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

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

Monday, September 14, 2009

Mooring


~
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.

Thursday, July 23, 2009

The Concert

~
Suggested prompt...
~
Tell creatively of a concert you have been to.



___________________

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sanitykill

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

Wednesday, July 22, 2009

On the Beach

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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

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.

Sunday, June 21, 2009

Your Dad

~
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

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.

Tuesday, May 26, 2009

Babbling

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Suggested prompt...
~
Offer a poem or story that includes a brook, babbling or otherwise.



_____________________

These are the places that carry my mind away, into a place of dreaming and hope; into a place of rest and peace.

I feel the serenity of nature unfold within myself, as I watch the water trickling through the rocks and I hope for a new day to wash away the dreadful memories of my past.

May I find my way throughout the days of endless chaos, and hope for another day...to rest by the brook.

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.

Tuesday, May 19, 2009

Traffic

~
Suggested prompt...
~
Write creatively about traffic.



_______________________

He was so angry he had been cut off like that. The person in front of him hadn't even signaled and was now creeping in front of him at a snails pace. As if cutting in front of him made it so they could go anywhere anyway!

She was in such a hurry! Her daughter was singing as we speak and she knew her big brown eyes were going to be sparkling with tears when she would arrive too late. She had to make it on time! But this traffic was going so slow!

She had a wedding to get to. She was the maid of honor. She was one of the most important to be there and she didn't want to let down her best friend.

He was a father of two children riding in his back seat. He didn't have a wife anymore. She had left him long ago. His children echoed each other back and forth, "Are we there yet?", "Are we there yet?", "Are we there yet?" He sighed and looked in his review mirror.

He saw her face, just looking back to the road in front of her and putting away some kind of make-up. Lipstick maybe? She looked tense but beautiful. Dressed up in some kind of formal wear. Perhaps she was late for a special occasion... How lovely she was. He wished he could meet her perchance.

Suddenly the car ahead of him took off and smashed into the SUV in front of it. What was going on? He looked through his review mirror again at the woman and she had a shocked look on her face. Was she getting out? Yes, she was getting out! "I'll get out too." He thought.

"You kids stay in the car." He told his children as he opened his door.

The man driving the vehicle in front of him was out of his car already and he was rushing forward to the SUV in front of him, shouting about being insulted by the person driving the SUV. The woman got out of her SUV now. She had tears streaking down her cheeks. They shouted at each other. Something about a daughter's school program and it went on as if nothing else in the world mattered but this instant.

The father looked back at the Maid of Honor and winked. She had stopped in her tracks, staring at the spectacle in front of them.

"I have a wedding to get to, you know." She said. Her voice was soft even in her frustration.

"Well, I'd imagine it will be a while before you get there." The father spoke back.

All cars around were still, stopped in their tracks. Their cars were too close together. There was no moving and the man and woman were now on their cell phones. The moment seemed to be a long one.

But when he looked back at the maid, she smiled. How unexpected.

"I guess we should just make the best of it..." She said, reaching into her car's open window. Out came a bottle of champagne. "I don't think these are going to make it to the wedding."

The father looked through the window at his children. They were throwing popcorn at each other.

"You have people in your car?" She asked, stepping forward to observe. "Ah. Well, champagne isn't something to have on the road anyway." She hurried back to her car, set down the bottle and withdrew a box of crackers with some fancy cheese spread.

The father smiled. The shouting behind him had risen again, but it seemed like background music in her presence. "I'm John."

"Jasmine."

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.

Tuesday, May 12, 2009

Relax


~
Suggested prompt...
~
Describe an ideal relaxing afternoon.


________________________

the sun heats
both air and sand -
a toddler chases the foaming tide


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.

Monday, April 20, 2009

Vacation

Photo by Laura Jayne (hey, that is me!)
~
Suggested prompt...
~
Include a personal vacation in your writing today...
fiction, non-fiction or poetry... just get creative.


