Pictures, Poetry & Prose

With Regret

2009-10-10T07:29:00.000-07:00

I have unfortunately lost my job after 17 years and it has been a major trauma as I am sure you can imagine. I will need to focus my energies on making sure my family and our home are taken care of and to that end will not be posting here at PP&P for a time.

I apologize to all the wonderful writers who have become my friends and who have shared so beautifully with the all the amazing photographs and art here. I do hope soon I will be in a position to refocus and resume this site and the joy that it has brought to my life.

But for now, it is with regret, that I will not be posting.

Laura Jayne

Direction

2009-10-03T00:01:00.000-07:00

Photo by Simply Heather

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

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

Suggested prompt...

Use this wonderful photograph to inspire your writing today.

A poem about a direction, a story involving a weather vane,

a memory of traveling a certain direction...

just get creative with a direction.

Rose

2009-10-01T00:01:00.000-07:00

Photograph by Bryan B - aka BoardBreaker93

visit his gallery at - http://boardbreaker93.deviantart.com/

Suggested prompt...

Yesterday you wrote a poem for a dandelion,

today offer a poem for a rose.

Just a Weed?

2009-09-30T00:01:00.000-07:00

Photo by Jessica
Visit Jessica's 365 Day Photo Project Blog
~
Suggested Prompt...
~
Write a poem for a dandelion.
I have always thought they are more than just a weed.

At the Bar

2009-09-28T00:01:00.000-07:00

Art by Stephanie Taylor

For more of her art and creativity visit -

http://stephanietaylorart.com/

http://picasaweb.google.com/staylorstudio

http://flickr.com/photos/stevieart

Art Blog - http://stephanietaylorart.blogspot.com/

Stories Blogs - http://movingnarratives.blogspot.com/

and http://fremontparkart.blogspot.com/

Current project - http://valleyhilibrary.blogspot.com/

Suggest prompt...

Use this art to inspire your writing today.

Imagine a scene at a crowded bar and spin that into a story.

Metamorphosis

2009-09-27T00:01:00.000-07:00

These wonderful photographs are by Kim Martin

Visit her at -

Google Profile - http://www.google.com/profiles/SciFyGirl
Orbitgal Creations (my portfolio) - http://orbitgal.com/

Suggested prompt...

Use these images to get creative today,

the idea of metamorphosis literally or figuratively today.

Safe Landing

2009-09-26T00:01:00.000-07:00

Photo by Jim Pankey "WildSpirit"
Jim's Photography can be found at Picasa and Fotothing
~
Suggested prompt...
~
Write from the perspective of one of these skydivers
a story or perhaps an inner dialog.

Friday Night Lights

2009-09-25T00:01:00.000-07:00

Photo by Dan Felstead
Wood and Pixels Narratives - http://www.woodandpixels.blogspot.com/
ETSY Shop: Wood and Pixels - http://www.woodandpixels.etsy.com/
~
Suggested Prompt...
~

Offer a memory from a high school football game.

(Or another sport if you are not American.)

A Boy

2009-09-24T00:01:00.000-07:00

Photo by Basir Seerat
visit Basir's photo blog at
http://www.basirseerat.blogspot.com/
~
Suggested prompt...
~

Give this boy a story.

__________________________

The street is not silent but for his pounding heart, slapping feet, and spinning tire. There are other noises: distant car engines rumble; horns scream point and counterpoint; air force planes roar overhead; and somewhere close by a couple is arguing.

But he hears only three things: his heart, his feet, and his tire. They consume his reality, shoving all else to the side, discarding it as unimportant.

The only thing that matters is getting his prize home before they find him.

He does not turn his head at the sudden shout behind him. He does not feel the struggle of his heart and legs to keep him moving.

Only home matters. He will be safe there. His prize will be secure there.

But then he reaches his street and as he turns to cover the final fifty feet to his front door he sees them waiting for him. He skids to a halt but the tire continues on its way, wobbling on unsteady rubber before collapsing midway between him and them.

He pauses in the midst of silent, swirling dust. They stare at him with no expression. Then smiles creep onto each scarred, dirty face, one by one.

And then they raise their guns and the silence is no more.

Marc

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.

Looking Out

2009-09-23T00:01:00.000-07:00

Photo by Kane Hsieh

Visit his blog - Crimson-G-B

Suggested prompt...

Use this image to inspire your writing in any creative way you are moved to today.

__________________________

I feel so alone
Looking out at the world
No one could truly love me
I've been told all my life
What I am is so wrong
How could anyone possibly see

It is not a choice
There is not a chance
For me to happily be free
I am only what I am, you see
I can be nothing else
But little ol' "unnatural" me

I look out at the world
I feel so alone
For no one can see me for me
Those ones down the street
At the church building- no
Neither the ones in my
Very own home

I am so alone
Looking out at the world
I see no one really loves me
For I long for those unlike myself
I long for those
...just like me

---

I feel I may need explanation for this poem. I personally know and love some wonderful people that are outcast because of their sexuality. Whether it is religiously something I embrace or not, I embrace them as wonderful, loving, and beautiful people who need love and acceptance as much as anyone else. Please embrace those around you- don't let them feel alone!

Dani

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.

Challenging Path

2009-09-22T00:01:00.001-07:00

Photo by Brett Trafford

visit his site 365 to 42

for more beautiful photographs.

Suggested Prompt...

Use this image to inspire your poetry today.

__________________________________

It is a challenging path
This life that we live
Each step taken forward
Some back

Keeping eyes straight ahead
Stumbling rocks at our feet
Learning obstacles around us
We grow

Rest for a sweet moment
View life all about you
Sight hands reaching out for your strength
Encourage them

Sharing steps with another
Leading points from your view
Understanding new faith
Sweet release

Life’s path is inspiring
Not without care or hearts effort
Able forgiveness and love
Stand tall

At the top of the mountain
Find yourself to be true
A life worth the living
Your path

Simply Heather

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.

Working Farm

2009-09-21T00:01:00.000-07:00

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

Include a farm in your writing today.

_______________________________

Hard work is how I learned to live my life. This is why, when I was sent to the newly built school a few miles away from the old one I had been used to, I was surprised by the other kids my age.

I couldn't understand them. I felt so outcast and yearned to be like them. Yet something else inside me knew I really didn't want that. My flannel button up shirt and worn jeans looked so faded and old next to their sleek appearances. I didn't know the names of the clothing they wore, but I knew everything had a distinct name.

If I wore something like that, it would probably only be for church. Mother would spank me silly if I wore something like that on an ordinary day. It would surely be ruined by my daily chores, and I could hear her saying, "No one should be so wasteful."

Occasionally someone would talk to me. It would seem friendly at first, but soon they would laugh at something I said that hadn't meant to be funny. Or if not, they would look at me shocked or surprised and then withdraw awkwardly.

For instance, that girl with the sleek blond curls and ruffled shirt came up and smiled at me once. She made a comment about how she wished school could be at a later time because she hated to wake up so early on weekdays. She'd gone on complaining and then stated that she couldn't wait for the weekend. As she looked at me expectantly, waiting for my reply, I hadn't known what to say.

Finally, I told her I was used to waking up much earlier, that school started a few hours after I'd usually been up at least a couple hours. I didn't realize anyone slept in so late! My mother would have walloped me for being lazy and missing breakfast.

The girl only looked at me oddly and walked away to talk to her regular friends. It felt so strange to be there among these people who had such smooth skin on their hands- hands that appeared to never have touched the ground- never been in a wrestling match with cow dogs or even got grass stains from falling.

I longed for home that day. And when I came to it, I was relieved to see the blue siding on the house, the red barn with white trim, the little red well, and oh the green, green grass. I never had looked at home with such pleasure.

The familiar scent of straw and fresh-mowed lawn was in the air and I immediately wanted to get my hands dirty. No problem at all doing that- it was time to feed the horses. As I went about my chores I though about school. I wouldn't ever make a friend at that new school. Why did our farm have to be built just inside the new district boundaries? All the other outer farms still went to my old school. The rest of the day was full and I found myself busy and able to put school out of my mind for now.

But the next morning came too soon. I woke before the sun to carry out the days duties and prepare myself for another day among the aliens to my lifestyle. Perhaps today I will find at least one person with a little dirt under their fingernails.

Dani

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.

The Path

2009-09-20T00:01:00.000-07:00

Photo by Jim Pankey "WildSpirit"

Jim's Photography can be found at Picasa and Fotothing

Suggested prompt...

Offer your creativity in any way you are inspired today by this delightful photograph.

_______________________

We all follow a path. Old, young, rich, poor, black, white, whole or damaged.

Whichever path we take is the right path for us, there is no other.

Sometimes we walk in brightness and light and all goes well. Sometimes we walk in shadow, and things seem hard.

In the dark times remember the light, it's still there - we need light to cause shadows. Walk onward to find the light ahead, draw strength from the light you left behind.

Whe your path runs in the light, store some up for the dark times you hit, then you'll never run out.

This path is your path, make it a good one :)

christine

The Laundress

2009-09-18T00:01:00.000-07:00

Photo by Dan Felstead

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

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

Suggested Prompt...

Write a story or poem for her.

