Will you run,
with my soul,
to distant lands, where I
can never be?
I call out.
Do you hear?
my thoughts
chaos
in hollow space
Can you hear me?
forging ahead
stumbling
reaching
trembling
It is dark.
Where are you?
Can you hear me?
The Daily Post – Abandoned
Digging deep, shadowy moor.
Dark of night.
Never alone, except with
my confession.
Hoping to always,
be out of
sight.
Crackling leaves,
whispery breeze.
Snap of a stick,
heart skips a beat.
Smooth down earth,
skulk away.
One score settled.
One more to pay.
Response to dVerse Quadrille
Some run deep,
lava flowing from veins.
Others stay on the surface,
disappear shortly after they’re born.
Recording our lives,
visible for others to see.
But those that hurt the most,
are invisible.
The Daily Post – Scars
I hear the voice from afar
In the darkness where I do not exist
Bringing black from nothing
Looming voice, advancing, stirring
Calling me from within, without
Like echoes of falling rain
Persistent as a virus
I become
As light penetrates the cracks
Trembling with the sound of light
Condemnation whirls around the edge
Of the world in which I am
There seems to be no place for me
In lands of steel and stone
Weather patterns more of me
Entombed inside the global cell
White pain
Lonesome journey of the soul
Warm, musty air envelopes me, leaving the blustery wind behind. Frozen hands, face stinging, my eyes adjust to the darker space. Objects start making appearances, like actors on stage, their stories as yet untold. I lose myself, and any sense of time, as I move through their memories.
Ghosts of children whisper from above. Stories of heartache, love, labour. Children taken, transported. For their own good, some say. Missing home, they work, pray.
Soft breathes whirl, “Don’t forget us.” Taken by force. Torn from loving arms, to fill an empty land. Sent over seas. Home never forgot. Hearts never healed.
The Friday Fictioneers challenge is to write a story of no more than 100 words from a photo prompt, from Rochelle Wisoff-Fields of Addicted to Purple.
PHOTO PROMPT © Mary Shipman
For other stories from this photo: An InLinkz Link-up
Screeching followed as I raced through the countryside, north. I’d heard about a man who’d help, for a cost. Rounded into the murky hub of an old boat, days huddled in cramped, stinking, silence. Waves crashed, straining its joints to the breaking point. Sirens wailed, men with guns stormed down. Terrified, we obeyed; we’d seen what authority could do. They told us we would not reach the mainland as promised. They shipped us to an island camp for processing. Here we sit in barbed wire, on dirt floors, indefinitely waiting. I didn’t know this was what safety would look like.
The Friday Fictioneers challenge is to write a story of no more than 100 words from a photo prompt, from Rochelle Wisoff-Fields of Addicted to Purple.
PHOTO PROMPT © Madison Woods
For other stories from this photo, click on the frog.
How many ways can I fill the days?
The weeks, months and years
Pass by in bitter memories.
Hope is eternally bright
Yet brings the dark stench
Of despair
To my door
To my home
To my heart
Never repaired
As it was never formed
Formless
Floating
Chaos
Grounded only by the clunk
Of metal on metal
The scratching within
That will never leave me in peace
Only in pieces
Near where I live is the beginning of a 950km bushwalking track. Recently, I walked parts of The Bibbulmun Track, which is marked by small, yellow, triangular signs depicting a snake, the Waugal. The Waugal is the rainbow serpent of the Aboriginal Dreaming. I was following its well-worn, ever evolving, path. The power of its ancient spirit seeped into me, enticing me, guiding me, and mapping my writing journey.
I began close to the middle. I ventured out, looking for, following, the path of the Waugal. At times I lost my way, I doubted myself. I walked up and back along the same path. Each expedition had me looking anew and noticing new details, spotting previously missed signs left to guide my way.
Gradually I became more adept at knowing when to pause, to look around, and to retrace my steps, when following the elusive path of the Waugal. I was able to walk more intuitively as we became increasingly familiar with each other. I began to trust my step, losing my way less frequently. At times my thoughts and footsteps thundered through the bush and I would stop, put the work aside, and sit in silence.
Like the grammar of English, the track changes. It can be diverted at times due to circumstance. It is a constant learning journey. My first official expedition along the track coincided midway along my first expedition in an official grammar program. Both have, at times, baffled me and left me lost. Both challenge me to follow a well-worn path, yet find my own way, in my own way.
I am not at the beginning; I am not at the end. I will twist and turn, continuing along this winding path. One day I hope to walk its entire length. Then weave my way back, again.
* For more information about The Bibbulmun Track go to http://www.bibbulmuntrack.org.au
My existence crumbled when the news came.
How could this be?
Cruel words from cruel deed,
designed to wound the soul.
It worked.
The blackness came and came,
returning in rushes like cyclonic waves.
With only a split second or two,
here or there,
to catch a glimpse of the life I once knew.
Running, running, running, running.
From the pain, from the fear, from here.
I need you but first I must survive the day.
The first gave me space to try
out my new persona.
The second gave me relief
for a fraction of a second.
You gave neither.
You held. You stayed.
You bore witness.
Then you welcomed me back,
with my shame.
You collected the shattered remains
of my existence.
You kept them safe
and allowed me to peer at them,
from a distance,
before deciding which ones I wanted to take.
You have kept the rest for me.
We know what is there.
I do not want them
but, if I do,
I have faith
you will keep them forever safe.
Whether in this life or another,
I will collect them when I can.
In the meantime,
I will hold others’,
and we will work together.
Less than 24 hours ago I made my first blog post and I was amazed this morning to see that it had been read and I had two followers. Okay, so it appears that one of the followers is myself! I don’t quite know how that happened, or how to undo that so for now it will have to stay that way.
It has, however, prompted me to think about how busy we can lead our lives, being almost constantly connected to the internet, with nothing being sacred anymore. Time with family and friends, sitting, reading, are moved down the priority list as we are
Homeschool graph
constantly on the go. I have chosen to slow down, to keep my children close, to grow and cook food, to read and write. I am a lot poorer for this lifestyle however I do believe that maths is better taught with M & M’s rather than a textbook!
Ways of life 