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Keeping current in wellness, in and out of the water
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#WritePhoto Skulls And Shadows
September 29, 2017
— 8 Comments
skull sign
They looked down on the path with hollow eye sockets
Warning visitors to the woods that not all who enter leave
Some are murdered, skinned and eaten during dinner parties
Others are made into shoes or caps for theater troops
Life in this place must be a precarious race with survival
Assumptions made before entering will warp and strengthen
Turning everyone into either hunter or desperate prey
The shadows cast by the skulls grow long in the afternoon
The darkness grows deeper, the silence is discomforting
The sign is an omen of impending doom from which there is no escape
#writephoto
This gloomy little poem was inspired by Sue Vincent’s Echo. The photo prompt each Thursday is food for thought and for writing. Please join the group to read, comment, or submit your own version.
#WritePhoto In Sight
August 31, 2017
— 8 Comments
sight of the horizon
We sailed for Devil’s Cay out of old Nassau’s harbor
The sea was so calm that the Tongue of the Ocean
Was as smooth as glass with reflections of white clouds
The quiet was suddenly broken with a clap of thunder
Followed by gale force winds that carried us swiftly
To the destination for our meeting with the pirates
Who had promised us part of the booty if we helped them
Rob the Spanish galleon laden with treasure and slaves
We anchored our ship, rowed ashore, and climbed the hill
The tide was rising while we scanned the horizon
Our instincts told us we had been fooled were trapped
On this tiny island with a deep ocean hole in the center
They say the chickcharney had blessed our expedition
Had given us magical powers of perception and stealth
Now as we hide peeking though a round hole in the rocks
It looks like we should anticipate violence, not wealth
We have been very shortsighted and now will regret
Making pacts with buccaneers reeks havoc you won’t forget
#writephoto
This is a response to the photo prompt from Sue Vincent this week on her Echo. Please join us to read, write, comment, and contribute to the fun. Follow the hashtag #writephoto.
#WritePhoto Crack In Time
August 24, 2017
— 10 Comments
cracked
Saturn cracked up when he made the spring erupt and spew
Hot molten lava down the side of the mountain leaving few
Alive to bury the dead and rebuild the city in a safe location
The handful of citizens still looked to the pantheon for all creation
Life began anew when the summer rains brought water to the land
Green shoots and busy insect colonies sprung up to cover the ground
After some time the wildlife carefully returned, built nests and found
That Saturn in retrograde sets very strong limits and restrictions
That break down many great obstacles to living without addictions
Father Time
Please join us on Thursdays for a photo prompt from Sue Vincent’s Echo that inspires these stories and poems. Comment, read, or write your own version here. There is great variety and talent in the mix.
#writephoto
#WritePhoto Dervish Wisps
August 17, 2017
— 8 Comments
dervish wisps
The dervishes gathered at the grave of the Sufi master
This forbidden practice was a traditional prayer of heretics
The twirling started slowly, accompanied by chanting
Riding on the wind bending the clouds with energy
Changing the relationship to be closer to the beloved
Floating above the dancing figures of their own bodies
They entered a state of pure ecstasy, unbridled delight
Flowed from their fingertips and out of every footstep
Holding the beloved in reverence they let go of all fear
#writephoto
Please join us each week to interpret a photo by Sue Vincent on her blog, the Echo. It is fun to read the different ways writers see the image. Every Thursday we meet, rain or shine. Please read, comment, or submit your own story or poem.
#WritePhoto Solo Peak
August 10, 2017
— 8 Comments
solo at the top
The course included exasperating coded directions to find the path. Only the experts who had experience in mathematical code could make any sense of it. The others gathered strength for the climb by resting, meditating, and stretching. The recruits knew they would not all be able to make the ascent to the peak. Some would not be in physical condition for the rigors of the steep hike. Others could not resign themselves to the idea that only a few of them would survive the attempt to scale the sacred solo rock.
It was said that the surviving members of the party would be initiated into the noble society of knights of the vast horizon. This powerful, yet underground fraternity required extreme loyalty as well as full secrecy from the membership as well as their families. Sons usually followed fathers into the lodge. Often the young disappeared during the testing phase, never to be found. The most powerful worked hard to assure their progeny had the power and the accomplishments to inherit command upon death of a leader.
