Pictures, Poetry & Prose: July 2009

Friday, July 31, 2009

The Porch

Photo by Dan Felstead

Wood and Pixels Narratives - http://www.woodandpixels.blogspot.com/

ETSY Shop: Wood andPixels - http://www.woodandpixels.etsy.com/

Suggested Prompt...

You are walking up to this porch, describe this scene,

your thoughts, why you are here, from first person narrative.

______________________

Arriving home after the Midway Pacific Campaign....

Can they see me...are they looking out of the windows? They surely heard the greyhound stop out front. (Breathing deep)...my God its great to be back home on this solid earth...the death and destruction is behind me...I have to find a way to put that aside now.

Spike! Here boy...it's me! I can come back and pick up my duffel bag, come here boy...I'm on the ground to wrestle just like we used to do.

The blind...I saw movement...Sarah!
I'M H0ME...MY GOD
I'M HOME! Your
beautiful, I missed
you so much...It's
over Sarah...We
can start our life
again....Grace? Sill
asleep in bed? I'll
surprise her...No, I'm
fine...I'm ok......

I've always imagined what it was like that day that dad arrived home from the war. I was too young at the time to realize anything but the fact that my dad was back home. Even as young as I was, I remember the first thing my eyes saw as I wiped the sleep from them...looking at dad's face...so close to mine. Was I dreaming? No , it was true...dad was home.

With dad's passing last month, I will remember this as the most important day in the lives of three people on that September morning in 1942...never again separated after that day...mom, dad and me back together again.

Journal entry: July 31st, 2009

Grace

Dan Felstead

One week after the photo or picture is posted I will pick one offering to put beneath the image. This is a way of celebrating exceptional creativity. Any and all posts are available for your creative mind to make an offering at any time (even ones where a writing has been placed on the front page like this one). If you are new here and want to offer to every image here, feel free. We are writers, WRITE! If this is your exceptional writing posted here on the Front Page Pictures, Poetry & Prose invites you to include the Exceptional Writing Award Button on your blog. Visit the Exceptional Writing Award post for the details and the button to download.

Thursday, July 30, 2009

Tulips

Photo by Cyndy

For more of Cyndy's Photography visit

http://www.pbase.com/cyndycat

Suggested prompt...

Offer your writing to this beautiful image.

______________________

Why can't I see you more clearly?
The traces of your beauty astound me.
Your brilliance outshines all else.
Wait, let me get closer to you.
Your fragrance intoxicates me.
...and I am reminded of our early love.

~ Denise ~

Wednesday, July 29, 2009

Innocence

Photo by Dani

visit her at at goldentearsofjoy.blogspot.com

and her gallery at DeviantArt ~ http://daniweewee.deviantart.com/gallery/
~
Suggested prompt...
~

Offer a poem for this wonderful image.

___________________________

Tell me what you see
Little one, little one
In your dreams you're free
Little one, little one

I'll try to hold you gently
And show the world as kind
So you'll grow compassionate
With open, thoughtful mind

You will soon be waking
I'll hear your soft request
May your eyes and gentle cries
Call forth my very best

A Fart in the Cosmic Wind

Tuesday, July 28, 2009

The Musician

Photograph by John Hinten

for more of John's amazing photography visit -

http://tricountyphotography.shutterfly.com/

Suggested prompt...

Let this image inspire your creativity today.

Perhaps...

A poem about music. A story about why she is playing there. A rant about street muscians.

___________________________

With no song to sing
nor prose to tell,
no poetry to utter
or cries to yell,
no words to describe her current state
of lingering in cracks between love and hate,
she goes on with life and a quiet sigh
and hopes to inspire the passersby...

Cynthia

Monday, July 27, 2009

Boats in the Harbor

Photograph by Highlander

Suggested prompt...

Write a tale of a captain going out to sea from 1st person perspective.

_________________

I hadn't expected it to feel like this. Many times I've floated out into the water at daybreak just like today. So why was today different?

