This blog is for all who desire to create with words and images.
You are encouraged to participate in any way that is meaningful to you.

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All prompts beneath the photos are only suggestions.
You are free to use the photo to be inspired to write any way you desire.
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There is no deadline on posting,
you may offer your writing to any prompt anytime.
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Write and you are a writer.

Saturday, January 17, 2009

Fences

Photo by Lisa
Visit Lisa aka shabbygirl at
A Fish's Beach Wishes
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Suggested prompt...
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Mr. Frost offers up that "Good fences make good neighbors." in his poem Mending Walls.
Express your views of good or bad fences in your writing today.



__________________________

Why build
to block the sun rise?
What fun is there
in boundary lines?
Why shut out
what you may find?

A fence
is a thing to be climbed.

~
Zebuess



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7 comments:

Sullivan McPig said...

Is there such a thing as a good fence? A fence in meant to contain something or to keep things out. A fence takes away freedom and downsizes your world. A fence gives us a false sense of security.
If it was up to me I'd tell people to tear down all fences, starting with the fences we've build around our minds.

shabby girl said...

LJ, thanks for posting my picture!

Some of us need fences, boundries. Not only the people that build their fences but perhaps, too, the ones that don't.

A fence can also be very liberating for someone without a clear sense of boundries.

Just ask my dogs.

shabby girl said...

It was cold early that morning as I walked along the fenceline. The dead of winter. The dead grass crunched under the weight of my shoes. The mesquites were barren and looked as if they were reaching their dead arms up to the sky. The tumbleweed rolled across the expanse of the wash only to be caught up along the cyclone fence.

That's when I saw them. A pair of fawn colored coyotes loping through the wash looking for a meal to sustain them. My breath caught. They were beautiful. The smaller of the two turned to look at me but only for a moment. Suddenly I felt full of life and so grateful to have glimpsed these wild animals.

shabby girl said...

It was cold early that morning as I walked along the fenceline. The dead of winter. The dead grass crunched under the weight of my shoes. The mesquites were barren and looked as if they were reaching their dead arms up to the sky. The tumbleweed rolled across the expanse of the wash only to be caught up along the cyclone fence.

That's when I saw them. A pair of fawn colored coyotes loping through the wash looking for a meal to sustain them. My breath caught. They were beautiful. The smaller of the two turned to look at me but only for a moment. Suddenly I felt full of life and so grateful to have glimpsed these wild animals.

CDB said...

Fence after fence after fence. One by one, neat squares behind the row houses, as far as the eye could see. They followed the line of the hill as it dipped down toward the main thoroughfare. You could see the cars from here, heading downtown. The heart of Johannesburg.

Their house was no different than anyone elses' in this suburb. Brown, stucco, red tiles. Tall fence with barbed wire. Large blue private security sign. They'd never had to call the company, but had been tempted, just to see the armed guards arrive, like bulldogs. Looking for a perpetrator.

This house was different, however, than all the rest. In its garage rested the same car, the coffee pot the same grounds, the same water piped up to fill the tub. What set this house apart was who was hiding in the upstairs guest bedroom.

Zebuess said...

Why build
to block the sun rise?
What fun is there
in boundary lines?
Why shut out
what you may find?

A fence
is a thing to be climbed.

J Cosmo Newbery said...

Beyond the Pale

Our fences serve us with a dual role:
Enclose our private space as a shrine.
In doing this, they so set out the whole:
The other world is all beyond the line.

But all fences are not post and rail
There are mental ones, oft ill-defined,
That section us onto a scale:
Of picketted allotments of the mind.

Those yappy little dogs who chase you,
Barking through the slats as you walk by,
Seldom have the nerve to face you
Should they chance to find the gate awry.

There’s a bit of dog in all of us
That yaps at those who roam
But if given the open gate of progress
We choose the safety of our home

But life lies not behind your moat
It’s found most when we intertwine.
So take your hat and take your coat
And step bravely across the line.