Photo by Simply Heather
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Innocent little petals,
plucked one by one
in search of the eternal answer,
shatter dreams when they reply:
He loves me not.
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.
Photo by Simply Heather
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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
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.
Photo by Simply Heather
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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
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.
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Photo by Simply Heather
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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".
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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
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.
Photo by Simply Heather
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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
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.
Photo by Simply Heather
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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.”
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.
Photo by Simply Heather
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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
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.
Photo by Simply Heather
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I didn't understand him. My father would go out to that river every Sunday and would fish. My mother didn't allow anyone else to go with him. We would all go to service. What gave him the right to skip out of it? He called it his religion. I only remember my mother mentioning church to him once and I'll never forget his reply.
"I learn more out there at the water than I ever will from that man's preaching."
I wondered what he meant by that. What could he possibly learn from the river water? All I learned from the river was how to get my shoes dirty and my mother mad. Or perhaps how to catch a frog without his expecting anything.
But still, my father went out every Sunday.
Finally one Sunday I didn't bother asking my mother again. I asked him instead.
"Dad, can I go with you today?"
He didn't look up from the fly he was tying. He didn't look up to see the disapproving look in my mother's eyes. All he did was nod once and say, "Yes, I guess it's about time you try my religion."
My mother didn't have anything to say to that. She just pursed her lips and went back to getting my little sister's ribbon tied in her hair. I knew she was upset, but I didn't care. I didn't want to go to church today. I didn't want to sit in the pew and hear the same man talk about the same things again. I wanted to understand my father.
I helped my dad carry his equipment to the truck. It made me feel important in a way. I also felt a little out of place. I was so used to wearing my uncomfortable Sunday best on this day of the week. It felt a bit odd to be dressed in my play clothes.
It wasn't long and we were standing at the river together. He hadn't said a word. Once in a while he would whistle through his teeth as he tied a fly to his line. I sat on a rock next to him as he waved the pole over his head and into the water.
It was so still. There was not even a breeze in the air. The water was crystal-like and showed the reflection of the trees like glass. The only motion was my father and his line, and the slight ripple it made in the water. It was quiet. It continued to be this way for some time. Once in a while there would be a slight jerk to his line and he'd reel in a fish just like that. It looked easy enough to me. I could have fallen asleep if the rock I sat upon was more comfortable.
Then after what felt like an hour or so, he turned to me. "Come over here and try this out."
I took a hold of the rod and he showed me how to work it. It seemed easy enough.
Then I felt a little tug and my father told me to start reeling. So I did.
All at once the tension was gone and the line came in quickly.
I'd broken the line.
He told me to be more gentle. He told me that the big fish that bite are going to put up a fight, that I have to be patient and they will get tired before me.
Then he took back the pole.
And I resumed by position on the rock.
What happened next I will never forget. I will forever remember the way it was. There was a tug on his line and away he went. He was in the water! He kept a hold of his pole and started splashing through the water. I didn't understand it. What was he doing? Doesn't that scare the fish away? But there was still tension on his line. He headed down the river and I followed along the bank watching until he came up with a fish the size of his whole arm.
I didn't understand it then, but I never forgot it. Now I understand what made it a religion.
We may fight with things to the point of breaking, but if we have the patience to hold on, if we are gentle and submissive, we will come off conquerer. He had waited for the fish to get tired. He had kept his line from breaking. And he had won.
I didn't go with my father on Sunday again after that. I went back to church as Mother said. But I never forgot the experience and I never will.
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.
Photo by Simply Heather
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Star light, star bright,
The first star I see tonight;
I wish I may, I wish I might,
Have the wish I wish tonight
The last time I saw her, we sat on the steps of the back porch making a wish and planning our future. She wanted to be a nurse, me a fireman. I heard years later that she never made it through college, married young, no children, and divorced him after the scandal. I lost track of her after that.
I received the obituary notice from my grade school friend. He always thought that she and I would go through life together. Funny, how our minds work at that age. The Obit says that her lifelong wish of becoming a nurse was realized last year when she graduated from the state college and she was employed at the local hospital. She was always so caring...I knew that someday she would see her dream come true....
Star light, star bright,
The first star I see tonight;
I wish I may, I wish I might,
Have the wish I wish tonight
To be back on that porch step
To start again...clean slate
Follow my dream...
I never stopped loving her
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.