(On a personal note... I will be on vacation for a week. Daily prompts are ready and will be here at 12:01 a.m. daily as always, but the choosing of the daily front piece from a week ago will be delayed. I will catch-up my little tomatoes as soon as I return from the beaches of Cabo San Lucas.)


___________________

My husband and I were going on our first real big vacation together. Our baby was only almost five months old and we were flying to Florida. I remembered how much he scolded me for giving into the telemarketer offering a "free" vacation almost a year ago. How he had told me it was all a scam and that we would end up spending too much money. For newly-weds with a brand new baby, the cost was high for a vacation like that. But I wanted to take the offer. I wanted to risk it and go to Florida- just to go. Just to see it. To feel the sand on the beach. To feel the humidity on my skin. So I accepted it and we were tied down into this vacation by obligation because in order to receive the "free" vacation, I had paid $200. So now we sat on the plane, baby on my lap, eyes peering out the little rectangular window. Little did we know that we would be having the most wonderful and most terrible vacation of our lives thus far! What awaited us would be a hotel room flooded with an inch of water (nonexchangeable), a long day of traveling with no way of renting a car without spending too much, brownish-yellow bathwater, hours of salesmen trying to convince us to buy timeshares we couldn't afford, warm humid wind blowing against our faces, a baby that rolls over and finds his toes, the warm salty waters of the Atlantic, the smiles of Sea World life, time to hold hands and share moments of "just us". No regrets.

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.

Sunday, February 1, 2009

L - Sunday's Alphabet Prompt

L is for Love
~
Suggested prompt...
~
Write a love letter or love poem that you wish you would have gotten.
All prompts beneath the photos are only suggestions.
You are free to use the photo to be inspired to write any way you desire.



______________________________

Dear Paul,

You know that thing you should do? Don't worry about it. It's done. And that thing you should have done but didn't. Forget about it, it wasn't that important really. Oh, and all the other things that you never got round to-like saying I love you? Ah, who cares. It's enough that you're here. Sometimes.

With Love,
X

~
Paul Brazill


There were some great offerings to this unique take on a love letter, but Paul's made me laugh and think. It is probably a letter a lot of men want to get. Ok... off to write Hubby's Valentines card now.


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.

Sunday, December 14, 2008

E - Sunday's Alphabet Prompt


E is for Elephant
~
Suggested prompt...
~
Matha and William's story is a true romance.
Do tell me the story of how they met. I love a romance.
(Martha & William have their own blog as well - marthaandwilliam.blogspot.com )


_____________________________

In the beginning, there was light. The light shone through the entire store and all of the workers prepared for the sale to come.

As in all of the fabric stores, each roll of fabric was perfectly displayed in a long roll evenly along the isles. One little pink roll of furry fabric desiring to be noticed was suddenly grabbed up and thrown into the shopping cart, along with another roll….of blue fabric, with the same fluffiness. As the two rolls collided, they each felt a spark of electricity surge through them. It was a feeling they’d never felt before.

The woman brought the fabric to the cutter and asked for a yard from each roll. What would become of them?

Feeling became them as the little rolls of fabric were placed on the counter. Each unrolled, flip-flop – flip-flop and then it stopped. They could feel metal in the touch of their fur, slicing and tearing a piece of self from them. For what reason, they wondered?

Individuals, they became. The woman packed all of the fixings in her shopping bag and headed for home. Upon arriving at home, she excitedly pulled everything from the bag and began fiddling. The two fabrics were poked, sliced (again), picked and stomped; they were stuffed and positioned. Then suddenly, each little fluff began to sense. Sensing became of them…more feeling. The woman placed a tiny little heart within each bunch of fluff and she continued to pick at them.

It was finished, so they thought. The two fluff’s rested in their new feelings, they’re new senses; still wondering about the electrical pull that became of them. The pull was still there.

Much time went by and the two fluff’s just waited, wondering and hoping that they would find meaning. One day, the woman came back. She picked up each of the fluffs and began poking at them again. Picking and poking until a new sense came to each of the little fluffs. The sense of sight became of them.

