Photograph by 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
(Untitled)
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
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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
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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
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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
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Poem 5
(Untitled)
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
