#3lineThursday #FlashPoetry The Sea of Glass

This Flash Poem was written in response to the Three Line Thursday photo prompt.



         Picture by Julie


The Sea of Glass

Caught in my world like a mermaid in a stream.

I freed the face I had trapped in my dreams.

Free at last! We dove into the sea of glass.


Julie captured a photo worth a thousand words, but you only get 30. Three lines and 30 words max. 10 words per line. Up for the task? Don’t tell us what you see, but show us what you feel! Here’s mine! Want to join in or read some of the others? Follow this link!

#3linethursday: #Farewell

This poem was written in response to the Three Line Thursday photo prompt. Thirty words maximum, three lines.


                                     Photo by Michael

Here’s my take:


Day dawns onto my dying eyes. Farewell

Tears pour into the depth of divine despair. Love

Sinks with the last glimmer of the kiss of Death.


Want to read some of the others or join in? Follow this link

I’ve made a daring and comparatively weak attempt to emulate the sound of Old English in my flash poem. The repetition of the ‘d’ and ‘k’ sound gives the flash poem force and unity. Curiously, few of the words in my poem have Latin origin. The acoustic power of Old Norse strikes through.

Young Tennyson

                 Young Tennyson


        Older Tennyson

You all know how the Victorians inspire me to the point of frenzy. Tennyson’s poems especially drive me almost into a trance. I’m not exaggerating if I say that after Shakespeare, he taught me, still teaches me, all I need to know about the power of words.

Tennyson recovered awareness of the strength of Old English, which had been softened by the influence of Latin, (mainly through the imposition of French after the Norman invasion of 1066), and reminded us of the power of alliteration (repetition of consonant sounds), and assonance (repetition of vowel sounds), kennings (Old English type of metaphor), imagery, and symbolism to shock our brains into understanding intangible, ethereal feelings.

I had always loved Tennyson’s poems, but it was not until I had the privilege of teaching Old English poetry at the University of Córdoba for a time, using mostly Tennyson’s translations into modern English, that I fully understood his masterful use of the English language.


He recovered Medieval tales in poems like the Lady of Shallot, and The Holy Grail. He also translated many Old English Poems into Modern English, leading to a renewed interest in the core of the English Language.

Tennyson reminded us of the power of our roots and the essence of the English Language.

This is one of his most well known short poems, and one of my favourites. You could call it a Flash Poem!

The Eagle

He clasps the crag with crooked hands;
Close to the sun in lonely lands,
Ring’d with the azure world, he stands.
The wrinkled sea beneath him crawls;
He watches from his mountain walls,
And like a thunderbolt he falls.

It’s a Riddle, a kenning, and it contains the dramatic use of assonance and alliteration, which is so representative of Old English / Anglo-Saxon poetry. 6 lines and 39 words were never so full of powerful language and literary history. I bow to My Master.

Hear Andrew Motion read some of his poems.


Statue of Lord Tennyson in the chapel of Trinity College, Cambridge.

#3linethursday: #Waiting For You

This post was written in response to this weeks’ Three Line Thursday prompt. Three lines, 30 words maximum.


          Thank you Kristen for the Photo Prompt


Waiting For You

I watched you leave while showers of tears

Streamed down my face. ‘Come back, my love.’ 

I’ll wait here ’til the sun disappears.


That is the one I published on Three Line Thursday, but I toyed with sending this one:

I watched you leave while showers of tears
Streamed down my face. ‘Come back.’ I’ll wait here
Until the sun disappears. 

Or this one:

I watched you leave while showers of tears
Streamed down my face. I’ll stay here
Until the sun dries my fears

Which one do you prefer and why?

Would you like to read some of the other entries or take part yourself? Follow this link 🙂

You all know Emily Dickinson’s short poems are favourites of mine. Well here’s one about waiting.

To wait an Hour—is long—
If Love be just beyond—
To wait Eternity—is short—
If Love reward the end— 

We spend much of our lives waiting for something or someone: the kettle to boil, the children to come home, the bus to arrive, the computer to start-up, the play to start, holidays to start, the plane to leave, the message to arrive…

I agree with Emily Dickinson, waiting isn’t such a bad thing, if what you’re waiting for is worth the wait!