Well, today is different because I'm leaving more behind. So many times in the past I've set sail out into this open water, looking forward with so much longing for the sea, looking forward to the many adventures that could await out over that water.

Today I look back. I feel the shore pulling at my heart more than before. I look within myself for the answers.

For so long I've loved the sea. I've gone out with no other desire in my heart, no other place I would rather be. I look toward the watery horizon and the rising sun. The air is crisp and touches my face, as it has so many times before. It is beautiful. Yet it has changed somehow and I am drawn back.

The birth of my daughter changed many things. It made me a father. It made my wife a mother. But that is just what happened on the surface. That is just what other people can see.

My friend comes up behind me and rests his hand on my shoulder with a smile. "Excited to get back out on the water again?" He said. I could hear the old excitement in his voice. The one we used to share.

I gave him a small smile, but I knew that after this last time on the water together, I was ready to do what my wife had suggested: stay ashore and watch my daughter grow up.

Dani

Saturday, July 25, 2009

Butterfly

Photo by Cyndy
For more of Cyndy's Photography visit
http://www.pbase.com/cyndycat
~
Suggested prompt...
~

Offer a poem for a butterfly.

______________________

flutter flutter flutter
butterfly in my butter

butter butter butter
the butterfly balances on my butter

unaware that i wanted it to spread
on my toast.

i do not shoo it away, for it
is not a nuisance.

wings like marmalade spread thin
embrace the sides of my butter dish
the mural on its wings is
appealing to the eyes as
the butter melts beneath them.

i sigh
and lower my knife.

Tin Kettle Inn

Friday, July 24, 2009

Tire Swing

Photo by Simply Heather

Visit her Blog - http://joyfulbussin.blogspot.com/

And her Photo Blog - http://simplyjoyfulphotos.blogspot.com/

Suggested prompt...

Offer a poem or story or memory today that includes a tire swing.

_________________________

The old tyre swing hung listlessy from the ancient tree outside the kitchen window. The blue yachting rope still holding it strongly in place.

If the wind whistled strongly round the house in the field, it swung nonchalantly. No more was it encircled by young legs, clinging to it, climbing on it.

But when she'd left home, I could stand, at the kitchen window, and see her, as she was, years ago. Hair tied up in a top-knot, or flowing loose round fer face, a brown curtain obscuring her laughing face as she swung round and round on the old tyre swing.

I never cut it down. You can't sever memories like that. It earned the right to remain.

christine

Thursday, July 23, 2009

The Concert

Suggested prompt...

Tell creatively of a concert you have been to.

___________________

She had no business being out at night, but what are big sisters for?

I was twenty and she was barely sixteen, just coming into her own, curly strawberry hair hanging down to her waist and pale blue eyes flashing with excitement.

She'd almost given us away when our parents dropped her off, her cheshire grin far too devious for a quiet night watching videos in my tiny apartment, but she managed to pull it together until the tailights of Dad's station wagon disappeared around the corner of Maple and Elm.

We were forty minutes down the road when she stripped off her sweatchirt and proudly showed me the Playboy tank top she'd borrowed from the friend of a friend who's parents were obviously a lot more lenient then ours.... and I raised an eyebrow but stayed quiet.

This was our adventure after all, and you just can't lecture someone during an adventure. You save it until after you get home and then you throw statistics and self-respect speeches at them to your heart's content.

Besides, this was her night. Who was I to rain on her parade?

The crowd was thick when we arrived and I grabbed her hand to avoid losing her in the dark arena, both of us wincing at the deafening noise as we stumbled up to our seats.

They were nose-bleed, but we didn't care because the energy was just as real in the bleaches as it was on the floor. She grinned at me, bopping up and down the way teenagers do, her voice overloud and practically begging for attention.

I grinned back... it would have been impossible not to.