____________________

Elijah was killed last year in the main tent collapse. It was the worst tragedy to smite Philadelphia in years. Just like any other morning they rolled into town with the fanfare of ancient Rome. Colorful horse drawn wagons from Europe, Elephants from Africa, Indian Tigers and Elijah spinning on the flatbed wagon inviting the young and young at heart to the Greatest Show on Earth. Sarah and their young daughter was on the flatbed spinning the rope so the trapeze would swing while Elijah performed for the crowds lining Main Street.

The night of the tragedy, Sarah was ill with the fever so she and her daughter stayed away while Elijah performed.

At 8:30 that evening Sarah was stunned by the whoosh of air and screams of the crowd...as she looke outside...all she could see was splintered tent poles and in one moment of terror...she realized the devastation she saw and the realization that the crowd and the Elijah lay at the bottom underneath the white cotton grave that spread out before her like a vision. Was it the fever? Was she really seeing this?

The Circus was the only thing she and her daughter knew...the family tradition went back 2 generations. From that day forward, she and her daughter carried on the tradition in honor of Elijah.

The laundry finished just in time for the small leotard to dry for tonight's performance..."The youngest performer ever to take to the high flying trapeze" was now top billing.

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.

Lazy Day

2009-09-17T00:01:00.000-07:00

Photograph by Abby
Visit her website http://www.tenkeyspread.deviantart.com/
~
Suggested Prompt...
~

Lay back in the grass, relax, take a deep breath

and write as you are inspired.

_________________________

here. sun.
there. water.
kids run around me,
ignoring my sudden urge
to feel the grass
tickle my skin.

I would have stayed
all day.
I would have watched
sun fall off
island's edge.

I would have seen
the Milky Way fade
into existence,
guessed which constellations
actually appear in autumn,
and which planets twinkle
and which stars shine.
I'm no astronomer.

But Joe jumped on my chest
with an innocent laugh,
and pulled me off my ground bed.
We played on the roof,
and looked for salamanders instead.

Kate

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.

Secret Door

2009-09-16T00:01:00.000-07:00

Photo by C. John Edwards his blogs are -

http://scriptorsenex.blogspot.com/
http://cjeinexeter.blogspot.com/
http://cjehebrides.blogspot.com/
http://pensbyetal.blogspot.com/
and website -http://www.johnsbooks.org/galleries/gallery%201.htm

~
Suggested prompt...
~

Offer a story using this image.

Let you imagination get creative behind this secret door.

_______________________________

It was the tiniest little door that I’d ever seen; catching my attention as I was out picking berries in the woods one day. I wanted to think nothing of it but each time I’d turn to add berries into my bucket, there it was in my view. Oh, how the curiosity took hold. No one would know that I’d stopped picking, if I only went over there for just a quick minute, right? Everyone was waiting for me to get back to the house; mom was getting the pie crust all prepared with my baby sister. I could almost taste the pie, even though I still held the berries.

For just a minute, I walked over to the door. Looking it over, I found nothing to open it with, which filled me with such an intense anxiety – I simply HAD to search for the answer. Stepping around, studying the door and the brick and the walls; I found nothing; nothing, not even a little hole that would show me what was on the other side.

Okay, I needed one more minute. They wouldn’t know if I hurried to pick the rest of the berries for a bucket full. I’d already filled it near to the top and have only been gone for a few minutes; much less time than it usually takes me, because I usually stop by the pond on the way here to catch some frogs.

I searched some more, for a few clues as to what could be behind the door; still nothing and I gave up. I turned to leave and fumbled over a large rock, stubbing my foot and falling to the ground but as I fell, I heard a creek. The door opened. I’d never jumped up so quick in all my life! Running to the door, I pushed it open to find that my curiosity had over taken reality. The other side of the door was exactly the same as where I came from. I only walked a little way around, found more berries and filled my dress with them. The bucket was left on the other side of the door. I made my way back to the opening and heard someone. It sounded like laughter, mocking almost.

“Hey! Who is that? What are you laughing at?” I asked. It continued and came closer to me. I couldn’t believe my eyes when I saw this tiny little flying person coming toward me. “I, was laughing at you, you silly creature. And, those are OUR berries. They do not belong to you. That is why I laughed.”

“Who are you?” I asked. “I am the youngest breary of the Fairies”, she told me. “If you don’t leave these here, you will not go beyond this door. You will have to live here and become our servant.”

I dropped the berries fast, plunked the little fairy thingy as far as I could and booked it out that door as quick as my little legs would take me.

The moment I found myself on the other side was the moment the door shut and I could hear laughter from the other side, filling the air. I grabbed my bucket and went home to find everyone still making the pie crusts. They were shocked that I was home so quickly, and that...to my amazement, my bucket was full of berries.

Hmmmm.

Simply Heather

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.

Home Grown

2009-09-15T00:01:00.000-07:00

Photo by Dani
visit her at at goldentearsofjoy.blogspot.com

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

Suggested prompt...

As summer winds down, offer a poem, an ode, or story

to the glories of ripe, lush, home grown veggies.

_________________________

It is my 478th...no...my 479th day. I have seen through the missing mortar 479 sunsets and 479 sunrises. There are 74 cracks in the concrete floor...18 have shown up within the last 2 weeks. My daily walk of 280 steps....that is 20 times around the cell...keeps my mind clear. Not the walking but the counting over and over again. The spider web in the corner of the ceiling now has babies...and they are beginning to explore off the web. This is nothing new...I count them as they make their way to my rug where I sleep...then ...just before they reach the rug, I kill them...one by one.

Rice again today. I hear the television down the corridor. They don't think I can hear it...but I can and I tell everyone in the cell block the news of the war by tapping on the wooden crate. Nixon ended the war today...hold on just a bit more...keep counting...keep walking...

I miss my parents, my home town and Jill if she is still there...

It has been 479 sunsets and sunrises since I have bit into a fresh, red ripe tomato. I go through the complete process each day in my mind...holding it - just picked off the vine. Biting into it, the juice runs down my chin. The meat of the tomato has such solid texture, the slight acid catches in the back of my throat and I relish the taste...the smell...the smell only a tomato vine can give. That is the scent of home...summers in the garden when the first tomato is picked.

I must hold on a bit longer and i will again taste that tomato at home...we all will taste tomatoes...as many as we can eat. Handfuls of rice from the Hanoi Hilton do not compare to tomatoes raised in Indiana soil.

Another crack in the concrete...that makes 75...I pull out the piece of mortar and make another scratch on the wall.

Dan Felstead

Mooring

2009-09-14T07:24:00.000-07:00

Suggested prompt...

Offer a poetic description of this scene.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Thank you all for your well wishes and concerns. There was a bit of a crisis that needed my attention and took me away from sharing with you everyday. I am back now and will be posting daily again. ~ Laura Jayne

_________________________

Sunday Service

Still and quiet
Gray fog over gray waters
Little boats spot the quiet waters
Anchored harshly to the rocks

All is quiet
No voices are heard
No faces are seen
No one is on the moor today

A slight breeze ripples the water
Edging the little empty boats
Tilting slightly, inching slowly
Back and forth

In the distance
A bell tolls

Dani

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.

A Day at the Beach

2009-09-04T00:01:00.000-07:00

Photo by Jim Pankey "WildSpirit"
Jim's Photography can be found at Picasa and Fotothing
~
Suggested prompt...
~

Offer your writing at the beach today.

A story set at the beach, a memoir about a trip as a child to the beach,

a poem for a cute lifeguard, anything your like, do get creative.

________________________

OK kids, are you listening? Today I want you to find the colour red. Do you remember what it looks like? Remember the coral we saw this morning? With the anenomes all over? Yes, of course you do. Well, they were red.

Now, spread out, no getting in each other's way, there's no need for that. I don't want any squabbling about who did, or didn't manage it. I'll be above you, watching.

The one who gets most hits gets first choice of the fish shpper, later.

OK, ready to go? Remember, extra points if you get front and back of the same person, and you lose points if you don't hit the red.

Spread those wings. Ready, steady, fly!

christine

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.

Road Trip

2009-09-03T00:01:00.000-07:00

Photograph by Stephanie Taylor
For more of her art and creativity visit -
http://stephanietaylorart.com/
http://picasaweb.google.com/staylorstudio
http://flickr.com/photos/stevieart
Art Blog - http://stephanietaylorart.blogspot.com/
Stories Blogs - http://movingnarratives.blogspot.com/ and
http://fremontparkart.blogspot.com/
Current project - http://valleyhilibrary.blogspot.com/
~
Suggest prompt...
~

Imagine you are on this long and winding road,

offer a story about your trip, or a poem to express the idea.

Use this in any creative way you are moved, perhaps a memoir

about a long and boring road trip from your childhood.

_______________________________

The long, dusty road spun out before us
Empty land to each hand, water starved shrubs
Patterned evenly across as though dropped by
Giants making a checkerboard of desert land.

Home a distant memory though we left this
Morning, journey's end a mystery known to
Parents only. Like snails, turtles, we brought
Our home, our life, along on our travels.

morganna

Lady in Red

2009-09-02T00:01:00.000-07:00

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

Offer her story... write it in 1st person.

___________________________

I'm feeling bold today
so I wore my red dress.
Feeling so bold today-
not at all the usual mess.