The two little fluffs had been unaware of the others existence until this moment. They didn’t understand all that had happened but they new that it was all done for a purpose. As their eye’s met; it became perfectly clear that they were made for each other.

~ 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.

Sunday, November 30, 2008

C - Sunday's Alphabet Prompt

~
Suggested Prompt...
~
C is for Coffee
Write a poem, story or an essay that includes a cup o'joe.



_________________________



Squirrel Hunting With Grandpa


Three a.m. on a winter morning in the 1940s
I water and feed the rabbits (why do I always get the cold job?) as grandpa put homemade biscuits in the top warmer
of the woodburning 4-burner stove. Grandma slept in.
Grandpa made the coffee strong
Handful in a pot of boiling water, one of those gallon sized
Blue Ceramic with white flecks coffee pots.
To the smoke house, slice off fresh cured bacon with rind on
Fry to a crisp, remove coffee pot from stove
Put bacon on towel to drain
Crack two brown hen eggs at a time
Into the smokin' bacon grease they go
Throw the shells into the coffee pot to settle the grounds
(In those days there were no electric coffee makers with paper or gold filters)
Turn the eggs once when edges are brown
Butter the biscuits (real butter) and call Jim
Fix his plate first while his eggs are frying.
Grandpa had everything down to a science. His coffee was so strong it was a task to close one's eyes after drinking a cup. Without cream or sugar. Black Coffee. Steaming hot. The perfect drink preceeding a squirrel hunt, Grandpa's favorite prey. Couldn't even blink!
Eggs were done clear through, bacon crunchy, biscuit crusty,
soft buttery inside, gone in a flash.
Grandpa sits down, drinks his coffee, tells me to go start the truck, a 1949 GMC 3-speed stick shift green farm work stinks like chickens and pigs and hay vehicle. Grandpa trusted my driving skill since both he and my step-father taught me to drive when I was six years old. We gleaned corn from farmers' fields to feed the pigs. My cousin Denny never learned to shift too well...because I always put it in high gear when it was his turn to move up the row. He stalled the motor every time, and Grandpa would yell, 'Danny, get out and let Jim move the truck.' Denny fumed. He didn't like to hunt or do anything outdoors, I guess that is why Grandpa favored me.

Grandpa put the guns we had oiled and checked the night before into the space in back of the seat (he never put them outside where they could be stolen). Unloaded, of course. Three primary rules never to be broken around Grandpa was that you always assumed a gun is loaded, never point it at anything you're not going to shoot, and never run with a gun. Violation of any of Grandpa's rules resulted in a painful trip to the smokehouse, where he kept a cured rawhide paddle. Three whacks on the bare bottom was the usual fare, and one dreaded a fourth swat. He rarely went that far, however, knowing the embarrassment that just going to the smokehouse caused. Everyone knew the procedure: Enter, drop your drawers, bend over. No pleas for mercy, no whimpering, no screaming. Just endure the three, then you're done. The worst part is walking out to the twitters of the assembled friends and relatives. Part of the punishment was the humiliation. I only went to the smokehouse three times. That first trip brought me four whacks. I learn fast.

Driving 50 miles to the Younger farm (yes, relatives of the Jesse James gang) in Chester, Illinois in the pre-dawn darkness took over an hour, so it was almost sunup when we arrived. We took our position in the hickory woods and waited, usually back to back. Grandpa usually got his limit of 5 squirrels in just a couple of hours. He was a combination stalker/camouflaged ambusher. His trusty .22 rifle was his preferred weapon for squirrels, and a 16-gauge double-barreled shotgun for rabbits. His squirrels were normally shot through the head, as Grandpa didn't want to waste the meat. He bought me my first gun, a Savage-Stevens .410 gauge double barrel, which I learned to use with deadly proficiency under his tutelage.