Kid rock came out, yelling lyrics that I couldn't follow but that she knew by heart. "Bawitdaba da bang a dang diggy diggy".. whatever the hell that was supposed to mean. Must not have mattered much anyway because the crowd was up, screaming along and dancing...

And she was right there with them. So different from me. Taller and blonder. Reckless and outgoing.

If we weren't sisters we probably wouldn't have been friends, but it was the week after her birthday and this was my secret gift to her... so I let her coax me up to stand on the metal bench beside her, raised my arms and shouted that I wanted to be a cowboy with the rest of the crowd.

This was her element, not mine. The lights that blinded me loved her, streaking jewel tones through her hair and turning her pretty face into something beautiful.

Ten years later the strobe lights have been traded for laundry, and she's settled into who she was probably always meant to be from the start... a good wife and a great mother.

She's still taller and blonder, still has that cheshire grin when she's up to no good.

But sometimes when I see her sitting at her kitchen table, writing out grocery lists and scribbling little league practice times into her day planner, I wonder if she remembers that girl standing on the bleachers as clearly as I do.

And part of me can't help wondering if she misses her, too.

Sanitykill

Wednesday, July 22, 2009

On the Beach

Suggested prompt...

Sitting there on the beach in paradise I knew what had to be done...

__________________________

Only problem is, I didn't want to do it. I wished for the days when everything was easy and no changes were necessary. Just one more walk down by the cool blue sea before diving in to the process of reshaping my life....And so as I walk, I dream of days past and in my mind's eye, I envision my beautiful future...The future that I will create.

TheChicGeek

Tuesday, July 21, 2009

Life Lessons

Photo by Kathryn
for more of Kathryn's photography visit-
http://www.pbase.com/katwilkens
~
Suggested prompt...
~

What life lesson is he teaching today?

Write in dialog or poetry or short story.

_______________________

Don't try to fill yourself up with too much of what's around you. You'll find you start to sink. Be true to yourself and who you are inside already. Do that, and you'll float along through life with no problems.

Dani

Great advice everyone. ~ Laura Jayne

Monday, July 20, 2009

Mermaid

Art by Tammy Vitale
Visit her website - http://www.tammyvitale.com/
~
Suggested prompt...
~

Write a story or a poem with a mermaid in it today.

_____________________

I couldn’t wait to jump into the water, seeing its crystal clear shimmer. I hurried, stumbling over my feet, stubbing into the sand, topsy-turvy this way and that…but I reached my destination.

{splash}

There I was, embraced by the life that surrounds me; washing over me, I could almost feel my tail. I closed my eyes and swam deeper and deeper toward the bottom, then I’d push with all of my might and soar through toward the water’s edge. Breaking through the barrier, I felt the air touching my skin and once again I was human.

Bending my body in such a way, I jumped back in to the fresh world below me; embraced once again by the coolness of its touch. My tail returned to me and I’d swim faster and faster through the world of deep nourishment.

Those were the days of my childhood where my imagination became real; where flesh became fish in every touch of water; where I became a Mermaid.

Simply Heather

Sunday, July 19, 2009

In the Shadows

Photograph by Tiffany

For more of her art and photography visit ~

http://www.tiffanygholar.com/

Suggested prompt...

He stood in the shadows waiting...

__________________________

Gino was late.

Shouldn't have surprised him since Gino was always late, but this time was different. This time there was a lot more than some two-bit street deal on the line... if this meeting didn't go like clockwork they'd be as good as dead.

Gino knew that.

So where the hell was he?

The plan was simple. Get the money and run like hell. No side trips, no last minute goodbyes or second thoughts. Just hand Joey's guys the tapes and get out of town before they had a chance to retaliate.

His hand nervously found it's way back into his pocket while he listened for the familiar rumble of Gino's old Torino to pull up outside, his fingers closing over the crumpled sandwich bag that contained enough evidence to send Joey Falconeri upstate for the rest of his miserable life.

But why let the Feds have all the fun, you know?