I'm feeling bold today
so I painted my lips.
Feeling so bold today-
I could swing my hips.

I'm feeling bold today
so I wore a red brimmed hat.
Feeling so bold today-
alone and unguarded I sat.

I'm feeling bold today
so I stood out for all to see.
Feeling so bold today-
today I showed everyone me.

Dani

Lighthouse

2009-09-01T00:01:00.000-07:00

Photograph by Highlander
~
Suggested prompt...
~

Include a lighthouse in your writing today.

_________________________

Stand alone
You are seen.
You shine high and bright.
To send me hope
That soon the sun will rise
And I will breathe that much easier
In the morning...

For blue skies.

Favorite Meal

2009-08-31T00:01:00.000-07:00

Photograph by Kathryn

for more of Kathryn's photography visit-

http://www.pbase.com/katwilkens

Suggested prompt...

Describe in delicious detail your favorite meal. Consider all your senses.

_____________________________

He sat alone at the table, his calloused hands folded in his lap. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had such a fine meal. Perhaps never.

Footsteps echoed off the walls and he sat up straighter, fidgeted a bit. He closed his eyes to heighten his senses, wanting to savour this moment, burn the memory in his mind.

The smell assaulted him first. His mouth watered in Pavlovian reflex and he swallowed thickly, greedily licking his chapped lips. Aroma wrapped around him, caressed him like a familiar lover who promised to fulfill every perverted desire. The plate gently touched the table before him and he waited until the footsteps faded away.

Alone again, though he knew he was watched, he slowly opened his eyes and stared at the feast before him: an enormous piece of prime rib—rare—garnished with a large dollop of strong horse radish. Arranged around it in homage to the succulent meat were parisienne potatoes, crisp asparagus and fried mushrooms.

He slowly cut into the tender meat then placed a small sliver on his tongue, relished the juices as they filled his mouth. The small morsel all but melted. The crisp outer shell of the potatoes housed a tender white interior. A mushroom cloud of steam erupted when he split them open. The asparagus, steamed to perfection, lay in a pool of melted butter next to over-sized seasoned portabellas.

His contented sighs punctuated the silence as he steadily ate through the meal, laying down his utensils after each mouthful, delaying the end as long as possible.

Crème brullée was the final indulgence. He tapped the crust gently, watched as the fault undulated across the golden scab, exposing the vulnerable richness beneath. Each spoonful was sheer joy.

The utensils now lay across the empty plate, meticulously lined up. He wiped his mouth carefully with the napkin and gently lay it atop the china. His eyes closed briefly as he sent silent thanks to the god he was convinced had long since turned away. He would remember that banquet as long as he lived.

He smirked as, once again, the footsteps approached, confirmation that he was watched. How else would they know he was done?

“Ready?” The question was asked, as though he had a choice. He merely nodded in reply, rose awkwardly and shuffled towards the door. With one final glance at the barren room, he followed the uniformed fellow out the door.

As he hobbled down the long corridor, the chains around his ankles clinked ominously, barely heard above the bellowed “Dead man walking!”

Monica Manning

Street Food

2009-08-29T00:01:00.000-07:00

Photo by Kane Hsieh
Visit his blog - Crimson-G-B
~
Suggested prompt...
~
Write a poem or story that has a street vendor in it.

_________________________

Monday to Friday he gathers his stock. Saturday he sets up his stall in the "Epicurean World" Street Market.

Monday to Friday he visits flats in slums. Dirt-filled parvements, cracked and unkempt beneath his boots. Landlords who take cash from their tenants, but give little in return.

He answers the desperate pleas of the slum dwellers 'This place is crawling with roaches. Please come and get rid of them.'

Like a magician in reverse, he magics away their problem. Leaving with a bulging, wriggling sack.
At home, he lights the gas under the pot of oil every night. As the smoke begins to rise he tips in the contents of the sack. The hiss, and bubbling soon subsides.

He fishes out the contents, and sprinkles them with seasoned salt. Soon, his cotton-lined baskets are full.

Saturday morning, bright and early, he sets out his stall. He has an awning to protect his wares. He whisks the covers off his baskets, and awaits the eager buyers.

Freshly fried cockroaches. One man's problem, another man's delicacy.

christine

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.

Dark Path

2009-08-28T00:01:00.000-07:00

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

Use this image to inspire your writing today.

_______________________

Fine damp
Threads hang, wetting
My face. They thicken and
Puff, hiding the path. Trail's end
Shimmers.

morganna

The Game

2009-08-26T00:01:00.000-07:00

Photo by Jessica

Visit Jessica's 365 Day Photo Project Blog

Suggested Prompt...

Write today in some creative way using

a sporting event that you enjoy watching.

_________________________________

A baseball game is only a baseball game. Or is it?

The late afternoon sun was barely touching the horizon when the umpire yelled,

“Srike two”.

Dust from the catcher’s mitt hovered in the air like a swamp fog.

My oldest daughter and her school friend wanted to play little league baseball that summer. No teams showed interest in either girl so ,the friend's father and I, volunteered to coach a team. The word got out, as usual, about us coaching the two girls on our own team. We ended up all the boys no team wanted with five girls in addition.

I have a hard time visualizing the pressure that she must be facing at this time. A quick sweaty faced glance toward third base, where I was coaching, sent a signal of desperation.

“Just remember what I said, Baby”. she hated for me to call her that at the ball field, but I couldn’t help myself. “Step into it with your left foot and swing at the next one”.

She stepped out of the batter’s box and wiped, with the back of her hand, as much sweat from her eyes as she could. I am not totally sure where the moisture came from. She looked back at me and I grinned and nodded my head in an affirmative nod.

The pitcher took his windup and as soon as the ball left his hand, everything began to react in slow motion. The baseball started it arched path toward the catcher. The bright red seams slowly end over end seemed to claw its way toward home plate. The first noticeable movement was the lifting of the pink sunflower patch covering the torn hole in the left knee of her trousers. The Nike tennis shoe lifted from the red sand and stepped toward the pitcher as the bat started its slow level swing. The red stitching and Louisville slugger met at the front edge of home plate. Before the crack of the bat could be heard, the parents from both teams exploded in a roar. Tiny puffs of dust chased her all the way to first base as the now scarred wound horsehide completed its journey into center field. a radiant beam of confidence shot its way across the diamond and struck me square in the chest. I knew where the moisture came from. It was not now or ever just a game. I can clearly see that now.

About to forget, that rag-tag bunch of boys and five girls won second place in the tri-cites baseball league that hot dusty summer.

glnroz

The Swing

2009-08-25T00:01:00.000-07:00

Photo by Dan Felstead
Wood and Pixels Narratives - http://www.woodandpixels.blogspot.com/
ETSY Shop: Wood andPixels - http://www.woodandpixels.etsy.com/
~
Suggested Prompt...
~

Offer a poem, story or memory that this wonderful photo inspires.

____________________

The effort to climb high becomes
Exhileration on the downswing.

Feeling on top of the world one moment,
Then feet back on the ground the next.

The swings we experience when young
Prepare us for those we will encounter later.

The majestic trees watch, and remember.
They've seen it all before, and will see it all again.

christine

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.

Thrill Rides

2009-08-24T00:01:00.000-07:00

Photo by Jim Pankey "WildSpirit"

Jim's Photography can be found at Picasa and Fotothing

Suggested prompt...

Offer a story set at a fair's fun zone.

_______________________________

He lost track of how many months since his layoff. His disbelief in his situation rested on his shoulders with every breath. Today, he chose to lock his woe in a closet and let his children soar through a day of smiles at the fair. They didn't worry for this one day of food, fun and games. A family needs to laugh even when hope seems to fade with each disappointment. This father reached into his pocket time and time again and said, "Get another candy apple. We will have a good day today."

septembermom

Single Prayer

2009-08-23T00:01:00.000-07:00

Photograph by Highlander

Suggested prompt...

~
Offer creatively one single prayer for today's writing.

Incorporate it in story, or maybe pray in rhyme, any creative way you like.

______________________

To whom it concerns,

I haven't decided whether there's one God or several, whether you're just some cosmic force, a breeze in the trees or the man sitting next to me on the bus. So, I don't know how to address this letter; don't want to offend. I thought, perhaps, God(s) would suffice, but maybe you aren't actually called 'God,' so 'To Whom it Concerns' seems the appropriate salutation.

You know that my prayers aren't frequent. In the past, I've sought you out only when I needed something, when things felt out of control or when I needed you to take care of someone I love. I was selfish then, and my faith was blind. I suppose I thought that prayer was all about taking, about relinquishing control. My prayers never expressed gratitude or thanks, they only asked you to take care of something for me, which was my subconscious way of freeing myself from all responsibility and casting it onto you, my scapegoat.

Looking back, many of my prayers were more like threats meant to put you in a position where it was impossible to bargain with me, to try and be the voice of reason. "If you don't make this happen, God, then I'll never believe in you again." Maybe I thought this extreme statement would make it imperative for you to answer my prayer.

In my young life, I somehow confused prayers with wishes to be granted. I knew I had free will, but I also believed that God could intervene in our daily lives, that he could make things happen. It makes life easier, more beautiful, somehow, thinking that you can give me my way.