A complex game took place when a leader died or left. The people believed that this process revealed the best person to step into the newly vacated position. Potential candidates were summoned to the town square and given maps. Each map was different and contained both real and bogus directions to reach the summit of solo peak. The player who managed to climb to the overlook before sundown would be given the office. The new leader left his mark on the rock then hurried back down to the village.
The trip back down the steep rocky path was the most treacherous part of the journey. All the other candidates hide and do what they can to ambush and kill the new leader so they can claim the win. The field is thinned to one at the end. Nobody is sure if the winner is the one they saw at the top of solo peak, or just the one who managed to kill the others and make it back to the village. And that is how politics were born.
#writephoto
This story is in response to this week’s photo prompt on Sue Vincent’s Echo. Please join us each Thursday to interpret her intriguing image. It is fun to see how many different ways people use it.
#WritePhoto Who’s Watching?
August 3, 2017
— 10 Comments
watchers
The soldiers scrambled down the rocky terrain and spread out to hide in ambush. They had a secret mission to intercept a currier who was carrying supplies to the enemy general in the field. It was uncertain when the delivery would be made, but they had reliable intelligence about the location. A spy had infiltrated the opposing camp to listen in on planning and strategy conversations. Espionage was rather crude in that era, and extremely dangerous. The young man who had been sent to gather information had to remember it and relay it in person to a contact. This required regular escapes from the camp, as well as returning in secrecy to his tent after the clandestine meetings. He was chosen for his speed and his ability to make his way in the dark in silence.
He was never raised to be a spy. His family was famous for long distance running and athleticism. His brothers all joined sports teams and became stars. He planned to follow in their footsteps, but had been drafted into the army when the war broke out up north. He did not want to go, but since his family felt strongly that he should, he agreed to join the military effort. His politics had not yet developed, but he suspected that the war and strife was absorbed by the poor while seeming to benefit the rich. He did not really believe in defending this state of affairs, but was caught in a trap. He hoped that the war would somehow liberate him. He longed to leave the island and never return.
As the afternoon died he made his way through the woods to meet his contact at the prearranged time. He only had a short window of time because he would be missed if he was not back for dinner. He felt scared this time. Something just felt wrong that day. As he snuck around the bend to the appointed meeting place he was shot in the back by his own brothers in arms. The arrow that pierced his heart was shot from the bow of a counter-spy who had infiltrated his platoon while he was busy in the opposing camp. He died instantly.
#writephoto
Please join writers from around the world each Thursday at Sue Vincent’s Echo for an inspirational photo. Find these stories and poems on twitter using the hashtag #writephoto. This diverse group interprets the photo with great creativity and insight. Read, write, or comment to join the party.
#WritePhoto Last Windmill
July 27, 2017
— 9 Comments
the last windmill
The pump beneath the windmill brings water to the fields
Narrow streams flow gently between the grain and weeds
Sustaining this small patch of land was easier in the past
Today we watch industry sprawl then collapse just as fast
In our youth we did not imagine this could happen here
That the last windmill in service would be held so dear
Ceremonies and pageantry now commemorate the times
When Mother Nature spoke to us in stories and in rhymes
#writephoto
Join writers from around the world each Thursday to respond to the photo prompt generously provided by Sue Vincent on her Echo blog. Read, write, and comment here on last week’e entries.
#WritePhoto Melting Mask
July 20, 2017
— 11 Comments
mask
The door was blocked by a large figure standing next to the fire
His face obscured by smoke, his identity concealed from us,
He moved with deliberate intent so swift and sure he seemed a ghost,
A phantom memory of the times when this place served as the center
Of a large and looming ogre with scary tendrils reaching into every nook
We were not sure if he entered the flames on purpose or was pulled
By fate or backdraft into the inferno that had started so suddenly
The night exploded as the bright red fire consumed the mask of power
Some rejoiced as the melting symbol of the past became a molten puddle
Most of us wondered how long it would be before the area would be safe
We all believed the melting mask was telling us to take great precaution
#writephoto
This poem is a response to this week’s photo prompt from Sue Vincent’s Echo. Each Thursday she posts a photo. She is a very good sport to post for us this week since her own computer exploded and has made access to her photo collection tedious. Thank you Sue. We appreciate your generosity. Please join other writers here to read, write, comment on last week’s prompt.
