100 Word Challenge forGrown Ups Week# 63

100WCGU (7)

 

Julia has gone for a seasonal prompt this week with ‘and winter will bring . . .’

I didn’t think I would make it, but as I’m babysitting this evening, the late night is an opportunity, so here is

Winter’s Gifts

And winter will bring enduring moon

regal rotund shining for hours through the six a.m. alarm

through sharp ice sky rolling to the west

as  dawn ripples from the east.

And winter will bring ice

crunching crystals on grass shooting veneer onto pond

silvered birch a forest of icycled chandeliers.

And winter will bring

spiralling north wind on street corners

whipping around limbs and petrifying ears.

And winter will bring light precious from low sky sun

concentrated through window an illusion of warmth

no substance and stunted shadows.

And winter will bring thrust from the underworld

Galanthus to herald the spring.

Join in with Julia at http://jfb57.wordpress.com/2012/10/22/100-word-challenge-for-grown-ups-week63/

We Go Out After Dark

I’m finally having a go at Maggie Elizabeth’ prompt, this week she said it could be  a photo, art, writing or a song. 

So I’m using a photo you may have seen before  and have just scrawled this to go with it. You may need to live in Britain to get it, I don’t know?

We go out after dark

Freshness of face hidden

Under identical masks

Displaying our individuality

Our dress sense unique

Only five thousand made

For a top shops 440 branches

Glittered American nails

Rhinestoned sweep of lashes

Scaffolding to access

Gold heeled sparkling platforms

Break our legs on Jagerbombs

When we go out after dark

Very rare huntresses

Maggie would be thrilled to see you if you would like to join in!

100 Word Challenge for Grown Ups Week# 51

We have one hundred words plus these  four the line was drawn … for Julia’s challenge over at http://jfb57.wordpress.com/2012/07/23/100-word-challenge-for-grown-ups-week51/ why not give it a go? The prompt is announced every Monday. Here is my attempt for the week, it seems to have turned into one of those poemy things.

Demarcation

Between those that have

and those that have not

between those that can

 and those that cannot

winners and losers

the line was drawn.

Between day and night

earth and sky

desert and ocean

between dark and light

the line was drawn.

Between leisured or laboured

able or challenged

 between freedom and imprisonment

the line was drawn.

Between childhood and cronedom

innocence and guilt

lost and found

joy and sorrow

between crowd or solitude

the line was drawn.

Between having a voice

 or condemned to silence

between discord and harmony

pleasure and pain

between ignorance and knowledge

the line was drawn.

A Small Poem

Double Vision

In the graveyard today I had double vision

Double vision of the white marble statue

White marble statue on the nun’s grave

The nun’s grave where the sisters are laid

The sisters are laid God rest their souls

Their souls carried heavenwards by wings of white doves

White doves fly now at approaching black habits

Black habits whipped around legs in the wind

In the wind in the graveyard I had double vision

Of perhaps not quite rested souls

100 Word Challenge For Grown Ups Week# 46

Julia http://jfb57.wordpress.com/2012/06/18/100-word-challenge-for-grown-ups-week46/ thinks her prompt  . . . in the dark recess of my mind . . . is straightforward this week, well not for my impoverished mind! Equally challenging will be making this page line up as I want it to but here goes.

Electric Recess

In the dark recess of my mind, drowning, overwrought and burdened

            a brand new demon idles there but

The memory cannot linger forever. Forks of light slash through clouds with

            intent to throw open the path

Dark as the night once shared. Storms resounded in those arteries that                                           now are scoured of plaque.

Recess littered with nightmares, fossil formed, now queuing to

            be purged, volted electrically

Of hallucinatory dervish spinning a reel, reaching a hand to heaven, stabbing

            a hand to earth, relentless chaotic earth.

My sanguine fluid put on hold, damned and damned forever to ease my tormented

Mind.

100 Word Challenge for Grown Ups Week# 44

Once again it’s time for the 100 word challenge and this weeks theme is the passing of time – sixty years to be precise and a poem! If you would like to join in pop over to http://jfb57.wordpress.com/2012/05/28/100-word-challenge-for-grown-ups-week44/

Stash Sixty

Sixty a time for six diamonds

uncut but too late for us

diamonds for a daughter

and a daughters daughter

celebrating sixty years

that have passed

Daughter may travel

on her diamonds and back

before we become dust

sixty a time for six diamonds

uncut but too late for us

Daughter’s daughter may plant

roots with her diamonds

a home across town from us

Daughter’s daughter will you

raise an empire

founded on a name

and legacy

of sixty years to trust

Sixty was a time for six diamonds

too late for them

but a future for daughters and sons

Being a tourist in my own county, that’s Devon, the most perfect place!

This weekend a lovely Australian friend came to stay and as it was her first time in Devon we tried to pick some nice spots to take her. First off we hit the city centre, planning to go to the cathedral, remember I posted about it a few weeks ago? A service was about to start so we thought we would come back later. Meanwhile the Cathedral school were holding their summer fete on the green and this is some of what we saw.

We headed through Ship Lane, passing Sir Francis Drakes favourite port of call.

to High street with its carefully restored Tudor buildings

We spent an hour in the welcome air conditioned museum, http://www.rammuseum.org.uk/ recently re-opened after a major refurbishment. At the moment there’s an exhibition of the late James Ravilious, one of my favourite photographers. Coming back to Gandy Street, we were so hot we just had to sit outside Coolings for a half pint of cider! 

there were a few cackling witches hanging around the back alley!

