Ice cold memories #flashfiction #poetry

copyright-erin-leary

This grey dismal scene

flickered thoughts

embossed  my mind

long forgotten memories

path of my past

icicles dripped dark lies

“failure, fool, worthless”

mud sucked boots

clothes would never dry

and the sky, the sky

spoke the words

“there is no sun

it’s been removed”

only darkness looms

etching finality on your tomb”

no places to dream

those were taken away too

go ahead and scream, and scream

no one will hear you

here I stood

holding my hand

the one that couldn’t remember

tried so hard to forget

 we stood together

at the past’s path again

drip
Drip – L. Moon 2013

Here’s to a New Year for Friday Fictioneers. Enjoy the work submitted by fantastic writers and poets.

Heading South #haiku #poetry #photography

The best place to go on a freezing day is south!

sandy path 4

footprints in the sand
to here and there and nowhere
and the gull flying

(c) Hando

making tracks

cold journey ahead

warm sunshine arms await

footprints in the snow

*

Kristjaan at Carpe Diem inspires us to follow Hando’s footprints in verse. I welcome the warm sun and sands.

The Empty Space in My Bed #poetry #lyrics

Burning the love letters don’t even warm the cold space in my heart…

fingertips4059831412_e8022bb954

Its empty

where I lay my head

cold vacancy

left in our bed

where you once laid

an empty space

where there was love

there is no trace

**

memories tears

leave my cheeks wet

your  fingers in my hair

I cannot forget

the warmth of you

never to return

all my love letters

you left to burn

**

It’s empty

where I lay my head

cold vacancy

 left in our bed

where you once laid

 an empty space

where there was love

there is no trace

**

what little remains

 in what you’d written

can no longer warm me 

of that I am certain

there’s no heat from us

that I can retain

sadness in these sheets

chills like  empty rain

**

It’s empty 

where I lay my head

cold vacancy

 left in our bed

where you once laid

 an empty space

where there was love

there is no trace

Thanks to Ian for the timeless photograph//www.flickr.com/photos/ian_munroe/4059831412/sizes/m/in/photostream/

Beauty Overcomes #poetry #photography #haiku

A reflected image

Images meaning

waters makes the words unclear

beauty overcomes

 

ice crystal

Foul white Winter blast

beauty’s capsule  is in flight

chilled by life’s cold edge

Join Carpe Diem in their Haiku challenge “Cold Winter Blast”

The Snowflake was shot by yellowcloud ck out more of their work at Flickr

At the End of the Day #poetry #photography #endoftheworld

What will you do where will you be at the end of this day? December 21st 2012

cold prismic

Precariously I stand today

one foot on life

the other tottering

closing in on destruction’s edge

*

At the end of the day

will there be no one to mourn us

at the end of the day

will the streets run red

who will sing of our honor

who will bear the last torches

and lead us on our way

at the end of the day

*

Precariously I stand today

beholding the last of beauty

consuming fires rage over the world’s stage

no lingering reason no remaining duty

*

At the start of today

there was so much to live for

now only fresh soil remains on our graves

who will pick up all the pieces

lives are over all are dying

none to cast a loving gaze in the blaze

at the end of the day

*

apocalypse2b

What better way to spend the “last” day with other writers blogging about the end.

Join Us!!! Thanks to Chuck and The Warrior Muse for hosting the party.

Photograph: L. Moon 2012

 “At the End of the Day” from Les Miserables inspired this end of the world piece.

The Golden Key (Revisited) #Grimmfairytales #children

Celebrate the Grimm Brothers today and 200 years of children reading their fairy tales.

Rumpelstiltskin-Crane1886

Today is the 200 year anniversary celebrating the work of the Grimm Brothers who wrote 200+ fairy tales. I read The Golden Key and felt it had ended prematurely so this is my suggested part two to the tale:

key_to_my_soul_by_petaldreams-d4oyb4d

The boy’s hands had been frozen cold by the snow. He shivered wondering if he had the strength to return home. He looked at the key. So tiny yet full of life; he could feel it. As the gold key turned in the box, the key began to grow and glow. “I am warm,” the boy said in cheerful surprise.

The fire he had hoped for sprung up around the key, but the boy was brave and touched the fire without being burned. He now knew this was no common key.

Though many people in the presence of magic ask for something to ease their lot, the boy was content to hold the warm key and box. The box got heavier until the boy reluctantly set it down on the ground. He held fast to the curious box fearful it would vanish.

The box became hot as it ignited from the key’s glow. The boy continued to hold on tight. As the flame grew more intense, the box, which revealed itself to be pure gold, became clear like glass. The boy expectantly peered inside. The only thing he could see was a plain gold ring. He reached in through the fire, grasped the flame filled ring, and placed it on his finger.

An onlooker would have seen a most magnificent thing on that cold frosty morn. A key, a box, and a ring transformed a boy to a knight. The glow about him melted the snow. A kaleidoscope of color mingled with the fire. Flowers sprung from the impotent earth, fruit sprouted on nearby trees, the life that had so long ago departed returned to the barren land.

Little did this simple boy know that he was chosen by the key for a mission. The knight would save many downtrodden soul in the cold, unrelenting world and provide golden hope for the besieged. Long after the knight was gone stories would be told, through the land, of the knight who carried warmth for all in his heart.

Photography The Key to My Soul by Petal Dreams at Deviant Art

Over at New World Creative Union and the Wednesday Wakeup Call the call is to embrace the fairy tale genre (old or new) and be inspired. 

Don’t Know Me ( a poem about the homeless)

I live in the cold
and though my story’s untold
no one wants to know
who I am

Possessions all mine
are all in a line
they easily
fit in a box

I ramble I roam
I scramble no home
mostly to avoid
the cold

I wish you well as you gaze at my shell

indeed warmth I do seek

 
From the outside

you see

a dirty
old me

On your eyes

you rely
here’s my pact
there is more to me
and that’s a fact

The Bottom

Can you see

way down there

there’s a bottom

at the end of the stair

What once was

is lost

but  something new

is found

Can you see it

can you feel it

it’s life

come out of ruin

Cold hard stone

replaced by green

fragrant

softness

How does life

come from stone?

simple

it was

someone’s home

Photograph: Castle Ruins by L. Moon

The Beauty of Winter

Winter is beautiful…

Driving through the Sacramento Delta region, I get a glimpse of a cold, stark but beautiful scene. Rather than miles of new fallen snow, the scene is gray with dark shapes reaching for the sky – a perfect contrast. A painting or photo may catch some of the serene beauty but could never catch the feeling of nature waiting for spring.

The Gray Landscape (poem)

Blanket of stillness

horizon of gray

No life in the slough

All life is away

Trees reach up to cry

No character no color

nothing but stark skeletons

against the sky

Herons take their stand

In statue-like pose

white against haze

no place for repose

Nothing moves

color is bland

cold winter landscape

Emptiness at hand

Photograph: Sharon Mollerus  http://www.clairity.org

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