Poem: Beauty in Brown

Beauty in brown.
A trickle of treacle
Warm chestnuts in cold hands
Toasted bread and bubbling cheese,
two rounds please.
Rough walnut shells and wet earth smells.
Coffee ground from beans
means time to sit down , feet up
book open and flick through the pages
for ages.
Glossy conkers peeping up to me
through crunchy Autumn leaves.
Sparrows shouting from my roof.
The clopping hooves of a shaggy Shire,
Logs waiting for a fire
or a carving that makes a floor full of shavings,
or back to the start as a gnarled oak tree
with acorn cups for a fairy or three.
To scribble with ink of many shades
but always back to brown on a thick cream page.

© Swarms Me 2017

Friday Fictioneers: The Palace of Ten Thousand Arches.

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Photo prompt ©Dale Rogerson

The Palace of Ten Thousand Arches and each arch has a tale to tell. Over there is where the first usurper uttered his embryonic plot. Behind us is where the handmaid became a mother and later gutted the man who forced motherhood on her.

At this moment, by the arch right in front of us, His Most Exalted feels like he will marry the handmaiden’s child at 18. He will ask the crone and she will tell him to proceed but give him portents that she knows he will not heed. Her need for justice and revenge will be satisfied.

©Swarms Me 2017

(100 words)

Do you know what I really don’t know if I’m happy with this at all and I really struggled this week. Maybe I’ve had a bad week in general and it’s not even Friday anymore but I’m posting it as a lesson to myself. I think as it reminds me so much as the setting for a place that I have in mind for another story it wouldn’t get out of my head for this prompt.

As always (twice now) thank-you to Rochelle for choosing and pushing us with these prompts. There have been so many great pieces this week and I am only a third of the way through them.

Friday Fictioneers: Concrete songs and trolls.

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Photo prompt ©C. E. Ayr

Every day I catch the train, only just make it sometimes. I find a seat by the window, somehow I always seem to get one, just my luck.

The singing starts when that scrappy red bridge comes into sight. I sometimes glance to see if anyone else notices. My eyes are drawn to that concrete support. It’s like a mermaid coming out of the tarmac and hardcore sea singing me back there to a place where trolls shouldn’t lurk but do. It smells of grease, dust and concealment. Holding the bridge up, holding secrets down, holding me as a prisoner.

(100 words)

by Swarms Me ©2017

This is my first go at Friday Fictioneers and I really enjoyed it. What a challenge, what a buzz. How scary too!

Click the link to take a look at Rochelle Weisoff-Fields site. https://rochellewisofffields.wordpress.com/