Category Fiction

Only A River

freyathewriter 25 Comments

Dogs howl, as is their wont. 

The cold moon rises, her blank face pierced by branches turned naked and brittle. All trees are leafless at this time of year, bark rimed with frost.

My breath hangs, shimmering in the freezing air, and the iridescent image swims through a mirror that flows like liquid silk. I frown at such misplaced fancy. It is only a river reflecting evidence of my vitality. 

A river… A chance.

The bloodhounds remain far distant yet. I brace myself against the cold and step into the freezing depths, gritting my teeth. 

I wade agains the current, skin, muscles, bones aching in protest, my greatcoat sagging, dragging heavy with water. 

Until the wretched creatures lose my scent, here I must remain. I plead, to any great benefactor who might hear my prayers, for clouds, mist, a dense fog. 

For my freedom.

Over at dVerse Poets Pub, it’s time for a bit of Prosery, courtesy of Dora. She has asked us to create a piece of prose, fiction or non-fiction, to include the following line from Stanley Kunitz’s most famous poem, King of the River:

“. . . and the iridescent image swims
through a mirror that flows.”

I haven’t written a Prosery for some time, so this is a fun diversion from my usual poetic adventures. it must consist of maximum 144 words, and while the line can include different punctuation, it cannot be otherwise changed. I truly enjoyed incorporating this line into my fiction piece, and I hope it fits well into my narrator’s thoughts.

If you want to join us in this poetry adjacent journey, head on over to dVerse and dive in!

(Image courtesy of Muhammed Zeya on Pexels).

Weaponised

freyathewriter 13 Comments

Image – author’s own

bitter you are, with your lemon sharp teeth,
spouting cruel words from far beneath 
the rasp of your tongue and the knife of your smile,
you may possess beauty, but your character is vile,
your acidic ways are a corrosive salt crown,
your thorns drawing blood from the hearts that you’ve found
and cast aside, they’re so obsolete 
watching you fall from your high horse is delectably sweet 

attack you I must for your arrogant ways,
your character is rotting, there is a malaise
in the depths of your soul (if you have one left),
you may be quite empty, utterly bereft
of love, life and laughter, of joy and delight,
I see there is nothing, something’s not right, 
the source of your venom is just a pretence
it’s a shield, not a sword – it’s all a defence 

*****

Through taking part in the dVerse Open Link Night, I discovered a new-to-me poetry prompt – W3. Organised by David over at The Skeptic’s Kaddish, each week a different poet is Poet of the Week, who’s poem each participant reads before submitting their poem in response to the prompt. The poems are then read by the Poet of the Week who selects the next week’s Poet of the Week.

W3 Prompt #85: Wea’ve Written Weekly’s poet of the week, ladysighs, has prompted us to compose two verses according to the following specifications:

  • “Opposites”:The first and last word of each stanza must be opposites of one another;
    • The two stanzas must use different opposites.
  • No restrictions on form, length, meter, or rhyme;
  • Thematic: Write about emotions, attitudes, and/or moods;

This was fun! I hope you enjoy reading this poem – do hop on over to the link above on The Skeptic’s Kaddish blog to read more of the wonderful poems. You could even take part yourself!

Haibun Monday – Golden

freyathewriter 23 Comments

Over at dVerse, Frank has asked us to write a haibun (a piece of prose followed by a haiku) on the subject of Thanksgiving, whatever that may mean to us. This was good timing for me as it chimed with something beautiful that caught my eye this morning.

If you are intrigued by the concept of a haibun, why not take a hop, skip and a jump over here to read what the poets who frequent the dVerse Poets Pub have to offer – you are very welcome to take part yourself!

In the meantime, I hope you enjoy my offering.

**********

I am wistful at this time of year, once again mourning the passing of a season whilst my back has been turned. Yet again I have been distracted by matters that seemed, at the time, so much more important than they truly were. 

It is only whilst standing at my favourite upstairs window, with its view of the garden and the valley beyond, that my heart is lifted. 

Glowing in the morning’s misty gloom is the small acer tree, its delicate leaves a burnished yellow. In summer the leaves were a deep burgundy and I have just caught sight of them in their autumn finery before they fall.

Today’s cheerful golden leaves are a precious moment in time, my ray of light before deep winter descends.

I am transient
as autumn mists and sunshine,
My heart sings with joy