God, I wish that there weren't wars over you, only they aren't really over you, but they are about you. They're over which interpretation, which religion is right. This may be presumptuous of me, but I don't think you agree or believe in organized religion. I certainly don't think you favor a particular religion over another. No, I think you probably hang your head in sorrow when you see people battling, when you see that true faith and belief is lost, and religion has really just become political. I believe that you put humans on this Earth to find each other, to believe in each other, to have more faith in themselves than in the divine. You created humanism. Somehow, this notion, this message, got muffled.

God, I don't know whether you have divine powers, whether you're an overseer of life on Earth, but I wish people didn't place all of their faith in you, something divine. Why can't people place their faith in something ordinary, like human nature? If we all believed in the power humans have, human nature would be something extraordinary. We have the power to change things, to change the world, it's just a matter of having the strength and the faith.

God, if you're out there, if you're listening, I want to thank you for human life. Please pray for us. Pray that we start to believe in each other so we can dig ourselves out of the deep ditch we've buried ourselves in.

Cheers,
Tin Kettle Inn

Berry

2009-08-22T00:01:00.000-07:00

Photograph by Abby

Visit her website http://www.tenkeyspread.deviantart.com/

Suggested Prompt...

Consider for a moment a ripe and succulent berry.

Its look, smell, texture, the way it feels in your hand, your mouth,

the moment its juices flood your tongue.

Close your eyes and imagine it.

Now write a poem for a berry.

_____________________________

berry of straw
berry of blue
berry of rasp
berry of cran

each taste is luscious
each scent is perfume
each one is a treasure
waiting to be found.

juice unlocks desire,
it taps the senses:
hear it swooshing,
taste it dancing,
feel it gliding,
see it gone.

behind, left are stains:
polish on fingers,
polka-dots on shirts,
of red, mahogany and blue.

Tin Kettle Inn

Ancient Warrior

2009-08-21T00:01:00.001-07:00

Tapestry by Stephanie Taylor

For more of her art and creativity visit -

http://stephanietaylorart.com/

http://picasaweb.google.com/staylorstudio

http://flickr.com/photos/stevieart

Art Blog - http://stephanietaylorart.blogspot.com/

Stories Blogs - http://movingnarratives.blogspot.com/ and

http://fremontparkart.blogspot.com/

Current project - http://valleyhilibrary.blogspot.com/

Suggest prompt...

Write a poem or a story inspired by this magnificent piece of art.

__________________________

I hide.

Behind the woven colors that caress my body,
Behind the beautiful fan I hold before my face,
Behind the frills of fabric,
the shine of my hair,

I hide.

They see a princess before them,
The beauty of a God.
They see a gentle dancer,
Celebrating their honor
Celebrating their kingdom-

But I hide-
my hand on my sword.

I will avenge you, father.

Dani

Lotus

2009-08-20T00:01:00.000-07:00

Photo by Lorelei

Visit her photo gallery at - http://www.pbase.com/birdseye

and her blog at - http://www.westcoastwriters.blogspot.com/

Suggested prompt...

Offer a haiku for a lotus.

______________________

Alluring goddess
serenades the white lotus
with impassioned kiss

Aroused by her touch
porcelain petals unfurl
in tempting delight

~She Poet~

At the Airport

2009-08-19T00:01:00.000-07:00

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

Write a scene that starts at the curb at an airport.

_____________________________

We met, so to say, on the internet three months ago. Two weeks after that first email, he had given me his phone number. I had nervously made that first call. We emailed numerous times a day. All day long. We'd talk on the phone in the evenings. We'd exchange late night phone calls.

But we still hadn't actually met. We had each emailed one photo, but that was it for any visual reference.

We had agreed to meet and actually set the date one week after that first call, three weeks after the emailing began.

My nerves were at their highest alert level when I stepped off the plane. I made my way to the baggage claim. I kept looking for the face from the photo, hoping to catch a glimpse of him before he spotted me.

I made my way to the curb outside the baggage claim, where we had agreed to meet. Three months. I had waited for this for three months.

I heard my name and turned. There he was, the man I had known for three months, the man I had longed to kiss and hold. The man who was on his knee, ring box open, asking me to marry him.

My life of happiness, our life filled with love, began on that curb at the airport.

Faith

Who is Right?

2009-08-18T00:01:00.000-07:00

Photo by Basir Seerat

visit Basir's photo blog at

http://www.basirseerat.blogspot.com/

Suggested prompt...

Write in any way creative you like about the idea of

hate or intolerance for another person's religion.

________________________

RELIGIOUS HARMONY

I walk my path
I sing my song
I live my dream
I’m my Self

You walk your path
You sing your song
You live your dream
You’re your Self

Paths vary;
Songs vary;
Dreams vary;
Does Self?

Let’s walk our path
Let’s sing our song
Let’s live our dream
Let’s be ourselves!

manivannan

Bravo to all who wrote with such grace and elegance on this difficult subject. If you have yet to visit Basir's website (he is the contributing photographer for this day's prompt) I encourage you to view not only the beauty of his photography but the haunting views of his country that are often difficult to accept. This photo of a religious icon with its eyes shot out I found took my breath away. Some of you may find this article on CNN helps to understand the context of the photo - http://www.cnn.com/2007/WORLD/asiapcf/05/10/afghan.buddhas/index.html - while I did not chose one of his photos of the empty holes in the cliff where the Buddhas once graced this valley, this image also captures the hatred the Taliban seems to revel in for their own country's culture.

Simply Pretty

2009-08-17T00:01:00.000-07:00

Photo by Simply Heather

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

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

Suggested prompt...

Use this simply pretty photo to inspire

a simple poem of no more than 5 lines today.

_____________________

Innocent little petals,
plucked one by one
in search of the eternal answer,
shatter dreams when they reply:
He loves me not.

Monica Manning

Love Hearts

2009-08-16T00:01:00.000-07:00

Photograpic Art by Abby
Visit her website http://www.tenkeyspread.deviantart.com/
~
Suggested Prompt...
~

Think of one person you love.

Offer them a poem.

Yes, feel free to get mushy. :)

___________________________

Always you,
my great love affair.
Our blood, our tears
intertwined like barbed wire
bound to memories
perceived differently
by each of us.

Our memoirs,
they read differently,
each cut and bruise
of childhood
remembered
so that blame is unfastened
from our backs.

The past
we carry on our backs
like turtle shells
to house us.
We retreat into it, now and then,
to remind us how we have the
same colored hair
and why we love each other.

In darkness
we played games
(like pull my feet)
when we should have
been asleep.

We argued,
you were always too messy,
I always took your clothes
(they always looked better on me).

Every Relationship
has its conflicts,
we may go years without speaking,
(though we never would)
but the fact still remains,
we are sisters.

Bound by sisterhood,
our past,
our hair shines red,
our face is the same.

This is not an apology.
You are the better half,
not that we're, together, a whole.
Your heart is the heart
I wish I had beating inside me.
But I know it beats for me,
just as mine
beats for you.

Sister,
you'll be my greatest
love affair.

Tin Kettle Inn

Art

2009-08-15T00:01:00.000-07:00

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

Recall a time when you saw a piece of artwork

that touched you, moved you, inspired you.

Use that thought, idea, experience creatively in your writing today.

___________________________

I’ve always loved art and have a true appreciation for the gift some people are given to bring life to pencil and paint. I am especially fond of the classics: Monet, Van Gogh, Rembrandt.

While in Sweden, we visited the National Museum in Stockholm. Knowing we were only interested in certain works, we carefully planned our visit, analyzing the visitor’s map, setting out our own personal tour. As with most art museums, each room was dedicated to either an artist or a particular period, with small foyers separating each area.

The Husband was reading the map, leading the way, and I simply wandered behind him, awed at the paintings I was seeing.

I glanced over my shoulder to see The Husband disappear around a corner. I followed him and found myself in a tiny darkened foyer. To my left was the entrance to a larger, brightly-lit room in which hung enormous paintings, at which The Husband was already gazing. I was about to follow him, when something caught my eye. The walls in this foyer were barren except for a glass-enclosed case to my right. I turned to look and the air rushed out of me as I gasped.

There, before me, was one of Rembrandt’s self-portraits, one he painted in 1630. It suddenly hit me—where I was, what I was experiencing. These were works I had only seen in books and slides in classrooms. Here I was, standing amidst paintings that were brushed hundreds of years ago, by legendary artists. Overcome with emotion, I began to tear and I stood like a fool gaping at this incredible artistry.

As I’m standing alone in this darkened room, gazing at the portrait, in walk four Chinese tourists. They do the same thing I did. They walk in, all gibbering to each other then stop cold as they see the self-portrait. There’s a moment of silence as it registers, then they all start chattering excitedly to each other in Chinese. Clearly, they can’t believe it either and are equally impressed. They see me—the only other person in the room—and point excitedly at the painting. I smile and nod with them, the excitement clear on my own face, I’m sure. They gather around me and we all stand there, in silence, gazing in wonder at this masterpiece.

I sniffle, trying to swallow the enormous lump in my throat. One of the men pats my shoulder and murmurs something comforting in Chinese, smiles at me and they go off into the next room, the bond broken, but not forgotten. Never forgotten.

