a tenebrous remit

It may never have reached me at all.

So I set about the task required, 

Not knowing what I would find.

Soon I held a simple box, devoid of any note,

I raised the lid and thereI found confined

A bundle of vintage photographs

Dog-eared and monochrome

Displaying almost familiar faces

Fondly remembered from back home

A treasure chest of memories

A prize I tightly grasped

But who and why and where

Amongst the questions yet to ask.

A few places where change is needed but it's a poem and I want to shout it out loud. Hope you read and enjoy.

New Poem, A Connection To The Past

Wow, they say not to apologise for long breaks in posting but this has to be a record. I had not been finding time for writing for a long time due to personal issues. However, A new weekly writing prompt on an old friends, new web site caught my eye. Monna has for a long time been working to bring new creative writers together and to offer encouragement. This new site has a regular writing prompt to help get you started and I decided to "have a go".

This was the result, of the prompt, (an inscription in an old book":-

A Connection to the Past

I am holding in my hands a battered, tattered book

I saw it on the bookshelf and just had to take a look.

The cover stained, page edges foxed

A history waiting to be unboxed,

For me, the pages of a volume such as this

Will always speak so loud and lead to an abyss

Where I become as one with the narrative within

And lose myself to some adventure waiting to begin.

And then I think of others who have held this work before

Having found its heroines and heros on some far, far, foreign shore

Did they read it to forget some dismal, dreary task

Or maybe, like me, it was simply to be enjoyed – why ask?

For reading is a pleasure, an indulgence to revere;

A diversion from whatever life brings, a new frontier.

But the greatest pleasure an old book can bring at last

Is to find a pale inscription, a connection to the past.

Basically I was at a loose end for an hour or so and wanted to try this. It is a first draft, almost straight from the pen (well the keyboard anyway) although I did google a couple of synonyms to help. Actually I quite like it and may find myself doing more in which case this blog could well be resurrected. I would like that.