Get rid of Joey and another lowlife would just take his place. Wouldn't do the neighborhood any good... wouldn't make it any safer to walk down the streets at night.

But for two hustlers barely making enough chump change to keep a leaking roof over their head and something that could pass as food in the fridge...

Well, a chance like this didn't just come along every day.

As soon as Gino got back they could make the exchange and go anywhere they wanted. Maybe get lost somewhere on the West Coast. California looked nice in the movies, lots of white sand and palm trees.

Or was that Florida?

Didn't really matter. They'd just drive until they found some place with sky blue water and those fruity little coconut drinks with the umbrellas in them.

A door slammed and he instinctively stepped further into the shadows, his stomache churning as Joey's guys stepped out of their black Escalade and started toward the underpass.

It hit him then, his breath becoming labored under the suffocating weight of fear as they steadily approached the arched entryway, their faces wearing the same grim expressions they'd had on the night Joey Falconeri ordered them to gun down the skimming bartender in the tapes.

Gino wasn't coming.

The plan was supposed to be simple. Get the money and run like hell. Too bad nothing ever stays simple for long...

Sanitykill

Saturday, July 18, 2009

The Store

Photo by Dan Felstead
Wood and Pixels Narratives - http://www.woodandpixels.blogspot.com/
ETSY Shop: Wood andPixels - http://www.woodandpixels.etsy.com/
~
Suggested Prompt...
~
Write a story or poem set in this country store.

_______________________

Today the seats are vacant. Tom and Billy are probably playing in heaven as I write. Looking on down on this old home from home.

For nigh on seventy years, rain or shine, they'd turn up bang on nine thirty, and ask for the checkers from behind the counter.

Without fail they would ask after my health, and the family, and I'd return the compliment. I'd bring out a pot of coffee at eleven, and some of last night's pie, or some flapjack.

They'd each slip their teeth from their pockets to do justice to my offerings, then discretely slip them away again. I never commented, why should I?

They left at one, each going in a different direction for their lunch. Before they left, they'd each buy a twist of sweets to tide them over til the next day. They'd reminisce about days gone by, and how the scents in the store took them back throough the years. Somehow they came up with a different recollection every day. I know their childhoods as well as I know my own.

I miss them, things aren't the same any more. I'm retiring soon, and my son's taking over. I've heard him talking to his wife about the "improvements" he's planning.

The place won't be the same. All the old character will disappear, like snow with the melt. I'll diappear soon, too. Maybe I'll meet up with Billy and Tom, and catch a game of checkers. We'll see.

christine

Thursday, July 16, 2009

So Sad

Photograph by John Hinten
for more of John's amazing photography visit -
http://tricountyphotography.shutterfly.com/
~
Suggested prompt...
~

Tell me a story that shares why he is so sad.

_____________________

Sad Little Bear

He remembered that first day as though time had not passed. The grown-ups held him by his waist and swung him to and fro while the child gazed at him in wonder, giggling with delight. Small, pudgy hands squeezed and held him tight, while strong gums gnawed and sucked his left ear until it was mangled beyond recognition.

In the early years, days were spent attending lavish tea parties and participating in extravagant parades, always wearing the gaudy orange hat and the pink feather boa. Evenings, he was lovingly held close in peaceful slumber; though he often woke up on the floor as if he'd spent the evening on a wild bender.

Later on, he was privy to such classified information as to what was said at recess, to whom and how, and detailed dossiers of those who didn't play well with others. It never occurred to him that he could retire on the royalties that such a tell-all book would bring.

Recent years were a mixture of long hours of solitude, lying prone on the flowered bedspread, and listening intently to the tortured lament of teenage love, offering the condolence only a hug can provide.

It was all coming unravelled now, as he sat watching her pack her worldly possessions, eagerly anticipating the freedom of university. He contemplated his dismal future, imagined it would involve being boxed and sent to a charity where he would lay with other abandoned stuffies, bewailing better times.