Crazy Mo

Where She Fell...

2009-08-14T00:01:00.000-07:00

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

Really look at the photograph,

let it inspire your writing today.

Don't worry about right or wrong, dark or light

just offer your creativity as you are inspired.

______________________________

This is the worst of it.

The moments of the morning when I am fully awake and fully aware. It's the same moments that I realize she is not fully awake nor fully aware.

So, I grab my coffee and the car keys and make the quick trip over to her place. I pull into the driveway and am thankful there's no one else's car there but hers. And, then I pray. For her, for me.

I take a few deep breaths as I open the door trying to brace myself for what lies ahead. The door creaks loudly and swings open with a heavy feel to it.

And...

I smell her addiction.

I feel her helplessness.

I hear her hopelessness.

I move past the bottles and the unwashed dishes and the overflowing ashtrays. I peer into her bedroom and see her lying there on the floor.

Again.

again. and again. and again!

I feel the frustration within me rise.

And, just as quickly, I feel mercy push it back down.

I stoop down and lift her up into my arms so that I can lay her on the bed. She doesn't even open an eye or make a sound while I pull the covers over her.

And, I begin my morning.

Or, her morning.

Or, our morning.

And, I pray.

~ Denise ~

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.

Memorial

2009-08-13T00:01:00.000-07:00

Photo by Monica
at http://monicasmindlessmutterings.blogspot.com/
and http://familyaffairphotos.blogspot.com/
~

Suggested prompt...

Use this provocative image in any way you are inspired

to be creative with your writing today.

______________________

Walk me not through that field
of worry, grief, neglect.

Walk me towards that hope
of souls free of fear.

septembermom

Thoughts of Speed

2009-08-12T00:01:00.000-07:00

Photograph by Highlander
~
Suggested prompt...
~

Offer his internal dialog at this moment.

________________________________

The crowd cheers and I hit the throttle to give them more of what they came for, pushing the bike until it's vibrating so hard that my hands start to go numb.

New leather drags over grooved rubber as my fingers begin to slip and I tighten my grip, lean into the curve, and wait for gravity to come out and play.

And then it's here. That moment I've been craving, the one where the world goes quiet and suddenly nothing exists except the bike and the pavement and that interminable moment of helpless freefall before I accelerate through the turn and leave it's grasping danger behind.

That's the high. That's why I'm out here every weekend risking life and limb for some brass plated trophy I couldn't even get ten bucks for at a pawn shop.

And yeah, maybe the ex was right and I'm so addicted to the hum of adreneline racing through my blood that I can't feel alive unless I'm facing death.

Maybe I've got a thing for playing with fire and tempting fate.

Who cares?

We've all got to go sometime. At least my way pays the bills.

Sanity

Brave Men

2009-08-11T00:01:00.000-07:00

Photo by Jim Pankey "WildSpirit"
Jim's Photography can be found at Picasa and Fotothing
~
Suggested prompt...
~

Offer your writing about someone brave today.

__________________

Stand tall before the leaping flames,
With brothers you take careful aim.
You haven't come here for the fame,
No one needs to know your name.

So many lives depend on you,
To turn these black skies back to blue;
But when your job is finally through,
Do you really get your due?

Marc

Blue Heron

2009-08-09T07:54:00.000-07:00

Art by Tammy Vitale

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

Suggested prompt...

Let this image inspire your writing today.

______________________

Warm night with a peaceful mist
the frogs sung and the cicadas hissed
The lake reflected the very first light
of the sun peeking from underneath the night

Twas only then I saw her sleek form
moving slightly toward the brand new morn
A Heron of blue, she turned to face
and grant a wish to the human race

I scrambled to think of something grand
like an end to the war that plagued this land
But before I realized what I had done
the wish was granted and up rose the sun

She spread her wings and lifted into the sky
and flew till she was only a speck to my eyes
I didn't know then what would come of my thoughts
But the war was not over, it's still being fought

That very next night, I rocked in my chair
and looked out to the lake hoping she would be there
The night was warm with a peaceful mist...
and I knew I had gotten exactly what I had wished

Cynthia

Young Bird

2009-08-08T00:01:00.000-07:00

Photo by Brett Trafford

visit his site 365 to 42

for more beautiful photographs.

Suggested Prompt...

Use this wonderful image to be creative with your writing today.

Perhaps a children's story about a baby bird.

A poem about leaving the nest ... literally or metaphorically.

Perhaps a tale from your life where you rescued a young bird.

Look at it for a while and let what ever comes to mind flow to your fingertips.

____________________

it wouldn't work out, not at all
for you are a monet painting
and i'm a scratch on the wall.

the oaks stand tall
casting shadows over bushes, small.

as a raindrop i tap dance on umbrellas,
lightly, like astaire,
but what am i to you, a snowflake,
pirouetting through the air.

words i dart like stones at mirrors,
coarsing through verse like fevers.
but you are a pen, and i am a page,
virgin soil for you to stain.

i once was an elegant meadowlark,
my chorus was heard throughout the park.
but you were a hunter, and you clipped my wings,
i had once dreamed i could be many things.

thorny vines, bitterest root,
i am bound hand and foot.

Tin Kettle Inn

Full Moon

2009-08-07T00:01:00.000-07:00

Photo by Jim Pankey "WildSpirit"

Jim's Photography can be found at Picasa and Fotothing

Suggested prompt...

Let your writing be inspired in some

creative way by this beautiful full moon.

____________________

Jackson "Jack" Clemons wasn't a man who scared easily, but even the bravest amoung us have their limit.... and as he nervously watched the treeline surrounding his property through frost-dusted glass, Jack had to admit he'd long ago reached his.

There had been a full moon the first time he'd spotted them scurrying through the snow behind his house.

Hearing one of the metal trashcans beside his shed fall over, Jack had gone out to scare off whatever possum or raccoon had come to investigate his leftovers. Midnight guests were nothing out of the ordinary since the further man backed civilization up to nature the harder nature seemed to push back against civilization, but this time when he rounded the side of the house he hadn't found a racoon. He'd found Them.

Half a dozen bleached blue eyes flashed red in the glow of his flashlight and he'd stood statue still while three grotesquely humanoid shapes jumped down from the shiny tin can and fled, their nearly translucent skin hairless and blending far too easily into the late December snow.

Fool that he was, he'd been more intrigued than fearful at first, leaving them food in hopes of tempting them back, eager to unravel the mystery of the ugly little creatures hiding in the forest...

After close to forty years of walking the woods behind his little house, part of him just couldn't believe anything in the forest he'd come to know neary as well as his own backyard could hurt him.

He'd been wrong..

The moonlight made it worse, it's cold grey-blue light coating the skeletal branches that stretched out beyond the clearing, filling the night with shifting shadows that played on his fears and concealed his enemies.

How many of them were out there this time? Their souless eyes staring back at him from the darkness, bloodless lips pulled back over jagged, razor sharp teeth in a silent snarl...

Dozens? Hundreds? More?

He couldn't be sure.

Movement in the trees caught his attention and Jack tightened his hand on the gun, the cold steel heavy and awkward in his trembling grip.

He wasn't sure if he could shoot left handed, but it wasn't like he had a lot of choice since the mangled fingers of his right had been rendered useless beneath the thick gauze bandage covering them.

No one believed him, not that he could really blame them since there were times when he could barely believe himself.

Even his own daughter had been asking questions.. the kind of gently probing questions you ask someone when you think they might be getting soft in the head.

"Dad, are you sure you're alright? What did Dr. Micheals say? Have you been taking your heart medication? Why don't you come down to Miami for a couple of months? The kids would love to see you."

He was tempted, but he couldn't leave. Not yet. He might be sixty seven years old, but he wasn't senile, and there was no way he was letting those things out there drive him from his own home.

No matter what anyone else thought, there was something in those woods. Something that stalked it's prey and waited for the moon to become full between attacks. Something that civilization had managed to stupidly awaken with ithe sudden onslaught of superhighways and cookie-cutter ranch style suburbs.

Jack watched the slithering shadows inch closer over the falling snow while the wind howled forlornly in the distance.

"Please," Jack whispered to the moon soaked night, "let it be the wind..."

Sanity

Some wonderful lunar inspired writing for this prompt. Sanity... this was wonderful, I wanted more. :) ~ Laura Jayne

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.

Eye See

2009-08-06T00:01:00.000-07:00

Photo Collage by Abby

Visit her website http://www.tenkeyspread.deviantart.com/

Suggested Prompt...

Offer a poem to this unique image.

_____________________________

EYE SEE

I see you every morning when you awake
I see you fixing your lunch and preparing for work
I see you when you kiss me goodbye, wishing me a good day

I see you every afternoon as I look around our comfortable home
I see you even when you aren't here
I see you when you call with the 30 minute warning as I prepare our supper

I see you with a happy heart when you finally arrive for the night
I see you as you relish your meal and settle in for the evening
I see you as we share our day, sometimes in words or in comfortable silence

I see you as we call it a night, express our love and head for bed
I see you in my fractured dreams, you're always on my mind
I see your essence, I see your heart, my eyes can see your love

...... Bobbi

Where They Roam

2009-08-05T00:01:00.000-07:00

Photo by Jim Pankey "WildSpirit"
Jim's Photography can be found at Picasa and Fotothing
~
Suggested prompt...
~

Describe this scene as if it is the first time you have seen a buffalo.