#WritePhoto Peace Trance
July 6, 2017
— 8 Comments
peaceful paradise
At the most stressful times she could remove herself from the action by calling on her ability to go into a trance. She had been a captive since her early childhood. She can barely remember her own abduction and the long ride down the mountain out of the forrest. They crossed barren plains scarred with the remnants of war to the camp where she remained. She never saw her family again, and was taught a new language, full of harsh sounds and concepts. In her few hours of rest she remained faithful to her tribe’s values, trying to keep the few sacred words of her mother tongue alive in her mind. There was no speaking around in that forbidden language, for the camp was used to erase culture and tribal belief. The process was a special kind of stripping of confidence that left them all exhausted.
Her skill to call down the moon was still in tact. She spent the full moon nights in reverie, practicing the trances and the dances she had been taught as a little girl. She felt her own power grow as her values changed. She knew the secret of taking responsibility. The people brought to the camp were stripped of their identity and culture, then programmed for menial and dehumanizing work. They were hoodwinked into thinking they had no choices in life, that this awful slavery was a punishment for something they had done.
In her meditation she saw the logs in the forest that her grandmother used for an altar. She could pull in every detail of that scene, and even hear the voices of her people chanting to bring her back home. Finally one night in her dream the path to return to her village was revealed. A strong bold figure opened the gates and brought all the people into freedom. She ran quickly up the hill with an unlimited energy she had never had. Her steps were swift and sure as she climbed the last hill. She saw her whole family gathered around the altar, dancing slowly, chanting sweetly. When she awoke and found herself safely snuggled in her own hammock she knew she had been taken on a special dream journey. She ran to her grandmother for an explanation. All her grandmother would say was, “You have been chosen. Now you must choose which path you will use.” She was not sure which one, if any, was real.
#writephoto
This story is a response to the Thursday photo prompt on Sue Vincent’s Echo. Please join each week for poems and stories on a photo theme. It is fascinating to read the different ways writers interpret the picture.
#WritePhoto Flights Of Fancy
June 29, 2017
— 15 Comments
flight of fancy
Her troubled mind had conjured up some frightening scenarios. She sat for hours wringing the hands that had once been so productive and accomplished. Her memory played cruel tricks on her as she tried to survive without her husband. Ernie had taken care of certain aspects of life that had always been a mystery to her. Although my grandparents ran a farm together, sharing the heavy work load, my grandmother was in the dark about the family finances. When she became a widow and could no longer stay alone at her farm it had been sold. Her life of relative freedom came to an end. She lived in institutions or at her children’s homes, never really settling. She missed independence even though she could barely manage daily tasks without a great deal of assistance. She disliked the feeling of being a houseguest, or even a child, of her son’s family. She had lost her matriarch status, and had to defer to her daughter-in-law. This life in suburban Pittsburgh was foreign, and cold. She rarely went out, and when she did she was fearful, even with her family. She lost her ability to relax. Anxiety was her only companion.
When the sun set she sat in the back yard in silence. This time to herself was spent every day engaging in bird watching. She had little sensitivity to human emotions, but was tuned into nature like a trance. She could feel the spirits of each bird soaring. Their playful flight brought a rush of feelings from her youth, from her most sorrowful, as well as her brightest times. She could sense that her own spirit was close to a threshold. She sometimes thought her spirit left her body and explored the sky above her for a while. As darkness fell the caregiver arrived to guide her into the building. Her lightness of being vanished as the door closed behind her. Perhaps tomorrow will be the day she finally takes off for eternity. She feels as if she has already spent an eternity here.
#writephoto
This fiction is written in response to this week’s photo prompt from Sue Vincent’s Echo. Join us each week to read, write, or submit your own take on the Thursday prompt.
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