The Daily Prompt: Seven Wonders

I haven’t tried the Daily Prompt at WordPress before, but somehow today it touched me, so I’m having a try. Michelle W. says . . .

Khalil Gibran once said that people will never understand one another unless language is reduced to seven words. What would your seven words be?

Photographers, artists, poets: show us SEVEN.’

I decided to haiku, here are my attempts.

Love

By seeking inside

first nurture and love yourself

then love you will attract

Pain

Bursting from my skin

searing, I must be alive

all consuming pain

Joy

Tiniest new growth

changing each new day

girl child brings me joy

Peace

Stillness of the dawn

a golden hour full of peace

before the world awakes

Death

Never far away

somewhere someone nears death

may it be timely

Freedom

No more oppression

human struggle for an end

eternal freedom

Thankful

Open wide your heart

abundance is yours, accept

always be thankful

See more over at http://dailypost.wordpress.com/2013/10/28/daily-prompt-seven/

Lazy Poets Thursday Tanka

wateryleaves
Spent Beauty

Flaming acer leaves
now that summer is over
last bright offering
season sends you tumbling
trickling over the fall

This week Celestine Nudanu has joined me and has created a wonderful tanka based on my photo, visit her and have a look. http://readinpleasure.wordpress.com/2013/10/17/a-tanka-autumn/ Join in too if you feel like it!

Lazy Poets Thursday Poem

wooden woman

Druantia

Once I was fertile fecund my flowers

were the favoured of bees by the swarm

birds spread my seed unaware of north south divide

now I stand hacked worn and idle baking in the sun

with most of the life sucked from me

but my foot is damp there is hope yet

should you move me a few steps to this rich earth

I may send down roots

But perhaps you would prefer to preserve

rescue me I am of good wood

and will outlast these pitiful shrubs that surround me

just oil me polish me to a shine

I’ll stand as statue in a palatial pleasure gallery

and be stroked by appreciative hands

Lazy Poets Thursday Tanka

My Dartmoor series continues with some contented locals.

Sheep

 Shelter beside rocks

grazing in peace without fear

Scotch black-faced ram sheep

shaggy fleece hangs soft and pale

soon they’ll fetch you for the shear.

The lazy poet is as much about words as photography, hence the image is small. You can click to see a larger version if you want. 🙂

Lazy Poets Thursday Poem

The Dartmoor series continues with a distant view of Brentor and I’ve posted a larger image then usual so that you can zoom in to the horizon and see the church.

2012 Oct 06_1364_edited-1

Brentor

St Michael’s tower atop volcanic cone

presiding over broad sweep of moor

with expanse of green pasture and hedge

and with barren peat soil to the fore

built on solid granite eight centuries past

you perch on sacred pagan land

with unconcerned remains of thirty nine

lying north to south beneath Christian floor

traces remain of what once was so fine

crafted Before Christ by sturdy hands

   no longer standing the ancient hill fort

but in perpetuam it’s ghosts will hold fast

Lazy Poets Thursday Poem

My Dartmoor series continues.

Meldon dam

Meldon Dam

West Okement River

you ran through granite incision

 you splashed your path

through blanket bog

already rendered barren

its nutrients washed away

 by the rainfall of millennia

 Neolithic sapien arrived

when ice age departed

devoided trees to hunt out

forest animals

Industrial Revolution

reached your western land

 rock was quarried

iron path hammered

you were dammed

to quench the thirst of Devon

Lazy Poet’s Thursday Poem

I was inspired by a TV program, A Poet’s Guide to Britain, and so  think I might do a Dartmoor series. Of course this depends on how lazy I am . . .

Houndtor

On Houndtor

The glistening granite of millennia

clings like the crest of a dragon

on the horizon beneath a thunder cloud sky

scramble a pathway between and look east

to where a habitation of stone once lay

but now sprinkled like so many marbles

on soil trampled and bovine nibbled

leaving only echoes of medieval voices

causing ears to question when mist descends

to infuse ancient hearth where fire burns no longer

and generations that huddled have migrated

to pleasant valleys far from nature’s scorn

replaced by fair weather wanderers

unaware of those who stepped before