Helping Hand

Picture by Ayla87 on rgbstock.com

I clean the shop, I mend the shoes, I help the downcast maiden choose

Her future prince, her future bright, her perfect brave and charming knight

I bless the baby that she bears, I honour every oath she swears,

I prophesy of days unborn, of trials to come, of oaths foresworn

Of fallen thrones and mirrors smashed, of crowns cast down and glories past

And then I turn and start again, I’ve seen each story wax and wane

And in each tale of destiny, in each strange tale there’s always me

A little voice, a hidden hand, a sprite perhaps with so much planned,

A crone perhaps, a crone I am, Or sometimes yet a wizened man,

Or youth in green, or far off light, or voice that whispers in the night,

My favours come to those in need, my favours plant the fertile seed

I’ll stack the cups up on the table, to spin the straw to gold I’m able

I’ll give you all the riddles’ answers, I’ll train the girl to join the dancers,

To sing with angel’s voice and soar, to bring her love back from the war

I’ve seen ten thousand stories told, I’ve seen ten thousand lives unfold

And touched each one, and made them mine, I know the ways to make them shine

The mundane waste of mundane life, in seconds passing, dismal strife

Or dismal joy, so pale and weak, I cannot bear such futures bleak

So I step in with sharpened story, and cut so deep in search of glory

And cut away the life that bores, and cut away the life that’s yours

I know you see, I know what’s best, the shining tale, the mighty quest

I’ll put you on the path I choose, I’ll see you walk it, don’t refuse,

Dull daily life requires mending, and who would shun a happy ending?

I’m here to help,

I’m good, I’m nice,

 I never ever name the price

(in response to the picture prompt shown above from Light and Shade Challenge)

Shades

(a prompt from Light and Shade Challenge using the following picture)

I wake, with slumber fogging up my  head

And turn to where your sleeping shadow lies

And stretch my arm across the half cold bed

And miss your eyes, and miss and miss your eyes

Coffee for one, and while the water drips

The light moves slyly and I watch entranced,

Upon the kitchen floor, a cruel eclipse,

The moving shadows of the waltz we danced

I need to clear my thoughts, and breathe fresh air

But in the garden there’s no solace found

In silhouette a summer’s kiss hangs there

Upon the fence, and in the past I’m drowned

The car was coming fast, too fast it sped

A thunderbolt, a kraken on the lane,

Then painted new in Rorschach-inkblot red

It left you there, unmade, in shaded rain

The future’s long and cold.  How can I last

So haunted by the shadows of the past?

Remembrance

(a writing prompt from Write on Edge)

The bells of St Brigit’s are calling tonight

Recalling a trio of baptisms made

One not long past springtime three boys all in white

Soon muddied and grinning they grew and they played

In green hills and wildwoods, valley and stream

Three bold brave adventurers seeking their fame

Then home for their supper, a snug bed and dream

And each new day shines brightly,  life is a game

The bells recall years far too fast as they pass

And three called away, told to fight the good fight

Foreign fields, noble causes, and dreams drowned in gas

The boys of St Brigit’s are falling tonight

Once upon a laptop tapping

A writing prompt from Trifecta

WHATEVER 

3.   (adverb) Used to show that something is not important

I had been trying to write.   To write poetry in fact which is an infection that flares up every now and again.   It wasn’t flowing though, I couldn’t get the rhythm right and it wasn’t helped by the pernicious temptation to browse the Internet in between thoughts.   Even that was interrupted by an irritating repetitive scratching at the door.

Roused I was from browsing languor, roused from torpor into anger

I got up and let Edgar in.   He gave me the look of self-satisfied contempt that comes so easily to his kind.

“What on earth are you looking at now?” he said in tones of mock outrage as he saw my monitor.  I hastily closed the browser down, almost knocking over my glass in the process.

Guilt and shame made me a fumbler, racing swift to shut down Tumblr

“Inspiration,” I said, “I’m writing poetry.”

Think cats can’t laugh? It’s all in the ears.  Edgar hopped up on the desk, nudging my mouse a few times.  He likes his little visual jokes.

There he sat the feline critic making mock and oh so clever

“You won’t get inspiration from looking at those pictures,” Edgar said, “not for poetry anyway.  Not for poetry you’d want anyone to see.  You only write poetry when you’re miserable.  Are you miserable?”
He was curious (naturally) but not concerned.  His enquiry was entirely academic.

“Not particularly,” I replied, “but I’m sure you can help with that.”

Edgar thrashed his tail and narrowed his eyes.

Angry now at being challenged angry now but still so clever

“I’m sure I can.  I’ll consider that a life goal, shall I?” he said.

I sighed.  Edgar in a bad mood was not a comfortable housemate.

“Sorry Edgar,” I said, “You just caught me at a bad moment.   Why don’t I open up a can of tuna for you?”

He swished his tail as he jumped down from the desk and sauntered from the room.

Quoth the feline, “meh, whatever.”

(Edgar also appears here)

Fallen

A writing prompt from Studio30Plus - "Hurt"

We fell to earth, who once had soared so high

So fast and far through endless stellar night

From that sweet single point of bursting light

And shining side by side till we drew nigh

This world, this world, and its embrace was cold

And made us fall, at first so close we fell

Through screaming skies, and side by side we fell,

Foul gravity, the turning earth took hold

And parted us, made distance and I wept

To be alone in so so cold a place

Ignored the pain of impact, but to face

A moment where your shining light was kept

Away from me, away from me who’d burned

With stellar flaming fire like your own

That moment was a horror.  Cold, alone

And buried in dark earth I cooled and yearned

For soaring moments and that fragile flame

That I’d once thought eternal and was gone.

I cooled and darkened, dark where once I’d shone,

A stone and not a star; small, cold and tame.
Yet even on this distant barren shore
I sense you drawing close and blaze once more

Shades

(a writing prompt from Trifecta)

Slumping, empty, day by day

A life lived bleak in shadow play

The light burns bright but far away

And all is shown in shadow play

When cold night comes shall shadows stay?

Disturbed Night

(A writing prompt from Trifecta:  33 words on any subject)

The noises in the too silent house didn't ever stop.

The sound of his footsteps on paths he never took.

The sound of words he should have said.

No wonder he couldn’t sleep.

Arid Conjuration

When the days are endless dreary, and the nights are long and dry,

And the shape of what you have is dark, unclear,

It’s there beyond the eye of mind and hiding, God knows why,

And never to be finished, that’s the fear

When you yearn to walk the path again, to blaze a brand new trail

But your feet upon the way are stuck and mired

When each moment is a torment, in despair that you will fail

And you want to walk the path but you’re so tired

Each second that is passing, it will never come again

And every word unwritten is  a crime

There’s lives that need their telling, in their triumph and their pain

Each moment’s silence spends their precious time

The doors seem to be closing, and the light is failing fast

And the pallid desert’s barren on the screen

But I’ll walk the path, I’ll walk it, till the desert I have passed

And all the things that could be, all have been.