Making a mistake with a gun was something Grandpa never did, and if we did, we paid for it. I did on two occasions. One, after my very first kill at age 8, I ran with the rifle to retrieve the squirrel, I was so excited. I remember begging with Grandpa not to take me into the smoke house, all the way home. It did no good, only made matters worse. I got the four whacks.

I drank coffee most all the time at Grandma and Grandpa's. They also let me smoke. Bull Durham, roll-your-own. I was twelve.

I smoked for 20 years, up to 4 packs of Pall Mall or Camel or Lucky Strike (no sissy filters for me, like Marlboro) before I quit cold turkey. I also quit drinking alcohol. I still drink coffee, though, hot and black or sometimes with a bit of cream and friendly conversation with friends. Marvelous beverage!

Jim Pankey, USN (Ret.)



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.

Tuesday, November 18, 2008

Cold Moon

Suggested Prompt...
~
Offer a poem about a cold, quiet night.



__________________

Softly the wind blows
And scatters the leaves
The moon shining brightly
Beyond the trees
And stars shine
So heavenly
With no expectations
No secrets
No good-byes

~ Simplicity

_________________

.

.

One week after the photo or picture is posted I will pick one offering to put beneath the image. This 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.

Monday, November 10, 2008

Belief

Suggested prompt
~
A poem about your faith or beliefs.


.
__________________

.

Faith is knowing the unknown
Exists within our spirit
Where proof is never shown
None see it smell it hear it

Faith cannot be meant for
Keeping people in a row
How can the spirit soar
If it’s not allowed to grow

Faith cannot be taught
Through the barrel of a gun
By leaders who distort
To make all people one

Faith is only me
In a moment of my own
Only then I see
What only I am shown

~ Stevie G.B.

.___

______________________________

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.

Saturday, November 8, 2008

Grand Adventure

Suggested prompt...
~
Write of an adventure.

__________________________



"I really have to pee," Madge announced loudly, the irritation evident in her voice.

John sighed. This is not what he'd intended when he booked the trip. The environment, the shared experience of beauty... the package was supposed to bring them together, help them rediscover intimacy. Between the trip itself, the gear, and new clothes, he'd sunk a lot of money into the trip. He'd wanted Madge to see that life... that he... wasn't all about work.... Maybe he was just trying to assuage his guilt....

"I'm serious. I really have to pee. Bad."

Madge looked past him to the tour guide, seeking his eyes behind his dark glasses.

"Uh, you bet," the young man answered her slowly, dragging out the words. "Let's just get past this next rapid--"

"Hope I don't pee in the boat then," she pouted. "I really didn't expect these kinds of conditions... no bathrooms... Can't they just set up porta potties along the river? Jesus."

Madge continued to grumble, at least quietly now, to anyone in the boat who would listen, as John simply stared at her. What had he been thinking? Where was his brain when he'd seen her at Jack's party in her red stilettos and tiny black dress? What had possessed him to marry her, for Christ's sake? All that Catholic guilt, all that still trying to please his father shit. All that need for a trophy to prove who he was. One thing was certain, she wasn't who he was. She was now the albatross around his neck, and the sooner he made amends, the sooner he would be free. He cleared his throat.

"Madge?"

"What, John?" She turned to face him.

"I've been having an affair."

~ S. Kay Murphy



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.

Tuesday, November 4, 2008

Lighthouse at Sunset

Suggested Prompt -
~
There is someone looking out the very top window.
What is his/her story?
.
_______________________________________
.