She stood up then, set the last box upon the bed beside him and looked around the room, a wistful expression flickering across her face. She picked up the box and, tucking it under her arm, scooped him up in a one-armed hug, squeezing him close to her.

"You have to come with me," she mumbled into his fur. "You're my best friend."

And with that he left the room, held firmly in her hand, happily swinging from one leg, visions of the next great adventure speeding through his fluffy head.

Monica Manning

Wednesday, July 15, 2009

My Street

Photo by Lorelei
Visit her photo gallery at - http://www.pbase.com/birdseye
and her blog at - http://www.westcoastwriters.blogspot.com/
~
Suggested prompt...
~

I loved the street where I grew up...

_______________________

The street where I grew up is no longer there. The interstate just north of town thought to be a boom for the local economy proved to be an aneurysm in the artery of the local businesses draining the spirit and dreams from the street where I grew up.

The street was filled with the laughter of children, backyard barbecues and flag football on any given Sunday. It was on this street where me and dad stood outside gazing at the sky awestruck by the sight of sputnik gliding across a faint milky way one October night. The year before sputnik, our street was filled with the squeal of sirens as they took mom to the hospital...she never returned home to our street. My brother left our street and never returned either. It was only years later that I realized why boys left home and never returned from Southeast Asia. He didn't want to leave...for that war.

My dad and me moved to Chicago when the local plant closed and life was never the same. My innocence remained behind on that street where I grew up. I realize now how naive I was thinking that life would always remain as wonderful as it was on the street where I grew up.

Just in case...with the faintest hope...that innocence can be regained...I am headed back to the street where I grew up to watch the space shuttle glide across the faded milky way with my son.

Dan Felstead

Great writing of such wonderful memories today. Bravo to all. ~ Laura Jayne

Tuesday, July 14, 2009

Fat Cat

Photo by Jessica
Visit Jessica's 365 Day Photo Project Blog

~
Suggested Prompt...
~

S/he was a fat cat...

___________________

Kojak was a fat cat, a former street fighting tom. Rescued from the street by my grandparents and named after the TV hero, he came to live with us when my grandparents could no longer care for him.

Despite weighing more than any cat had a right to weigh, he had lost none of his fighting technique. Within days of moving in with us, he had vanquished the vicious tom from across the street, who had tormented and terrorized our pair of cuddly cats for years.

Once, a pet show was held near our home with a prize for fattest cat. We took Kojak, and waited while other fat cats were weighed in the arms of the brave volunteer (he stood on the scale and held the cats, and his weight was subtracted from the total weight). At last it was Kojak's turn. The scale went up, and up, and up. Kojak was Fattest Cat with a blue ribbon!

morganna

Monday, July 13, 2009

Train Ride

Photo by Jim Pankey "WildSpirit"

Jim's Photography can be found at Picasa and Fotothing

Suggested prompt...

It began on a train...

_________________

On the night train, we met a group from Texas. We played Spades with them for hours, as if we knew them.

At night,
creaking, moaning
slowly reaching
its thunderous pace.
I've forgotten
the quiet here

At dawn, Ian came into my carriage to wake me and said, "We're getting off in a half hour. And you might want to open your window." I did, and I saw the sun rising over the Alps, with little lights dotting the faces of the mountains. The sun peeked over the mountain tops with a pink glow that shimmered over the glassy lake.

-- now teal waters
remind of peace.
ominous clouds
hover above,
hazy, but not
threatening; here
creation rests

Mist rises like smoke from the base of waterfalls.
Everywhere the rock faces
are painted with silver,
gold & granite
flecked with pine--
color drips down the sides
an artist dripped his dye here
like I'm in the bottom
of a dried up mason jar of turpentine--
mosaics do not compare
to the artistry of God
in this place.

Kate

Wow!! Truly wonderful writing for this prompt. Bravo to you all!!! ~ Laura Jayne

Sunday, July 12, 2009

Girl Talk

Photo by Basir Seerat
visit Basir's photo blog at
http://www.basirseerat.blogspot.com/
~
Suggested prompt...
~
Use this image and write their dialog.

