Experimenting With Creative Writing
Add fuel to the golden fire,
To make us go higher.
We took flight with no wings,
Only colourful rings,
Clutching a woven basket.
It took a while to grasp it,
But once we were suspended,
It could be comprehended,
That there is more to life,
Than war and strife.
Our view is panoramic.
There is such a thing as magic.
Though with each refreshing sigh,
We draw closer to ravens in the sky.
Image credit: pixabay.com
In response to dVerse’s flights of fancy challenge found here
Frantic fingers dance,
On the self-destruct button.
Only when we’re caught.
In response to Ronovan Writes’ Haiku Challenge #316 found here
I am a gossip.
For I am the telephone.
I narrate stories,
Tales of the day. Need me?
I am just one call away.
In response to dVerse’s I Am prompt found here
Hear the squawking of mother bird,
Chased by the devilish kittens,
Captured in their furry mittens.
Ears pricked. The silence was stirred,
But her pleading was quickly slurred.
Bringing emptiness to mourning.
Her baby bird awoke, yawning,
And longing for the feathered quilt,
Mother’s wings in the nest she built.
The baby sensed a shift dawning.
Image credit: pixabay.com
In response to Ronovan Writes’ Décima Challenge #14 found here
Why can’t I find you-
When my fingers can trace roads,
Around the planet.
Image credit: pixabay.com
In response to Ronovan Writes’ Haiku Challenge #314 found here
Spiteful taunts and unwelcome prying.
Don’t let them see us crying.
Wings born from trying.
High flying
Nerds.
We wait, until after much lying,
We see the truth untying.
Wings born from trying.
High flying
Words.
We rose above, there’s no denying,
Our gravity-defying
Wings born from trying.
High flying
Birds.
Image credit: pixabay.com
In response to Mindlovemisery’s Triquint prompt found here
Each wave of blue ribbon,
Washes upon the sand,
Bringing driftwood;
Memories clouding my mind, and
Offering as much solace as red clay,
From rusted rocks in mud.
A fossil from the past, best forgotten.
I turned my back on the deep dark wood,
In search of the blazing sun.
Grassland was all I found,
Drenched in my tears.
Though I’m thankful for the sound,
Of breaking waves.
I’m grateful for the colour,
Of sun rises.
I hope I live to see another.
Image credit: pixabay.com
In response to the Paint Chip Poetry Prompt Challenge #28 found here
Disorganised, yet appropriate.
Painting lines on lines,
Masking feelings with colours,
Burying lost strokes.
Carefully painting,
With a cold, stormy pallet.
Comforting blanket.
Moody skies console,
Beautiful blue smudged with grey.
Uplifting sadness.
In response to dVerse’s Haiku Sequence prompt found here
Martini’s peach slice,
Dwindles on the rim, before
Falling in. Ripples.
Not a swig, untouched, before
Your hands appraised my blushed skin.
In response to Ronovan Writes’ Haiku Challenge #313 found here
Couldn’t resist lengthening the Haiku.
If I was a dessert,
I’d be the humble banana split,
A reliable ally.
I just don’t have the character,
Of the rich key lime pie.
If I were a flower,
I’d be the plain-petalled daisy.
No obvious dangers.
I just don’t have the character,
Of grandma’s hydrangeas.
Being average runs in the family,
Nothing mystical to see here.
I’m thankful though.
I just don’t have the character,
To put on a show.
Image credit: pixabay.com
In response to the Paint Chip Poetry Prompt Challenge #27 found here
My Fresh Pages 