Imagine yourself a settler in a new and wild America.

________________________

Something inside me feels what they feel; these beautiful creatures larger than I. It’s as though we sense one another’s meaning on this earth. I quiver to think that the huge mass of breathing life is able to feel this fear inside of me. I can’t run; simply stand in awe of this moment. Just look at them, there are so many and here I am, myself, all alone; yet it is me that they are in fear of.

I stand here, in this moment of gaze and I wait for them to turn from me. As the sun begins to set, the last of the many turns to join his herd and a sigh of relief comes over me. I pack my belongings that I had dropped in that first quivering of time and begin walking away when I suddenly feel the earth trembling beneath my feet.

Afraid to look, but with a deep desire to know, I turn my head and the trembling stops. There before me is that last buffalo, standing strong and looking me in the eye. You’d have thought I was full of fear, but I wasn’t. I stood there and in that striking moment, it was as if he was telling me something.

We both turned in the direction of our homes, never to be in one another’s company again. Not again.

It wasn’t until much later when I found this photo in with the rest and I saw that one buffalo, the one that approached me, standing alone, peering in my direction. He must have known that I was stealing a piece from him that day but it was just a small piece. It was nothing in comparison to what the others would do in time.

Looking back on that day, in the beauty of that piece of earth; I recall the serenity, the nature of the setting and wonder if he knew as well as I did that it would not remain. It would not remain.

Simply Heather

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.

Up

2009-08-04T00:01:00.000-07:00

Photo by Kathryn

for more of Kathryn's photography visit-

http://www.pbase.com/katwilkens

Suggested prompt...

Offer a bit of your creative writing for this wonderful image.

_______________________

Gaia is boiling. At first the hints she gave were subtle, and could only be detected by the experts and scientists within the Confederation, the men and women we called our innovators, but in recent years here cries have been more pleading, more severe. Her wrath can be destructive to humans, and has proven to be, yes, but the lashings the human race receive from Gaia are the result of her trying to heal herself by compensating for loss and destruction caused by human hands.

The hole scientists discovered is her way of telling us that she is a soul and will go on living, the Earth being only a body to contain her, but this body holds other lives, it's held responsible and accountable for other lives. The human race has been biting the hand that feeds it, cutting down trees that supply oxygen and driving vehicles from place to place that emit harmful pollution, causing the hole to grow bigger and acid rain to fall on the Earth, on people.

Our innovators thought their role was messenger. They thought Gaia wanted them to tell everyone - from the heads of the Confederation to the farmer, from the car salesman to the writer, from the upper class and elite to the poor and forgotten - that they have to change their lives so the damage may be reversed, so the planet may be changed for the better. Our messengers didn't think this message applied to them. After all, they are innovators who use their knowledge to discover how things work, why things happen and, perhaps, most importantly, what these things mean for the future. They're innovators, mainly, because of how they go about this, the tools they use. Nothing in the Confederation is as simple as it once was, and perhaps this has to do with knowledge, with science, with technological advancement.

Oracles, such as myself, within the Confederation have found that the innovators are just as short-sighted as the elite and the heads of state. Year after year has brought a new advancement to solve a problem at hand, only to now have the consequences of its implementation be realized. Innovators have machinized everything so that the Confederation relies on electricity to function and everything that operates within it is difficult to recycle.

I heard Gaia whisper, and I heard her cry, too.

"The Earth," she said, "the Earth takes care of people, oh, why can't people take care of the Earth?"

Gaia reminded the Oracles of the Confederation that man and planet once coexisted, and they can again. My people are Oracles, we live in a floating city, and we believe in Gaia. We followed her to where the planet ends, through the ozone hole in unchartered territory. We left behind the Confederation, their technology, their short-term answers and their destructive ways.

The air has replaced our ground. We fly weightless, traveling in balloons instead of planes, trains and automobiles. We escaped the Confederation, leaving that part of the planet like smoke through a chimney. My people live amongst clouds in colorful balloons that utilize nature to mobilize us, to carry us from ruins to freedom. Oracles are free of the planet, and now we have to act as its heart, even though we're only a small part. We've lifted off and we may never come back down, unfortunately.

Tin Kettle Inn

Open Door

2009-08-03T00:01:00.000-07:00

Photo by Simply Heather
Visit her Blog - http://joyfulbussin.blogspot.com/
And her Photo Blog - http://simplyjoyfulphotos.blogspot.com/
~
Suggested prompt...
~
Write today about a door opening.
Use this idea in any creative way that moves you.

_____________________

My secret place
Nobody but me
Free to dream
Free to just be

The door leads the way
To paths unknown
Step inside now
Before you're too grown.

Mandy

Butterfly Love

2009-08-01T00:01:00.000-07:00

Photo by C. John Edwards his blogs are -
http://scriptorsenex.blogspot.com/

http://cjeinexeter.blogspot.com/

http://cjehebrides.blogspot.com/

http://pensbyetal.blogspot.com/

and website -http://www.johnsbooks.org/galleries/gallery%201.htm
~

Suggested prompt...

On his blog C. John writes of this photo...

A female Common Blue with a male flying in

in the hope of having his wicked way with her.

Offer a poem of butterfly love or maybe his poem to her.

_____________________

Awe, your beauty asstounds me
Your colors
The way your move
I want to come closer
I want to be near you
To feel the air's movement around you
To feel your slight warmth
To hear your sweet breath

Awe, my love
You are everything to me
The joy you bring swells within my breast
And I am overcome
Please turn to me
Please hold my heart
Put me out of my longing, this miserable yearning

Awe, my love
You make my soul fly
It soars above us, as we nestle here in the grass together
It leaps amongst the clouds
And lands amongst the sun
My sweet

My butterfly

Dani

The Porch

2009-07-31T00:01:00.000-07:00

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

Tulips

2009-07-30T00:01:00.000-07:00

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 ~

Innocence

2009-07-29T00:01:00.000-07:00

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

The Musician

2009-07-28T00:01:00.000-07:00

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

Boats in the Harbor

2009-07-27T00:01:00.000-07:00

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

Butterfly

2009-07-25T00:01:00.000-07:00

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

Tire Swing

2009-07-24T00:01:00.000-07:00

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

The Concert

2009-07-23T00:01:00.000-07:00

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

On the Beach

2009-07-22T00:01:00.000-07:00

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

Life Lessons

2009-07-21T00:01:00.000-07:00

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

Mermaid

2009-07-20T00:01:00.000-07:00

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

In the Shadows

2009-07-19T00:01:00.000-07:00

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

The Store

2009-07-18T00:01:00.000-07:00

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

So Sad

2009-07-16T00:01:00.000-07:00

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

My Street

2009-07-15T00:01:00.000-07:00

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

Fat Cat

2009-07-14T00:01:00.000-07:00

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

Train Ride

2009-07-13T00:01:00.000-07:00

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

Girl Talk

2009-07-12T00:01:00.000-07:00

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

A Boy and His Dog

2009-07-11T00:01:00.000-07:00

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

A Good Book

2009-07-10T00:01:00.000-07:00

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

Solitary Pebble

2009-07-09T00:01:00.000-07:00

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

I am...

2009-07-08T00:01:00.000-07:00

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

Ancient Art

2009-07-07T00:01:00.000-07:00

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

Which to Wear

2009-07-05T00:01:00.000-07:00

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

Working Hands

2009-07-04T00:01:00.000-07:00

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.

The View

2009-07-03T00:02:00.000-07:00

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

Reflections

2009-07-02T00:01:00.000-07:00

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.

Decay

2009-07-01T00:01:00.000-07:00

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_

Violets

2009-06-30T00:01:00.000-07:00

Photo by Simply Heather

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

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

Suggested prompt...

Offer some beautiful writing for these beauitful flowers.

________________________

The violets have returned again. It gets harder and harder to remember your face as time separates us.

Your mom and I planted the violets the day you were born. The day you left was the saddest day of my life...and not knowing even if you are still with us haunts me to this day. Running away was your solution and our punishment...we have served our sentence after these 15 years. You would be 31 years old now...please come home if you are still alive...

We miss you so much.

Love,

Mom and Dad

Dan Felstead

The Girls

2009-06-29T01:01:00.000-07:00

Photograph by Tiffany
For more of her art and photography visit ~ http://www.tiffanygholar.com/
~
Suggested prompt...
~

Offer your writing for this image today.

__________________________

Best friends since we were little girls
In our patent leather shoes and fluffy skirts
Playing hopscotch and double dutch
And running from the boys and their cooties

Best friends still starting high school
Baggy jeans and rocker tees
Dances to attend, gossip to exchange
And chasing every cute boy we saw

Best friends starting college
Side by side we went
Just us against the world
Chasing all our crazy dreams

Best friends through it all
Unplanned pregnancies
Weddings planned
And parents’ passing

Twenty years passing
In the blink of an eye
Yet, we all stand together
Still best friends after all this time.

Jessica

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.