_______________

"I wait until midnight to sketch my day. I know that father would think that my drawing is silly and child's play. But I know that I will burst inside if I don't let my art find a space on the paper. I hope that I can someday share this part of me with my family."

"Do you think that your groom will want to know about your drawing?"

"He is too much like my father. I fear that my sketches will be in danger if he found them. I dread the day that we marry."

septembermom

Saturday, July 11, 2009

A Boy and His Dog

Photo by Simply Heather
Visit her Blog - http://joyfulbussin.blogspot.com/
And her Photo Blog - http://simplyjoyfulphotos.blogspot.com/
~
Suggested prompt...
~

Offer them a story or a poem that touches on why they are best friends.

I bet they will enjoy it.

________________________

A boy and his dog
A love that will remain forever
Etched in their souls

The day we brought her home, she was just a baby still...as was he. She was three month's old, he was 18 months (or thereabouts).

He was so scared of her, jumping up onto the couch...this strange bouncy creature invading his safe place...his home.

One day of screeching and hopping up higher than she could climb, that was all it took. The next day, he stepped a sturdy foot onto the floor and gave her a hug. He made her HIS dog, his best friend for life.

If only you could see the two together. There is no other in this house that she respects with a single word, as much as this boy. That is truth. She loves him like no other.

They are best friends to the point that he even thinks of her when we're away for a few hours. His thoughts become words, "I'm going to hug her up when we get home".

____________________

LJ, I didn't edit that...and I can't stand the errors but I'm not going to delete it. It is what it is and I just won't re-read it because it will frustrate me.

This is the truth of the pair...they're forever bonded, we can be sure of that :)

Simply Heather

Heather... WONDERFUL... :) ~ LJ

Friday, July 10, 2009

A Good Book

Photo by Dan Felstead

Wood and Pixels Narratives - http://www.woodandpixels.blogspot.com/

ETSY Shop: Wood andPixels - http://www.woodandpixels.etsy.com/

Suggested Prompt...

And there was a truth...

____________________

And there was a truth that he could not accept in his heart. Feelings about to surface were choking him in his daily duties. Books and prayers could give no solace. His heart was enraptured from the first time he saw her hair free in the breeze.

septembermom

Thursday, July 9, 2009

Solitary Pebble

Photo by Colleen
Visit her wonderful blog Fingers and Paws
~
Suggested prompt...
~

Offer a piece of writing for this image.

_____________________

Hmmm...wot is this? Hmmm...me can't say. Must be sumthing to bring home to the wife.

The bird gets home, with his special little something and his wife throws it at him. As he turns around, he is reminded of the thousands of other "somethings" that he's brought her before.

All she really wants is a worm for dinner.

Simply Heather

Wednesday, July 8, 2009

I am...

Photo by Cyndy

For more of Cyndy's Photography visit

http://www.pbase.com/cyndycat

Suggested prompt...

Begin your writing with or include the line in your writing of...

I am a rock

Use this figuratively or literally and get creative.

______________________

I am a rock
I am born from the cauldron of heat and pressure, both of which I have withstood and vanquished in my prosperity to be here for you.
I am solid. I will not move. I will not wince. I will not duck for cover or run away at the first sign of trouble.
I do not speak, but if I could it would be to praise you not to chastise.
I stay my ground so that you may judge your position by where I lay.
I shall not waver even as nature's forces try to push me out of their way or lessen me.
You may take shelter in the lea of me. You may hold me to anchor yourself to weather any tempest.
You may use me in defence against your enemies.
I am the projectile to slay your Goliath.
You may skip me across pristine lakes for your own amusement (but it would be nice if you would dive for me and bring me back to shore).
You may singe me in your fires and use me to keep warm through the bitterest of cold nights.
You may use me to hold thngs down where you wish them to stay, so you may come back again later to find them still there.
You may chip and fracture me to use me as a tool, for I am here for you.
I am your rock and for you I will roll, no matter where you wish me to alight.
Yet, if you paint a silly face on me, I will be your pet.
Rest assure that I am your rock and will be until time erodes me away.
With love, your father.

