A Picture's Worth

[Aerlinn]

.

write a picture, leave a picture


presented with, and banner by, @Tarawen

Every picture is worth something in words. This is a space where Cottage-dwellers can find visual inspiration for written works, then share the writing that comes of it with fellow authors.

***

Inspired by the original A Picture's Worth thread, now with a twist.

First, respond to the visual prompt with original fiction, fanfic, a short story, flash fiction, poetry, or a drabble--if you can think of it's welcome here. Then leave an original photo, or piece of artwork, of your own for the next person to write about. Reviews of fellow Cottage-dwellers' works are highly encouraged.

Guidelines:
- ALL are welcome.
- If you're just dying to write something for an older photo, feel free to post it in addition to a response to the current prompt.
- No need to delete simul posts, we want to see what you wrote! But the picture for the next prompt goes to the person who posted first.
- Original photos/artwork can be anything (within reason!)--scenery, people, old buildings, floofy critters--whatever you have on hand that someone can write about.
- Have fun and thanks for playing!

[Zôrzimril]

Yay, I'm thrilled to see this thread return, and I love the twist. Thanks for getting this going again, @Aerlinn!

Alrighty folks, here's our first visual prompt:

[Drífa]

Pass with care
For in this land lay bones of old;
scatter over and under hill and stone
Guarded by the clouded blue skies
forgotten souls, forgotten lives
forever resting in paradise..

[Aerlinn]

Ah, I envy those who can write poetry other than the occasional goofy rhyming couplet. It's lovely @drifa, it speaks to the desert.

But erm, could you pop by to post a photo too? We were thinking the person who answers the prompt posts a new photo for the next person, who posts a new photo for the next person... etc. A chain of photos - writing instead of posting one new prompt for everybody every few weeks.

Thanks for writing!!

[Drífa]

Hi ho Aerlinn! Nice to see you. Thank you for your kind words. I have been trying to figure out how to post a photo. Finally figured it out..

A little something so as not to mess up the thread with chatter.

Beneath a mushroom
in a wild unknown wilderness
The Teensy dance
with slim, slender, blades of grass

[Dimcairien Luiniel]

A little tiny mushroom
May not be much to look at
But if you are upon the ground
It is a giant mushroom house.

[Aerlinn]

Thanks everyone! Love the poetry, but I shan't dare such waters myself yet. @Dimcairien Luiniel, skimming through the old thread, why are you Jelly Babies?

*** *** ***

An old man crouched in the snow and beckoned his grandson forward. "Look," he said, pointing, "who do you think made those tracks?"

"A wolf?" a young voice answered. The pair wore snow shoes they had made that autumn with carefully bent ash frames and deer hide webbing.
"Nay lad, not a wolf."

"A bear?"
"Bears have better sense than to leave their beautiful cozy, warm dens just to romp around in the snow," the old man said very drily.

"Was it a dragon?" The boy's eyes were wide with excitement and disbelief.
At that the old man threw back his head and laughed and the granite-cast shadows were suddenly brighter. "No, you fiend! Not a dragon."
"Oh," muttered the boy in disappointment. It seemed to him then as if all the adventures in the world had already been used up, and there were none left for him.

The old man stood and stretched as best he could in his heavy coat and clumsy footwear. He checked the position of the sun that flashed behind skittering clouds and eyed the long path before them. Soon it turned sharply upwards and disappeared into the deep snow of its upper reaches. They had plenty of daylight, he decided, and looked down at the boy. "Well, would you like me to show you a dragon track?"

The boy's mouth formed a small 'o' of surprise and they climbed up into the mountains.

*** *** ***

[Zôrzimril]

Eee, I'm loving all the inspired works you all have shared so far - both written and visual!

The path before me does not bend
And home I go, my hurts to mend
Beneath lush trees for some respite
There's measured comfort in my flight

We eat well and firelight blazes
Fueling tales of long-lost places
And suddenly my head I rest
To ride upon the dream-wave's crest

And rain falls now in streaks and sheets
Then into port returns the fleet
They sailed for home at break of day
The journey's done, and now they stay

[Drífa]

Lovely words one and all!


Some love is to powerful
Not a space left between
Makes me cry
Its been a long time
Wont ever see you again
God do you listening
Its me thinking of the good old days
God do you feel me
Sending my love to you
Sending my love to you
Buddy Smiles

[Aerlinn]

I've been sitting on this idea for a few days and it never quite came together, but here is something like a poem. Inspired equally by ents and Clint Eastwood singing in Paint My Wagon.

I talk to the trees of hidden hopes
of starlit wonders
of the plight of mockingbirds
and nightingales.

I stare at her with furrowed brow
This wandering girl
With words I almost know
Black hair 'neath silver stars

He frowns his wide-carved frown at me
deep set, shadowed eyes
I tell him what the river said
and the wind across the lake.

Her words are quick and light as mice
raindrops pattering my leaves
To questions I know answers not
but in a pause
a long breath
I say
her name.

[Zôrzimril]

"When will we arrive?" the old sailor asked. Bent with age, his eyesight fading, he could smell the sea. "It must be close."

"Soon," his daughter replied, grasping his arm in support. "Soon, you will rest."

* * *

[Drífa]

"Now children, gather round. Today I will sing you a song. It is called, Waves."

Waves
There is a swelling storm
And I'm caught up in the middle of it all
And it takes control
Of the person that I thought I was
The boy I used to know

But there is a light
In the dark, and I feel its warmth
In my hands and my heart
Why can't I hold on?

It comes and goes in waves
It always does, always does
We watch as our young hearts fade
Into the flood, into the flood

The freedom of falling
A feeling I thought was set in stone
It slips through my fingers
I'm trying hard to let go
It comes and goes in waves
It comes and goes in waves
And carries us away

Through the wind
Down to the place we used to lay when we were kids
Memories of a stolen place
Caught in the silence
An echo lost in space

It comes and goes in waves
It always does, it always does
We watch as our young hearts fade
Into the flood, into the flood

The freedom of falling
A feeling I thought was set in stone
It slips through my fingers
I'm trying hard to let go
It comes and goes in waves
It comes and goes in waves
And carries us away

I watched my wild youth
Disappear in front of my eyes
Moments of magic and wonder
It seems so hard to find
Is it ever coming back again?
Is it ever coming back again?
Take me back to the feeling when
Everything was left to find

It comes and goes in waves
It always does, oh it always does

And the freedom of falling
A feeling I thought was set in stone
It slips through my fingers
I'm trying hard to let go
It comes and goes in waves
It comes and goes in waves
And carries us away

*Songwriters: Nicholas Atkinson, Edward Holloway, Dean Loaney

[Aerlinn]

Oh, here I go again with the questionable poetry. I make no claims as a poet but I hope the sentiment is there.

With golden curls and red hood
she walks out her back door
dropping bread crumbs as she goes.

The little house she's just left
becomes a witch's hut
a castle
the abode of a sailor without a ship.

And there on the porch of an exiled knight
a farmer who might be a prince
a tower with
a balcony she climbs to
stepping stone to stone.
A long branch polished to sharpest steel
and a hilt of gold.

Waiting is a princess
a clutch of tiny dragon eggs
a griffin's nest.

Or a songbird due to hatch
any minute.
And when she watches with wide blue eyes,
she will think it worth the price
of a fairytale.

(I don't remember what phone I had that made these but I just found a bunch in my archives. )