Week 53 – entries and results

Photograph by Chris Sims

Week 53 - Chris Sims

An intriguing photograph for this week’s writing prompt which writers found tough.The winner is Richard Holler with the amusing, Get a grip sky. Congratulations to him.


Poem 1




Get a grip, sky

You bleach my vision with piercing bright

You breach my brains through my idle eyes

And grayscale all to black and pale

My arms flail

No avail

I cry

Get a grip, sky

Richard Holler

Poem 2

No Escape


Autumn leaves

Trapped by fate

No pathway to take

No escape


Life has no colour

Only black and white

The swirling in my head

Mimics the turbulent clouds

Whose tears are shed

To mingle with mine


I see the path to be taken

Glimpse my destination

Trapped by expectations

No escape

Carol Mills


Poem 3

 Depart and Arrive

No more pretence,

Even the clouds can conceal no more.

Dark stamp on the white envelope,

Adios to the archaic trade relation.

Dreams drowned with sea debris,

Thoughts to prosper vanished into daze.

Ports tranquilized by concrete attires,

Silver gleam of the ocean turned pale.

Departure for the desolate community,

Welcome to the buoyant group.

What hold on their dreams, is hard to let go,

The rusted map, the faded dates, stands still.

They believe, strokes of reality is a check, on their hope,

Yearning for normalcy marches with them.


Denim Deka


Poem 4

Today has no meaning


Today has no meaning,

it is in black and white,

I am finding it hard

to read the signs.


I don’t understand,

I’m not seeing the point.

My hand clutches things

which mean nothing to me,


I cannot be bothered.

Today is a waste of time and

my view is bleak and foreboding,

Today has no meaning,


so I must get through it

and wait for tomorrow,

when the sun might shine

and I’ll feel me again.


Angie Butler


Poem 5



Under the sky, planished bright as brass,

Above the sea, sculpted still as steel,

Near the path north, hard as flint,

A lone, stone hand holds a metal map worn by wind,

Washed and watched by water, gulls.


The view is letter-box long

From the hilly south to the pointed, level north,

Narrow like an old believer’s song

From the safe town to the pavilion, worth

Only the risk of small holidays.


Ships don’t pass near; nowhere

Seems connected, anymore, to here.


I post myself through the view;

Life is limited as a letter by what we do

When we don’t walk, only look

From such a place as this.


Sometimes a book surprises, piercing through the soldered sky,

Melting steel and flint, but still, one day, we die.


Unless instead of posting, our wills

Lead us to outsize the view; expand

Past the limits of what we can see, rent

From the universe an eternal, real

Tenancy and walk, connect or pass.


Then we’ll be able to sing a new song.

Then we’ll be ready to set out on the earth.

Then we’ll begin to see what’s wrong

With the letter box view. For all it’s worth

Then we’ll risk, walk, pass, connect, all our days.


Michael Docker