Thursday photo prompt: In The Deep #writephoto #amwriting #poetry

This poem was written in response to Sue Vincent’s Thursday photo prompt

writephoto

Use the image below to create a post on your own blog… poetry, prose, humour… light or dark, whatever you choose, by noon (GMT)  Wednesday 22nd March and link back to Sue’s post with a pingback.

Here’s my take on this beautiful photo.

****

In The Deep

Come inside.

Lose yourself

in my tunnels.

Listen

Quietly

to my heart beat.

Watch

carefully

As my blood drips.

Touch

softly

my very core.

Feel

slowly

my pulse beating,

beneath you feet.

I am alive

in the deep.

*****

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#3lineThursday #FlashPoetry The Sea of Glass

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

 

Week-10-Julie

         Picture by Julie

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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.

Week-7-Mikey

                                     Photo by Michael

Here’s my take:

Farewell

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.

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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

800px-Alfred_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.

Alfred_Tennyson_Middle_Age

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.

StatueOfTennyson

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.

Week-6-KM1

          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: The Clown’s Trunk

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

Week-5-Boris

            Photo by Boris

 

The Clown’s Trunk

Lipstick smeared on bruised lips. Blackened tears.
‘Let’s play,’ He said, then pointed.
‘Would you unlock the trunk, my dear?’

@LucciaGray

Clowns are such sinister characters, and well, their trunks, they’re just the most sinister objects on earth!

I can’t remember exactly, but I’m sure I was afraid of clowns as a child, and I still find them spooky to say the least. Who doesn’t?

I’m really curious about this trunk, ‘though. What’s inside? Funny tricks or more scary props?

In yesterday’s post it was Eve haunting my subconscious, and today it’s Pandora’s Box stalking me.  Quite by chance (I suppose), I also received a message from an unknown admirer who compared me to Eve! Is there a message for me there?

Like life itself, we never know what’s in store, good or bad, and we can bank on having our share of both, sooner or later!

At the moment things are good. No serious health problems for anyone in the family. Work’s fine. Book one and two are doing well, and book three’s on the way (my expectations are modest).

I can’t complain, but I’m not ready to open the trunk and look inside…

Are you?

Check out today’s other poems, or join in yourself, here.

I’m the proud winner of this edition! Here’s my badge to prove it 🙂

Year Two Week Five Winner: Luccia Gray

I Won a print copy of Light Lines!

“This was terrifying. Well done to the author. I can see the creepy face and feel the panic. A perfect tale for the picture…and now I can’t sleep. ” Judge’s Thoughts.

#3linethursday: Mary’s Monster

This post was written in response to this weeks’ Three Line Thursday prompt.

Week-3-Bruce

Picture by Bruce

 

Mary’s Monster 

 

A spark gave life to the monster in her mind,

The twisted ink from her quill ignited the blaze,

Her fingers drew the blood which spilled onto the parchment.

 

On 31 October 1831, the first revised edition of Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein or, The Modern Prometheus, was published. This version, which was revised by the author, is the one mostly published and read version of this classic horror story, which also has gothic, romantic, fantasy and even science fiction elements.

FrankensteinDraft

Draft of “Frankenstein by Mary Shelley (1797-1851)

 

We have all heard versions of the story of Frankenstien’s birth. It goes something like this:

During the rainy summer of 1816, there was a long, cold, volcanic winter caused by the eruption of Mount Tambora. Mary Shelley, aged 18 at the time, and her lover, and later husband, Percy Bysshe Shelley, were visiting Lord Byron at his villa by Lake Geneva in Switzerland. Sitting around a log fire during the unusually cold and rainy summer, they amused themselves by reading ghost stories. Byron then suggested they each write a ghost story.

800px-RothwellMaryShelley

Mary Shelley by Richard Rothwell – Scan of a print. Original housed at the National Portrait Gallery.

 

The short story Mary Shelley started that chilly summer evening became Frankenstein; or, The Modern Prometheus, which was first published in three volumes, anonymously, on 11 March 1818 by a small London publishing house.

It has become one of my favourite novels, and one of the most well-known 19th century literary creations. Frankenstein’s influence on modern culture and psyche is easily recognisable and understandable.

800px-Frankenstein's_monster_(Boris_Karloff)

Frankenstein’s monster by actor Boris Karloff (Universal Studios)

Our rebellion against the inevitability of death and loss, and the need, albeit the futility, of rebellion, is a recurrent theme in life and literature.

Shakespeare knew literature was our only hope of influencing, and perhaps even living, beyond our short mortal lives:

So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.

(From Sonnet 18)

I’m currently reading, and enjoying,  as part of Rosie’s Book Review TeamAlmost Invincible a biographical novel about the life of of Mary Shelley, which I’ll be reviewing shortly.

Almost Invincible.1