Since I have my kindle app on my phone, I quite look forward to waiting, actually. Don’t you?

Bu the way, I’m the ‘Proud Winner’ of last week’s edition. Click on the badge to read on Three Line Thursday Blog 🙂

1st Prize

Click here to read my winning entry on this blog!

#3LineThursday: Memory and Desire

This post was written in response to the picture prompt at Three Line Thursday.

It’s a simple and creative writing challenge: One picture. Your response. Three lines. Maximum thirty words. More information here

Candle 3linethursday

Picture by Tracy Ann. Find her on Twitter and Facebook.

My response: Nefertiti’s Eyes


Hope is the cruelest dream, drawing

Tears from Nefertiti’s eyes, mixing

Her memory with my desire.


I watched the flame, started writing, and Nefertiti’s image came to my mind. Here it is. I’ll never forget seeing this inspirational work of art at the Egyptian Museum in Berlin.


By the way, no title is allowed in the challenge, but I’ve included one in my post. I find it hard to follow rules, so I bend them on my blog!

Take part and check out some of the other entries here

Three Line Thursday Challenge: Week Twenty-nine #3LineThursday

This week’s picture prompt for Three Line Thursday comes from the talented C. J. Ross.


3 line Thursdat 30 april

C. J. Ross Artist


This is what the picture inspired me to write:


Your brush strokes my mind,

Your colours paint my sighs,

I’m a smudge me on your canvas.


Would you like to read some of the other entries?

I received an Honorary mention for this entry. I am indeed honoured. Thank you to the judges. I love this contest!

Three Line Thursday Challenge: Week Twenty-Four

This week’s picture prompt for Three Line Thursday comes from the talented F. E. Clark, Scottish artist and writer, who lives and works in inspirational and magical North East Scotland. Have a look at her blog and other work here http://www.feclarkart.com

Keep an Eye Out for Signs, she said_F.E.Clark_2014

‘Keep an Eye Out for Signs, she said’ by F. E. Clark


This is what the picture inspired for me:

The dragon slept in her welcoming arms.
When she awoke, he would devour her and
Shed a tear to fill the empty sea.

Have a look at some of the other entries, or take part yourself, here. Only three lines. 10 words per line max.



Three Line Thursday Week 23

Can there be joy in pain?

Release in death?

Beauty in tragedy?

Can my fingers tickle the water and play a tune?

Can my feet dance in quicksand?

Why not?

Sounds like I managed if I can write a three-line poem about it.

Picture prompt:




The pianists fingers tickled the surface, while
his other arm reached out in search of air.
Nobody saw his toes dancing in the quicksand.


Would you like to read some of the other entries?

Three Line Thursday Challenge


Leaves trembling witnessed our promises.
Reverent stems watched over
your flesh and mine entwined.


Three Line Thursday: Three lines, maximum thirty words, in response to a weekly photo prompt.

Have a look at the rules, admire the photo prompt, read the other entries, and why not take part?



The end of the winter and coming of spring reminds us of nature’s new cycle of rebirth, hope, and love.

There’s another chance; we can begin again, as we move forward.

This reminds me of Jane and Rochester’s passionate reunion after their traumatic separation. It is found in the last pages of Jane Eyre.


I arrested his wandering hand, and prisoned it in both mine.
‘Her very fingers!’ he cried; ‘her small, slight fingers! If so there must be more of her.’
The muscular hand broke from my custody; my arm was seized, my shoulder—neck—waist—I was entwined and gathered to him.
‘Is it Jane? WHAT is it? This is her shape—this is her size—‘
‘And this her voice,’ I added. ‘She is all here: her heart, too. God bless you, sir! I am glad to be so near you again.’
‘Jane Eyre!—Jane Eyre,’ was all he said.
‘My dear master,’ I answered, ‘I am Jane Eyre: I have found you out—I am come back to you.’


Although my portrayal of Edward Rochester is not favourable in All Hallows at Eyre Hall, there is no doubt in my mind of the sincerity of their love and passion in Jane Eyre.

However, Rochester’s obsession with Jane, as well as her excessive admiration of and submission to such an egocentric and ruthless character stand in the way of any chance of a positive development in their relationship in the long-term.

Love, like nature, must move on: eppure si muove.

The direction of the movement belongs to the seed of creativity.