Some surviving parts of the castle

and city wall 

Back down the road we watched some street dance

The cathedral was closed when we got back, but we had a look around the nearby  ruins of  St Catherine’s Chapel, which date from the mid 15th century and were all but destroyed in the Blitz. 

Our day didn’t end there, we went on to the coast, walked on Cockle sands where the tide was out and had fish and chips on the seafront. Finally we pootled around Topsham for an hour, along Hannaford’s quay to the Goat walk. A super day, glorious sunshine and the lovely Australian had a fab time.

As I have included shots of Exeter’s ancient walls and St Catherine’s here is a few lines from the 8th century Exeter book, the poem ‘Ruin’.

Wrætlic is þes wealstan, wyrde gebræcon;
burgstede burston, brosnað enta geweorc.
Hrofas sind gehrorene, hreorge torras,
hrungeat berofen, hrim on lime,

scearde scurbeorge scorene, gedrorene,
ældo undereotone. Eorðgrap hafað
waldend wyrhtan forweorone, geleorene,
heardgripe hrusan, oþ hund cnea
werþeoda gewitan. Oft þæs wag gebad

ræghar ond readfah rice æfter oþrum,
ofstonden under stormum; steap geap gedreas.
Wonað giet se …num geheapen,
fel on
grimme gegrunden

or if modern English is more your style,

Wondrous is this wall-stead, wasted by fate.
Battlements broken, giant’s work shattered.
Roofs are in ruin, towers destroyed,
Broken the barred gate, rime on the plaster,

walls gape, torn up, destroyed,
consumed by age. Earth-grip holds
the proud builders, departed, long lost,
and the hard grasp of the grave, until a hundred generations
of people have passed. Often this wall outlasted,

hoary with lichen, red-stained, withstanding the storm,
one reign after another; the high arch has now fallen.

The wall-stone still stands, hacked by weapons,
by grim-ground files.

100 Word Challenge Week # 41

Julia at http://jfb57.wordpress.com/2012/05/07/100-word-challenge-for-grown-ups-week41/ has created a new challenge for this week. The prompt is a photo and the words ‘A pile of bones’.

This is my response.

A Rainbow of Wings

Grandfather’s shell reached the cliff of passing

 each pressed mahogany hands to their heart.

A fleece bag at his waist

 they filled with gold.

‘Grandfather, descend the chasm

  rejoin the earth of our fathers.

Ancient ones, welcome the flesh of your son.

Take his earthly remains

 and breathe his soul

into the child that waits.’

 

The old being fell, shattered, into the abyss

 where a haunting of vultures

created a  pile of bones

dotted with precious element.

A rainbow of wings rose to sing

welcome to the new life,

as the spirit heralded the grandchild

flourishing forth with first breath.

The Sunday Post : Culture

Jake’s Sunday post this week is culture – not as easy as you would think, but here is my offering! Pop on over and join in or see how other people have interpreted it.

http://jakesprinters.wordpress.com/2012/04/07/sunday-post-culture/

My Chambers Dictionary defines culture as :

The result of cultivation; the state of being cultivated; refinement in manners, thought, taste, etc; loosely, the arts; a type of civilisation; the attitudes and values which inform a society; a crop of micro-organisms, eg bacteria, grown in a solid or liquid medium in a laboratory.

I’ll skip the science and instead show you just a little culture from my city.

A touch of Rock to celebrate World Peace Day

Some Cafe culture, at least three choices in Princesshay Square

Some Cultural heritage provided by history re-inactment

Busking Hip-hop

Last but not least one of the High Street sculptures, 6 metres high, stainless steel and I love it but as always with these installations it has been controversial. Engraved on it are some of the Exeter Riddles, from one of the oldest books of Old English poetry, dating back to the tenth century. To add to the mystery the riddles are engraved backwards to be read in the reflections.

Here are two of the riddles.

Some acres of this Middle Earth are handsomely attired with the hardest, sharpest, most bitter of man’s fine belongings:

It is cut, threshed, couched, kilned, mashed, strained, sparged, yeasted, covered, wracked, and carried far to the doors of men.

A quickening delight lies in this treasure, lingers and lasts for men who, from experience, indulge their inclinations and don’t rail against them; and then after death it begins to gab, to gossip, wrecklessly.

Shrewd men must think carefully must think carefully what this creature is.

Any ideas?

I am a strange creature with various voices.

I can bark like a dog, bleat like a goat, honk like a goose, shreek like a hawk, and at time I imitate the ashen eagle, the battle bird’s cry;

the vulture’s croak trips off my tongue and them mew of the seagull as I sit here saucily.

The capital G suggests my name and AE, R, and O assist it so do H and I. I am called what these six characters clearly spell out.

I’ll come back in a couple of days and add the answers!

Confusion is the Child of Assumption

I don’t usually say this but for once if anyone has any feedback I would really appreciate it 😉

Confusion is the child of assumption

Stalk me and question

Ask if I have no shame

Is there nothing sacred

Nothing to be withheld

In this virtual world

 

Ask if I have no shame

When I share and bare my spirit

I have none I am raw

I have no need to conceal

I am more than half way healed

 

Ask if I have no shame

And then project your own

Ignore the tribute made

Do I have to shout it loud

To save the virtual stalk

 

No shame in fact I’m proud

For navigating a wonky journey

So often on my own

Fulfilling a role too early

But now well prepared and grown

 

Save your stalking energy

For shame unbinding threads

That never served you honestly

Just blanked it from your head

Where still it festers now