The Call

2009-06-28T00:01:00.000-07:00

Photo by Kane Hsieh

Visit his blog - Crimson-G-B

Suggested prompt...

Write creatively so that we understand what this phone call is about.

_______________________

Pulling his cell phone from his pocket, Gregg sat down on the steps, away from the rest of the crew. He glanced at his watch. It was just before eight, almost bedtime. He knew she was waiting up for him, waiting for his call before she climbed into bed with her entourage of stuffed bears. He punched the familiar numbers into his phone, pressed it up to his ear and listened to the rings.

She answered the phone breathlessly, excited, as always, to hear from him. He chatted with her about her day in kindergarten and what the new puppy had done.

As usual, before he could say goodnight, she asked him, “Daddy, will you sing with me?”

He grinned into the darkness. “Of course I will, honey.” He glanced around, to be sure no one was nearby, and softly began singing. “Twinkle, twinkle, little star ...” Her tiny voice joined in with his until the end.

Giggling, she whispered, “Goodnight, Daddy. Love you!”

“Goodnight, sweetheart. I love you too,” he replied quietly.

Pocketing his phone, he turned to climb back up the stairs and was met with several senior crewmembers, all grinning at him. He shook his head, his face reddening. As he walked through the group of men clapping his back and punching him in the arm, they catcalled. “Hey Gregg, will you sing Old McDonald with me?”. “How about Mary had a little lamb? That’s my favourite!”

He grinned back at them, knowing each one of them, at some point in their service, had done the exact same thing. Their teasing was nothing more than an initiation; their way of saying ‘welcome to the club’.

Crazy Mo

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.

Music

2009-06-27T00:01:00.000-07:00

Photo by Dan Felstead
Wood and Pixels Narratives - http://www.woodandpixels.blogspot.com/
ETSY Shop: Wood andPixels - http://www.woodandpixels.etsy.com/
~
Suggested Prompt...
~

Include music in some creative way in your writing today.

______________________

The stage was set. Behind the pulpit stood the music stands, the sheet music, and Gary's beloved silver trombone.

The congregation was trying to update its appeal, even giving the young people a chance to showcase their talents.

Gary wasn't athletic. He wasn't handsome or funny. He was nice Christian young man who did have a gift for music.

The church had never seen this side of him. Too bad it took 16 years for them to find a place for him to shine... but everything was set, even the dramatic light on the silver trombone. It was as if God was there for a recital.

The music was about to begin... in the sanctuary and in Gary's life.

Don

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.

Ode to a Strawberry

2009-06-26T00:01:00.001-07:00

Photograph by Don

Visit his wonderful blog at -

http://musingsandmiscthoughts.blogspot.com/

Suggested prompt...

Stop for a minute and consider a strawberry,

the look of it, the seeds, the shine, the juice, the smell, and look...

now offer this little luscious fruit a poem.

______________________

Oh, sweet dear little berry mine
Picking you will just be fine
I have no doubt that you are true
As red invades my dress of blue
Come home with me and I shall wash
The dirt and fuss in water's toss
Sweet berry, dear, my love for you
Will grow with heart and thought anew
I have a friend for you to know
Waiting on the shelf to show
How wonderful a pair you'll make
A creamy chocolate bond to take

My favorite treats in summer be
Strawberry-chocolate dreams you see

Simply Heather

Sittin' on the Dock

2009-06-26T00:01:00.000-07:00

Photo by Sabrina
Visit her blog - Nouns Make Verbs
~
Suggested prompt...
~

Offer your writing for this image from

the point of view of one of the kids sitting here.

_______________________

This has always been one of my favorite childhood picture. Aunt Joyce took the picture of the four girl cousins: the two older and the two younger. That's me on the far right -- the youngest.

We were at Big Bear Lake enjoying the sun in our cutoffs and shorts.

But what makes this picture my favorite is that Cousin Candy is wearing the friendship bracelet I made her at camp. (She's on the far left.)

It was the first time in my life that I felt included, valued, and loved by the older cousins.

That week changed my life, and this picture is proof of my arrival into the society of the girl cousins. I mattered.

Don

Quiet Pond

2009-06-25T00:01:00.000-07:00

Photo by Lorelei

Visit her photo gallery at - http://www.pbase.com/birdseye

and her blog at - http://www.westcoastwriters.blogspot.com/

Suggested prompt...

Offer a poem for this quiet scene.

________________________

I pour into the water
with eyes full of serenity.

A quiet frames my movement
as I linger to absorb all.

Gentle calm unlocks thought
when my poetry flies free.

septembermom

Best Friends

2009-06-24T00:01:00.000-07:00

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

Write of your best friend.

_________________

I miss her.

Since age 10 we were inseparable. Joined at the hip, they used to call it. We were two peas in a pod. If we weren't at home, our parents knew we were at the other house. Our second home.

We were like sisters.

Spending every summer's day together, and every afternoon hour during school days, we were that.

We even gave ourselves our own last name. Because we were family.

Then we parted. It was like tearing a piece of fabric down the center. College. Marriage. Life took hold of us and sent us in different directions.

Now it's phone calls, cards, birthday and Christmas gifts. Two or so daytime visits every year.

Someday we like to think we'll live next to each other again. Like we did way back when. Someday we'll be neighbors and grow old together. We'll watch our children grow and take off in their own lives. Then we'll sit on the porch together and things will be how they used to be.

Joined at the hip. Two peas in a pod. Inseparable. A second home.

Dani

Simply Breathtaking

2009-06-23T00:01:00.000-07:00

Photo by Jim Pankey "WildSpirit"
Jim's Photography can be found at Picasa and Fotothing
~
Suggested prompt...
~

Offer a poem for this beautiful image.

______________________

A blue so vibrant,
transports me up the summit,
with eyes to the apex,
and a soul thirsting for more.

septembermom

The Gallery

2009-06-22T00:01:00.000-07:00

Photo by Kane Hsieh
Visit his blog - Crimson-G-B
~
Suggested prompt...
~

They may be talking of the art, or something else... write their dialog.

____________________

“Man, I can't believe you like it here. The concrete floors, the bizarre photos.” The speaker wears glasses and a sulky expression as he gestures at the photo in front of him and his companion.

“Hush,” he makes short patting gestures in front of his friend, “This is important.” He wears a gray shirt and looks around expectantly.

A man all in black comes hurrying up. He is present almost by omission, as the light skitters around him, leaving a void filled by his personality alone. “Can I help you, gentlemen?”

“We're here to see Solomon.”

“Man, I don't wanna get involved in something, you know, not right. You know I can't.”

“Would you relax?”

The man in black is looking concerned. “Is there a problem? Solomon only sees those who are in a calm state of mind.”

“There's no problem. My friend's just a little nervous. I've never brought him before.”

He still looks doubtful. The man in a gray shirt reaches into his pocket, palms samething, and presses the gatekeeper's hand warmly. The gatekeeper glances down, smiles, and says, “Right this way, please,” as he slides his hand into his own pocket.

The two visitors are led through the gallery and through a series of halls. They stop in front of an anonymous door. The gatekeeper knocks and the door swings open. Inside a luxurious room, on a raised dais, reclines an enormous cat. “I present you Solomon,” booms the gatekeeper.

morganna

Your Dad

2009-06-21T00:01:00.000-07:00

Suggested prompt...

Offer a bit of writing... for, about or tribute to... your father.

Happy Day!

This is my father. I was blessed the day they

found each other, they... my mother and Rick.

____________________

Yesterday, to celebrate his 70th birthday, my Dad went sky diving for the first time in his life.

I went to watch and keep my Mom company (and attempt to keep her calm). When he was all geared up and ready to head to the plane he was grinning like a kid in a candy store. I can't recall ever seeing him so excited.

Once he touched down safely (and after Mom had snuck a drink to help her nerves) his first reaction was, "What an awesome experience!"

His later thoughts were quite well represented by this quote: "I don't know why I waited seventy years to do that!"

I've gone sky diving twice myself, so I know how he feels. I just never would have even dreamed he'd decide to do it now.

I'll remember the look on his face for the rest of my life.

Marc

School Days

2009-06-20T00:01:00.000-07:00

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

Write creatively using a memory from your elementary school days.

Would love for you to have one with a bus in it, but some of you may not have taken a bus.

_______________________

It was the last day of the school year and everyone was alive with excitement. The clock bell rang, as we all ran out to our buses.

I climbed aboard the big yellow machine and noticed my cousin motioning to me to come to the back of the bus. It was always exciting to be invited to sit in the back. It was reserved for the high school kids and they didn’t invite just any elementary school kids back there.

I climbed into the back seat with Neil and he grinned as the bus pulled out to take us home.

“Here take this.”

He handed me a balloon filled with water.

I stared in confusion. “What’s this for?”

He never got to answer, a
s a boy sitting a few seats up from us whipped around with the biggest water gun I had ever seen.

It was on and everyone was fully prepared. The water fight waged on for miles.

I stepped off the bus to my mom ringing wet.

“What in the world?”

“Mommy, we had a water fight. It was so much fun. Neil gave me water balloons and my own water gun, too.”

Laughing, she said, “Let’s get you home and changed.”

Jessica

Behind the Door

2009-06-19T00:01:00.001-07:00

Photograph by Highlander

Suggested prompt...

