Tag Archives: Poetry

If Ever I Should Sail Away

Friday Fictioneers _ Rochelle Wisoff-Fields-Addicted to Purple

PHOTO PROMPT © Susan Eames

If Ever.

If ever I should sail away to sea
I’ll search the sun-drenched distant shores
until I find a beating heart in love with me.
Like some rare endangered precious flower,
whose fragrance scent of flirtatious honey
will captivate my mind and soul and body.
In such a paradise I would live to be free,
And I’ll never return to this darn land.
Should I ever sail away, to sea.

Advertisements

Just Another Day

The prompt from our writing group was; “It started out as just another day.”

Try a Villanelle piece of poetry, someone suggested.

“”Villanelle, also known as villanesque[1], is a nineteen-line poetic form consisting of five tercets followed by a quatrain. There are two refrains and two repeating rhymes, with the first and third line of the first tercet repeated alternately until the last stanza, which includes both repeated lines. The villanelle is an example of a fixed verse form””

Here is my contribution:

Just Another Day

It started out as just another day
Travelling to work seated on the bus
She smiled, and her eyes took me far away

My heart leapt and mind raced, what should I say?
She shuffled in her seat making a fuss
It started out as just another day

Please don’t start chatting, I silently pray
Her phone won’t work and she mumbles a cuss
She smiled, and her eyes took me far away

She shrugs and grins, and asks me if she may
Borrow my mobile to call her bumbling boss
It started out as just another day

I thought no! and said please nothing to pay
Whatever he said, she couldn’t give a toss
She smiled, and her eyes took me far away

She was sacked from her job, no work that day
I held her hand, it’s now the two of us
It started out as just another day
She smiled, and her eyes took me far away.

**

Abstinence.

 

Rochelle Wisoff-Fields – Friday Fictioneers

nick-allen-from-sandra-c

PHOTO PROMPT © Nick Allen

Abstinence.

Charlie’s allotment shed stored his tools and was shelter from the rain and cold weather. After planting and weeding he played bridge with his friends and the fun and laughter could be heard late into the afternoon.

Gran would laugh and say; “Hey, I am just off down Charlie’s.” She’d take her knitting basket. Everyone admired his collection of oil cans, particularly the little blue one with Gordons Gin and tonic. Martha liked the Martini from the green one or sometimes they drunk corn whiskey from the brown one.

Let’s go down Charlie’s. He, he. Life is really too short!

Underground Opera by Catherine

Friday Fictioneers – Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

under-bridge

PHOTO PROMPT © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

Underground Opera by Catherine

A free spirit and gentle voice, her echoes of joy
reverberated beneath the rumble of the motorway.
Its pillars tremble holding the stress of life’s loads.
Too much for her to bear, she had lost her way,
and in destitution she discovered our desolation row.
‘Catherine the Homeless’ sang opera to us; sewers of life.
We listened to her music of the night, by our flickering fire light,
and prayed as we cremated her body and earthly remains.
We scattered her ashes around the headstone on her swan song stage,
tearfully enchanted as her soul sang, through the midnight breeze.

Romeo and Juliet – Cancun Style

Three Line Tales, Week 115

Romeo and Juliet – Cancun style.

tltweek115

photo by Ronaldo Santos via Unsplash

Oh Pedro my spider man, at last we are alone.

Si, me amor, let us elope my darling Rosita, while we are young.

The door! Quick, the cup, Pedrito. My father is home.

Tempting Guacamole

Tempting Guacamole – 100 Word Wednesday.

img_4777

Dear Pips,

Please come back, I miss you, my darling Pips.
I’m sorry I was rude, about your lovely hips.
I love you and miss your gregarious smiles
I love you and forgive you for kissing Miles
Look, I’ve bought your favourite chilli tortilla chips
Because I know you love my guacamole dips.

Please come and trust me, my darling Pips
I’m sorry I was rude, about your lovely lips
I miss you, so let’s forget about you loving Jay
I miss you, see now, how my anger’s gone away
Look! I’ve spiced up your favourite tortilla chips
Because! I know you love my guacamole dips.

The Procrastinators

If and Only … Your friends in waiting.

IMG_1392

Glasgow Street Art

The Procrastinators

If and only are companions
They go hand in hand with fate
Like the dreams of millions
In retrospect, they arrive too late.

If and only trapped in meditation
Held back by dithering doubt
full of indecisive hesitation
In retrospect, just throw them out.

If and only may rule your life
with choices, hard to bare
what could have been was strife
In retrospect, do you really care?

Now if was your only thought
when you couldn’t make up your mind
of things not done or should or ought
In retrospect, if only you had more time.

Is She my Type?

Blind Date.

Zoo Bar IMG_1387

Street Art in Glasgow, Scotland

They said she’s nice, so don’t be late
You’ll recognise her beautiful smile
And she’ll be wearing the latest Prada style
My nervous excitement, on a blind date

I saw her, gorgeous, laughing at the bar
Dressed in fashionable hugging stripes
Enchanting, attracting extroverted types
Like a prowling stag, ready armed for war

There is something about the fading light
That brings out an instinct in my mind
A sort of sublime emotional mating kind
That drives survival, but perhaps not tonight.

 

 

On a Wing and a Prayer

Three Line Tales – On a Wing and a Prayer

 

Over the world and in peace, feeling the quite serenity
of flying and softly floating free from earthly responsibility.
But all too soon, we’ll land on the insecure realities of insensibility.

A Cabin in The Woods

A Cabin in the Woods. 100 Words Week 7

 

 

Adam and Eve ran away from disapproval and family shame
Where people pointed since their unmarried love was a sin
They disappeared into the woods to start their life again
Where they built a cabin and a home for future children.

They built it far away from the well-trodden paths
By a lake with bulrush reeds and darting dragon flies
that hovered in the air with warm dog-rose scented wafts
drifting in the idyllic afternoons under the cloudless skies

Where behind the purple rosebay ran the bubbling brooks
They washed and bathed naked in the clear shallow pools
Guarded and watched over by a parliament of silent rooks
As they dried themselves slowly with white woollen towels

Alas with naivety of nature’s fruits, a mistaken death cap
was added for nourishment into a warm mushroom soup
As they peacefully slept, in their veins ran the poisonous sap
And in drifting dreams their souls followed a heavenly route

After fifty years, there were no records of the cabin in the woods
Or of the skeleton lovers huddled beneath a blanket of dust
The mystery became a myth full of folk songs with solemn moods
of young couples entranced by forbidden love and mistaken trust.