Stu Pidasso

Tuesday, July 7, 2009

Ancient Art

Photo by Kathryn

for more of Kathryn's photography visit-

http://www.pbase.com/katwilkens

Suggested prompt...

Offer a poem or story for this image.

______________________

Endless life cycles
roll through time
as day wanderers
stop to gaze in awe
as art jumps across time
linking hands
bridging culture
speaking the infinite.

septembermom

Sunday, July 5, 2009

Which to Wear

Art by Tammy Vitale

Visit her website - http://www.tammyvitale.com/

Suggested prompt...

Every day she struggled to know which to wear...

______________________

She wandered into the luxuriously appointed bathroom, avoiding the reflection in the mirror that held little resemblance to the vibrant woman she once was. Hair that once curled flirtatiously around her shoulders, now hung limply down her back. Jacqueline knew now, why he insisted she keep it long.

Her hands trembled as she carefully applied her makeup, critically examining the results in the mirror. Despite her diligence, she knew he would find fault. He always did.

The backless red silk hung in her walk-in closet, replaced now with the dress neatly laid out on the bed. The black sequined dress would better camouflage the tell-tale signs of his most recent disciplining.

He quietly came into the room, placing his hands on her shoulders; more an act of possession rather than affection. She sincerely doubted he was capable of the latter. Jacqueline suppressed a shudder of revulsion when he bent down and kissed her neck.

“We’ll have a wonderful evening,” he murmured in her ear. His voice took on a hardened edge as he added, “Provided, of course, you behave.”

She watched in the mirror as he left the room, his warning an oppressive fog hanging thickly in the room. Closing her eyes to steady her pounding heart, she reminded herself that tomorrow would be different.

Tomorrow was the beginning of a new day, a new life.
Tomorrow she would wear a new face.

Monica Manning

Saturday, July 4, 2009

Working Hands

Photograph by John Hinten

for more of John's amazing photography visit -

http://tricountyphotography.shutterfly.com/

Suggested prompt...

His hands tell a story offer your creativity to share it.

____________________

Observe the lines, how they flow like a river
mapping one’s journey through life
experience navigates the hull of a heart,
who weathered hardships with laborious love
for family, his toils tell a testament;
of royalties without riches
knuckles knotted,
fingers plotted
with salt-like suffrage
from the brine of His Earth,
this man, his hands,
seasoned in soil of one's soul:
exhibited might,
embraced desire,
erased tears,
guarded his children, grandchildren
now, after tireless years
they seek their respite
upon the helm of his knees
eyes coursed with memories
a beacon hides in the curve of his smile
remembering a life sans regret
as they reach out for mine,
an atlas of aesthetics;
they are my father’s hands

Level9Poetry ~ http://shepoet.blogspot.com

One week after the photo or picture is posted I will pick one offering to put beneath the image. This is a way of celebrating exceptional creativity. Any and all posts are available for your creative mind to make an offering at any time (even ones where a writing has been placed on the front page like this one). If you are new here and want to offer to every image here, feel free. We are writers, WRITE! If this is your exceptional writing posted here on the Front Page Pictures, Poetry & Prose invites you to include the Exceptional Writing Award Button on your blog. Visit the Exceptional Writing Award post for the details and the button to download.

Friday, July 3, 2009

The View

Photo by Brett Trafford
visit his site 365 to 42
for more beautiful photographs.
~
Suggested Prompt...
~

And they stood and looked down...

______________________

And they stood and looked down,
From the precipice near the sky
Where they could reach up
And lift their arms so close
to the clouds
the birds
the air currents
Then, they came down
and became
human again.

rosebud101

Thursday, July 2, 2009

Reflections

Photograph by Lynda Lehmann
visit Lynda's website to see more of her
photography and art - lyndalehmann.com
and she is a part of - World Wide Women Artists
~
Suggested prompt...
~

Reflections

use it creatively in your writing today.

