Six Words and an Image for NLJ

Not Every Picture Has a Pretty Ending

There’s a belt
of blue-edge-reach
that calls the unsuspecting.
It’s an expanse so deep
that it shines like brass
when the sun is nearly set.
And the clouds move
side to side,
some broken,
some battered, all
by the trial of wind.
And I wade waist
to deep, waist
to deeper, waist
to endless down
and down into
a wash of waves
white as a bearded face.
And I’m pulled against
the tide, deep to deeper,
seeking the blue-reach
of that fixed skyline.


Written for Not a Literary Journal. Prompted words from Robert Peake’s prompt generator. I selected 6 words, plus an image from the British Library. Words: reach, side, expanse, broken, waist, brass, and an image from the British Library “Orphaned”. This is inspired by the drowning of a young man off Newhaven pier during Storm Imogen this week.

Found Poetry: A Tale of Shipwreck

A Tale of Shipwreck

Look on
its wreck half sunk
in frown and wrinkled lip,
whose sneer
mocked the heart
and fed despair.
There boundless bare
on level sands,
there lone,
to tell,
who stands.



for Magpie Tales. Poetic Form Found/Syntex Method Concordance (“and” ++2) and then remixed, from Shelley’s “Ozymandias”

For Sunday Whirl’s Wordle #237

Six More Random Thoughts

There isn’t time for falling to pieces,
so I wear clothes to match the colour of weather.

I believe in small things — autumn fog that ramps
over the bay, brown scuffed shoes, grey hair, and dust.

The wind drones on like sorrow, chops away
at everyone’s day like grey sheets on a clothesline.

I watch the world grow old, subscribe to the laws
of the wise and weary, where a nap is mending.

I’ve never seen a buck, ‘though they exist,
just as I’ve never seen a star – only its light.

There’s a steady silence when I walk, a noise-
less hike, and I cross into an unwalled space.


Wordle words for #237: piece, bucks, hike, law, match, ramp, drone, cross, chop, bay, see, believe