There is a story behind that door... write it.

_________________________________

4/13/09
Out on the street, the shop seems like your typical small town curiosity shop with bobble headed dolls, new age velvet paintings of dolphins arching over a moonlit ocean, incense burners and books on magic. But why are they open only at night? I have often seen people enter the shop and not come out for an hour or two...strange people who only seem to come out at night. No children, mostly middle aged loners...the kind that look down as you pass by, never acknowledging that you even exist.

6/11/09
Down the alley towards the back of the shop is where they come out...never using the front door that they entered. Are they embarrassed about what they did inside? Are they buying something illegal...not wanting to be discovered? The answer lies behind the alley door.

6/14/09
The locals just change the subject when I ask about the shop. They know and they are protecting someone or something. I moved here 3 months ago to start my new life after graduating with full honors from law school. Passing though the town often on the way to Carmel, I always thought this would be the perfect place to start up a practice...no other attorneys...no competition...just me, my naive idealism and the locals flooding through the door so I can serve them.

6/15/09
After three months, it is obvious I am not welcomed in this cliquish, private club disguised as a town.

6/16/09
Tonight I will find out what is going on in the inner circle...I am going in that back alley door that so many exit from each night.

"The Carmel District Attorney has charged Mayor Richards of Salem, California with conspiracy to commit murder along with several other townspeople to be announced at a later date of the brutal ritualistic slaying of John Williamson on June 17th, a local lawyer. The charges were filed after the discovery of the above journal notations in a drawer at Williamson's office. A news conference will be held later today detailing the raid on the "Courious Finds" shop in Salem.

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.

A Letter

2009-06-18T00:01:00.000-07:00

Photo by Sabrina

Visit her blog - Nouns Make Verbs

Suggested prompt...

Dear ____,

I wanted to write you this letter to explain.

(Write this letter to yourself from someone you wish would write to you.)

______________________________

Dear June,
I wanted to write you this letter to explain. Heaven is everything you'd want it to be, and so much more.

The weather is perfect! It's sunny, but not too sunny. When it rains, it is the kind of rain that cleanses. Even the snow doesn't feel cold, but it makes great snowballs!

I've had my eye on you and your brothers all these years. I am really proud how you all turned out (your Grandma is watching over my shoulder as I write this, she said to tell you 'hi'). I'm sorry that you married a couple of losers, but really glad that you finally met a good one. You never were a quitter.

I am especially tickled by the grandkids and great grandkids...how I wish I was there to have them sit in my lap and read to them. Don't be sad, I have seen how well they are all loved and cared for - I couldn't have done a better job.

When you talk to your mom at the nursing home, tell her not to get in a big hurry to join me - I'm enjoying the quiet (you better NOT tell her that! lol).

I know that her Alzheimer's is progressing, and she can't remember that I came here in 1983. It's sad to watch her slip away like that. I know she can be real happy here, I just hope that she won't embarrass me by yelling, like she used to.

June, you always were a good daughter. I miss you, but don't expect to spend time with you for many years.

Thanks for telling the kids and grandkids about me - and you're right, if I were there, I'd have fallen in love with every one of them.

I'm going to close by saying the last thing I said to you before I came here - I love you, June. Please don't worry so much.

Love,
Dad

June Freaking Cleaver

So many unique and wonderfully creative pieces of writing for this prompt. Bravo!! ~ Laura Jayne

Duck

2009-06-17T00:01:00.000-07:00

Photo by Brett Trafford

visit his site 365 to 42

for more beautiful photographs.

Suggested Prompt...

Give her a name and give her a story or poem.

Jemima Puddleduck?

_____________

White was her color,
Pearl was her name,
Her daddy gave it to her
But, to her, it was all the same.

She had a little family,
Their colors varied true...
She felt her life was yet to start,
And she would meet it too!

She often walked along the deck
Out over the black waters
To look out toward the setting sun,
And let the wind ruffle feathers.

She dreamed of things to someday be,
Of a life lived in another day...
Then the time did come when fall turned winter
And they took flight with freedom and away.

She flew at the point with her neck held high
Her feathers blowing in the wind
And now her dreams were coming fast
Her life now began to begin.

Dani

Holding Safe

2009-06-16T00:01:00.000-07:00

Art by Tammy Vitale

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

Suggested prompt...

Offer a poem for this image.

_________________

Sweet child,
Life in my arms,
Flesh of my flesh,
Heart of my heart,
I love you,
Always and forever.

rosebud101

Two Faces

2009-06-15T00:01:00.000-07:00

Photo by Jim Pankey "WildSpirit"

Jim's Photography can be found at Picasa and Fotothing

Suggested prompt...

Use this intriguing image to inspire your writing today.

______________________

He had two faces he showed to the world. The calm, peaceful monk was living a double life. Most of the time he could be found at the monastery, praying and carrying out his vows of silence. He was also brewmaster for the brewery, where the monastery brewed beer to sell to outsiders. As brewmaster, he occasionally made trips to the outlying villages around the monastery, and to the nearby city, to sell the beer.

Usually, he travelled truthfully, as a monk, especially when he went to the city. The city folks were discerning, and cynical, and would never buy monastery beer from a non-monk.

But when he went to a certain village, the farthest one from the village, and in the opposite direction from the city, he traveled in disguise. He looked forward to these times with relish, with secret, forbidden tingles. For then he traveled as a layman, free from his vows and free from the constricts of custom and habit. He pretended he had been hired by the monastery to bring the beer to this remote village, too far for a monk to travel alone.

And in this disguise, he didn't just travel, but he led a second life. He courted and married a young woman, he visited outside the store with the other men, he had a child with his wife, and he got rip-roaringly drunk.

morganna

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.

Stony Conversations

2009-06-14T00:01:00.000-07:00

Photograph by Tiffany

For more of her art and photography visit ~ http://www.tiffanygholar.com/

Suggested prompt...

Share a story that includes their dialog.

__________________________

"Calliope, can you see that man's buttcrack? Look, he's bending over to pick up the change that fell out of his pocket. What a tool!"

"Can it, Thalia! I have SUCH a headache, this sun is killing me."

"Thalia, you're such a bitch. Calliope just wanted to make you laugh."

"Thanks, Melpomene, you're a doll. Hey you too, see that boy in the blue Yankees hat, the one nearest the fountain? I do believe he's looking up my dress!"

June Freaking Cleaver

Outside

2009-06-13T00:01:00.000-07:00

Photograph by François Dubeau

François' photos and a link for his art can be found at -

http://www.francoisdubeau.com/photos/

Suggested prompt...

Outside waited his/her destiny...

____________________

Her heart was excited today, and she fought off her body's exhilaration. She didn't want to be sweating too much. This was the day her life would begin.

She sat in front of the mirror, the women around her fussing away with her hair and make-up. She never fussed so much over herself. She wouldn't have aloud so much fussing except for today. Today she accepted with open arms. Because today was special. It made her mom feel better anyway to fuss.

The others busily were putting in earrings, applying mascara and lipstick, rouge. But she felt like she didn't need rouge. She felt like her heart's glow would give her face enough color. A small smile played on her lips and her hands shook as she looked down at her nails, which another woman was polishing in a lovely french manicure.

"Relax, Amber. Your fingers are so jittery! I really don't want to mess this up!" This was her best friend, Jen.

Jen had been there for her entire life. It felt like a bittersweet time between them. A matter of saying goodbye in a way...parting ways on how they had done every other thing in life together. In this, Amber was going on alone.

Jen met with Amber's gaze then for a moment. In an instant they communicated in perfect understanding. Although life was going on in different directions, they would always remain the best of friends. Amber fought back the tears now. They wouldn't help with her jitters.

The time seemed to fly by before she knew it. Suddenly she was standing in front of the screen door, looking out toward the car that would take her to the church. Her heart started to pound more now. Outside waited her destiny.

The others, in their pink dresses, helped her cross the threshold. They held the door open, lifted her white train, and held her sleek veil.

And she stepped through, on her way to meet it. Her destiny.

Dani

Laughter

2009-06-12T00:01:00.000-07:00

Photo by Dan Felstead

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

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

Suggested Prompt...

Use this expressive image in any creative way you are inspired to write today.

________________

Splish ~ Splash
The waters dash
Finding freedom in the air

Drip ~ Drop
The waters plop
Returning whole once again

Squeel ~ Smiles
Playing for awhile
Refreshed by waters touch

Run ~ Hop
Never to stop
In these youthful days of play

Simply Heather

A Little Luck

2009-06-11T00:01:00.000-07:00

Photo by Simply Heather

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

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

Suggested prompt...

It brought with it a bit of luck...

__________________

A lady bug, a lady bird,
Of life and luck, she does emerge.

A little boy, who believes her so,
Has hundreds of miles yet to go.

As he travels his time, his many pursuits,
She watches him move, his life is en route.

He finds the road, he winds his way through,
Life’s good times and bad, every day’s vibrant hue.

As the days near their end, when each breath is so hard,
He rests in the memories of his soulful heart’s scar.

He dreams back to the day when he held her in hand,
The day that she promised him the whole of the land.

The world is not his, nor would he want it, it’s true.
All he ever wanted in this world, love, is you.

shabby girl