Thursday July 21st, 2011

The exercise:

It's been a while since I made use of a picture prompt, so I had a browse around National Geographic's photos of the day and found this beauty:


So let that be your writing inspiration today.

Three more sleeps until Kat comes home. Not that I'm counting or anything.

Mine:

If you stand very still,
And silence your breathing,
You can hear the ghosts -
Some coming, some leaving.

Their eyes are upon you,
Their breath fogs the air;
They'll answer your questions,
If you've the strength to dare.

You move on, lips sealed tight;
They guide you on your way.
And though you didn't ask,
They tell you anyway.

7 Comments:

Greg said...

That is a lovely photograph, and I can really see how it's inspired your poem. Your first verse is absolutely fantastic (and makes me think that perhaps a writing prompt for another day might be to give us the first verse of a poem and ask us to complete it), and you follow it up well. But it's so good it could stand quite happily on its own.

Mine:
Phlebitis stands at the start of a long road,
And the wind crosses the brown land, unheard.
The nymphs have departed.
In the distance water rattles with uncommon noise,
The throat of the river choked with boats and men,
And the nymphs have departed.

Each weary footstep trudges through fallen leaf,
Tree roots stretch to snare the unwary,
The summer evenings are now but a memory,
And the city directors toast their end.
Phlebitis shivers, listening to the ghosts of tomorrow
Wail their stories of undeserved sorrow,
And the fallen leaves look too much like blood,
And the road disappears more slowly than it should.

The cold wind crosses the brown land, unheard,
Leaves fall in an autumn blizzard,
And the nymphs have departed.

morganna said...

The pipes are sounding
Through the red woods
Marching feet resounding
Answering the call to war
Will the men with feet pounding
Ever return to the forest of home?

Denin said...

Welcome to your reality.
The tree trunks the blackened walls,
the light your unattainable desire,
the shadows newfound companions.

The path is worn,
scarred by the feet of your predecessors,
and stained with their blood,
carelessly spilled.

Here is your end,
trapped forever in the cage
that is this place.

The master is resting in the shadows.
He has been eagerly awaiting your arrival.
You see, all of you find your way here
when he sees fit to call them.

I apologize in advance.
The master tends to forget his manners
when he is so hungry.

Feel free to flee,
to hide,
to scream,
to whimper.
This is your fate.
Only God can grant you salvation now.
But he wrote your end.

Awakened from his trance of anticipation,
the master will see you now.

Marc said...

Greg - thanks very much! I was actually tempted to stop after the first verse, but I figured I should probably go on seeing as it wasn't Saturday :P

And that's a fine idea for a prompt! I shall have to remember that one.

Beautiful poem. I really liked the final two lines of your second stanza.

Morganna - lovely. I can't think of anything more that needs to be said.

Denin - that was really enjoyable to read out loud. Great story and rhythm - nicely done.

Andrew said...

The Sun rises in the East,
And it sets in the West,
So why must the light,
Remain here, it's a guest!

Marc said...

Andrew - I like that, light remaining where it's not meant to be because it's a guest. Could really expand on that idea, I think.

Maddy said...

On and on down the dark gloomy path with death in the shadows. There was death in branches and in the future. And yet there has never been so much life, so much beauty in the red as deep as blood and the rose. Though the light at the end filled hope with the lovely blue, this place will be missed as the memory shall always hold a small anchor in the heart. For it is the simple forest that is the very essence of life and death ever changing through time and yet staying the exact same way century after century. The circle passes though every living thing and the feel of the infinite hearts beating to create one is felt in every living thing. But it is not home. Enchanting and marvelous it may be, but home is blue light, and the path of death must still be walked before there is home.