___________________________

The shame was gnawing away at him, like a starving parasite gorging on his secret. Unable to face them any longer, he fled from those prying eyes; the ones that judged and tormented him. He had willingly followed the song of the river that called to him, chanting promises of peace and forgiveness.

At the water’s edge, he fell to his knees, begging an unseen deity to show mercy. The only response was the whisper of the river inviting him, crooning his name. The water rippled gently like beckoning hands, pulling him forward. He gradually rose to his feet and, with hesitant steps, slowly waded into the water, each one taking him deeper into the murky channel.

The feathery touch against his legs did not surprise him. He was expecting it, knew they were there to welcome him. The pressure increased, wrapping firmly around his ankles, moving quickly up his legs. His heart began to race, playing a rapid, deafening rhythm against his chest. He told himself this was necessary and deserved, that punishment must be meted out. Then suddenly, without warning, he was pulled beneath the surface where his arms and legs were forcefully held. The black water was suffocating, crushing him, stealing every last breath from his lungs, until there was nothing but mist.

On the shore, the young ones gazed coldly at the water, watched the last ripples fade away.

Monica Manning

One week after the photo or picture is posted I will pick one offering to put beneath the image. This is a way of celebrating exceptional creativity. Any and all posts are available for your creative mind to make an offering at any time (even ones where a writing has been placed on the front page like this one). If you are new here and want to offer to every image here, feel free. We are writers, WRITE! If this is your exceptional writing posted here on the Front Page Pictures, Poetry & Prose invites you to include the Exceptional Writing Award Button on your blog. Visit the Exceptional Writing Award post for the details and the button to download.

Wednesday, July 1, 2009

Decay

Photograph by Mark

Visit his blog at - http://strattonm.wordpress.com/

Suggested prompt...

Offer your creativity to this striking image.

Perhaps a poem about decay,

or maybe a short story about a small town struggling,

or an essay about our dependance on fossil fuels...

let this image inspire you and share your writing here.

___________________

You left us.
That's it.
I'm not coming back you say.
Not even a backward glance
at the faces of the children you fathered.
No.
None at all.

You left us here to decay.
Slowly it happened.
Slowly.
Slowly we fell apart.
Came undone.
Rusty in the ways of love
Scared to hold close
To something
For fear it too would leave us.
Leave us here broken.

The decay wasn't right away.
At first, all was fine.
Except for the the long nights
Full of hidden tears.
But soon.
But soon we slipped into
Our own little pathways.
We stood separated
A family no more.

Now.
Now we are decayed.
We are rusted.
Unable to love.
For the love that was ripped away.
Leaving us.
Leaving us here, scarred in ways
You will NEVER know.

We are a ruin.
We are the decay of a fairytale.
A fairytale once.
A long, long time
ago.

_we_the_pieces_

Friday, July 31, 2009

Thursday, July 30, 2009

Wednesday, July 29, 2009

Tuesday, July 28, 2009

Monday, July 27, 2009

Saturday, July 25, 2009

Friday, July 24, 2009

Thursday, July 23, 2009

Wednesday, July 22, 2009

Tuesday, July 21, 2009

Monday, July 20, 2009

Sunday, July 19, 2009

Saturday, July 18, 2009

Thursday, July 16, 2009

Wednesday, July 15, 2009

Tuesday, July 14, 2009

Monday, July 13, 2009

Sunday, July 12, 2009

Saturday, July 11, 2009

Friday, July 10, 2009

Thursday, July 9, 2009

Wednesday, July 8, 2009

Tuesday, July 7, 2009

Sunday, July 5, 2009

Saturday, July 4, 2009

Friday, July 3, 2009

Thursday, July 2, 2009

Wednesday, July 1, 2009

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