William had dreamed of this moment for years. Since serving in the Navy during the Second World War, lighthouses had held a special fascination for him. He saw the towers along shorelines from the water and wondered at the people who lived and worked in them. And, then last Christmas, his daughter, Anna, gave him a beautiful “coffee table book” on lighthouses. His imagination soared.
Taking his time and reading each entry in the book, William’s fingers had almost itched to grab up his car keys and head off for the nearest lighthouse. However, living in land-locked Utah, the trip to the West Coast – Oregon, to be exact – would be more than a short jaunt…and there was still Elaine to consider. As long as she clung so tenaciously to the slender thread of life, William’s life was also tied to their home in the Utah hills. He dared not dream too aggressively knowing that doing so might bring the force of God slamming down upon him for wishing that which was unthinkable.
God had other plans, however, and within the year, took Elaine back to Himself. William had long before decided he would liquidate their holdings upon Elaine’s death and give her portion to her heirs, then dissolve the trust and rewrite his own will to simplify things for Anna when he died. In the midst of Elaine’s last rites and dealing with her daughter and son, the lighthouse book lay forgotten on a dusty shelf in William’s small den. Six months it lay untouched, waiting patiently for William to rediscover its pages full of wonderful dream material.
On June 12th, Anna’s 50th birthday, William was searching for a different book Anna had given him several years before that she was now asking for to help her with a bit of research for a paper she was writing for her PhD in Biology. He found that book, then his hands reached for the lighthouse tome. Sitting in his most comfortable chair, he once again opened it and began dreaming again – this time in earnest. The phone rang.
“Dad? Did you find it?”
“Yup. Right where I thought it would be. Guess what else I found?”
“What?”
“That big book with all the pictures and information about lighthouses.”
“Oh, that’s a great book!”
“I’ll say. I’m startin’ to think about takin’ a trip out to Oregon. One of them lighthouses is particularly interesting. I’d like to see it for myself…before I’m too old or stove up to make the trip. Whadday think o’ that?”
“Can you make that drive by yourself?”
“I believe I’m up to it, yeah.”
“Well, then, go for it. You have a time in mind?”
“I was thinkin’ I might head out next week. Need to get a few things in order around here, but then there’s no reason I can’t take off.”
“Do it, Dad. Just call me from the road so I know you’re still in one piece. Okay?”
“I’d do that for sure. You don’t think I’m a crazy old man for wantin’ to do this?”
“Nah! Do it! Just stay in touch, is all I ask.”
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Now, looking out the window at the pounding surf far below, William could not believe his good fortune. Arriving at the small town of Pine Crest on the Oregon coast, he asked about the lighthouse and learned it was for sale. For sale! He visited the office that had it listed and found out the Coast Guard had decided to discontinue its use a couple years earlier and, after pulling out the critical operational components, put it on the market. Real estate was pretty depressed in this area of Oregon, however, and the lighthouse was a tough sell under good conditions. William asked to see it and was handed the keys and a map showing how to get there.
The walk up the circular stairs to the top had left him winded but he reckoned that making that trek every day would be good for him. And, the isolation was just what he was craving. He could feel himself drawing inward, wanting less and less interaction between himself and the rest of the world. His dream to live quietly beside the ocean was pulling him so strongly, he would not hesitate to write the check for the down payment when he returned the keys to the realtor.
Anna would come to visit him here between her teaching and travels. Anna’s son would bring his young wife and their newborn baby for Christmas here. He already knew just where the tree would go in the rustic living room of the small house beside the base of the tower. He could almost smell the savory turkey roasting in the oven of old stove in the small kitchen.
William saw himself, years from now, falling asleep in his bed in the tiny bedroom and not waking up, his Soul departing gently as the eternal waves continued to crash against the rocks below. It might take several days before Anna thought about calling him and even then she would not immediately be alarmed. William was known for his long hikes wherever he lived and here at the edge of the Pacific, walking along the surf would become his favorite pastime.
Maybe two or three days would pass before Anna’s level of concern rose sufficiently to call the local constabulary. By then, his corpse would already be starting its passage back to dust and cremation would be the final answer to that question. But, that was years down the road and in the meantime, William saw from another window, just the spot for his garden of tomatoes, potatoes, string beans, snap peas, and rhubarb.
by Lebhorcham
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Saturday, November 1, 2008

An Evening Out...

Suggested Prompt -

Are they celebrating or forgetting?
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They are celebrating. Celebrating everything they have been through together. Celebrating their endless friendship.
~ Jessica
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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.