Category: Writers Block
Going through a narrowed hallway
Where darkness was the rule
Formed of bricks and field stones of old
Moisture trekking down on walls mortared
Came upon a window small, its glass shard broken
On the windowsill a Raven was perched
Wings folded and head cast down
There was brief a shadowing of grey light
Was morning beginning or day at close?
Going through a narrowed hallway
Where darkness was the rule
Traveling endless miles it seemed
Would ever there be a light at the end of this hallway
And if there was ..was light.. well, was light.. well,
Would it be that ushered into death, the light proclaiming?
The air so dank, so thin, and barely breathing
A little further on and yet another glassless window
With this one web containing.. and too its maker
(I had to smile for spiders I adore)
Going through a narrowed hallway
Where darkness was the rule
When a strange delightful scent caught me by surprise
Wild breezes started to flow ~ so hungry, just to feel again
Coming at long last to the end of that narrowed hallway
Entering into a garden walled with rays of red springing forth
As dawn lay across the horizon where mountains loomed so high
The Raven taking flight with shrillness uttered
There on that garden walled, growing profusely
That gave scent so lavish ~ roses ever blooming of jet black
~*Thunderous MidNight*~
interesting
I really like it. Although it doesn't seem to have a very distinct theme, its imagery is superb. Although, is the imagery and this journey through the narrowed a symbol of something, a parrellel to the hardships of life?
What’s this, the sound of voices coming from within the garden walled?
Voices not having been heard for ages within the gates wrought of iron
Wherein the Castle Tasgall stands
Standing perhaps in ruins yet still standing.
Venturing towards the Tree of Aeterna
Its colour in magnificent hues of blue
Raven lights a top one of its branches
With a strange silence giving chilling quiet
Soon ‘tis learned that the voices belong to
One being Royal, THE QUEEN OF R&B
While the other with a name that stirs the thoughts too, musical
GRACESONG she proclaims the name and with a question posed
In far off distance a rumble can be heard
Perhaps it is that of a beastly lion who for days without food has gone
The sound echoing throughout the mountainous range, growing ever louder
Me thinks it shall on another day the answer thusly given
~*Thunderous MidNight*~
I'd eat nothing but dried husks for a talent like yours
Stevie.
And then along came SPEEDIE, Ridin’ says he,
A Triumph Speedmaster Trike, named Matilda Bane
So brightly polished a Brilliant Black & Glistening Silver
Must be, thinks I, that he is a man ahead of his time
For non of this type of machinery have I in me lifetime encountered
(Nor truth to tell, this type of a man ~ he seems quite the mystery)
Talk of a noise so powerful, this, his machine he straddles is alarming
Just to think, it’s been the neigh of horses in bygone times
That I have been accustomed to
(Who am I really? A Ghost of a person perhaps?)
For it has been years without number that I having traveled
Going through a narrowed hallway
Where darkness was the rule
And what’s this except the Rider Speedie is in search of a meal
Ah, men they have such a way of leaving little hints
Giving flattery, talkin’ of dried husks
Giving me to think I am an award winning accomplished writer
When all the time the dear man is simply searchin’ for a meal
I trust though that his time he will be a takin’ on the slow side
For in no hurry am I to have him take his leave
(After all thinks I, with a beastly lion rumbling and now roaring, and
In close proximity, I am in no hurry for this man to be speeding away
For you know if Lion where to have to choose,
What can I say except that Lion would choose well
If Lion were to choose not me and rather…rather…
Oh dear, what can I say?
Speedie, let’s ride fast up into the Castle Tasgall, for lion hastens!
There’s a cement ramp leading up to the kitchen
Just to the left, over there the other side
Of that tumble down mulberry bush in amongst the briars of thorns sharp
That has fruit a ripen’ even now on the vine,
Settling the question of, “What’s for dinner?”
At least fresh fruit, maybe lion too and certainly not dried husks –
The dried husks we always in the past saved for the “Out Castle”
Oh I remember it well, one Harvest Season, crops were abundant,
A ramp was put in so the horses could drive up, unloading their wagons
Where cooks were busy in preparation of canning of the bounty
Then it was a year when THE Grim Reaper came
Throwing life so vibrant into the shadows…………
~*Thunderous MidNight*~
That's brilliant have you any Irish blood at all?
I'm flattered as hell that you've written this
about me. Thank you
Stevie .
The Grim Reaper has taken my parents,
The both of them, one by one through the years
With Grandparents gone on long before
Now in the time that has lapsed
I wish so much that while
I had them here I would have asked more questions
Of my ancestry
I spoke to an Uncle of mine back over the holidays
On the phone and he and I discussing
How when as the first ones came from
Across the shores many from lands far away,
How spellings of the family name(s) had been changed,
Making it difficult to take of the names I have
And get involved in any type of back tracking
Though with what little I’ve been told
Yet still an answer reply I can give you with,
Yes it is that Irish blood runs deep through these veins of mine.
Back a few weeks ago there was
A television documentary on Ireland
Oh how within myself it brought to me the longing
So hard to explain it, yet
Though always have I known the United States to be my home,
Well, the country of my birth
Yet, somewhere…..
From deep within or maybe from some place deep,
Hidden from mortal view
The longing calls from far away that home resides.
Does that make any sense to you?
I take it you are an Irishman Speedie?
~*Thunderous MidNight*~
A few observations
Wheeling through the thorns is a no no,
I hate to lose even a teaspoonful of blood.
And your ramps a bit steep, mind you I've seen worse.
I have to warn you now mate, if you are having a laugh on me
with the Irish diaspora to America, in light of the famine,
I'll not be happy. That terrible period in Irish history is burned into my soul, I'm haunted by it, so watch yourself .
First of all to the Gentleman Rider Speedie,
As far as in any manner of having, “a laugh on you,”
As question you’ve posed to me, my answer reply is that of, “Nay!”
No, farthest thoughts and so far that narry would ever give this thought
True, a hearty laugh I enjoy with the best of them, only key word being,
With, for never, having a laugh on someone or at another’s expense
This I consider to be so wrong and hurtful,
It’s just not a part of my style
It is good to get clear these matters first or else it is
The irritations, festering, grown can make for putridness
That scathes and scars.
There’s alreadied too much of that in this world.
Only emerging now as it is from a narrowed hallway
Where darkness was the rule
And here finding you within the Garden Walled of the Castle Tasgall
By the way, Gentleman Rider Speedie who from danger sailed me away
On that powerful Triumph Speedmaster Trike of yours
Allow for me to introduce myself
For it is I, the Lady Thorquilla, who after ages many has made return.
A Few Thoughts on the Story here thus far:
In the story, it was in the case of a choice between the oncoming lion and the going through the roughness of the landscape, well, it just seemed the important thing to get away as quickly as possible from what at the moment appeared to be complete loss of blood from a rip roaring snarling viciously hungered lion to rather a possible small trickle of blood loss here and there from a nasty thorn protruding. Like you I am not into blood loss for it is the life force contained there within.
Must commend you though Speedie for that machine of yours ye handled so well, you drived out around those tumbled down briers without so much as one scrape to the ither of us and to report that Matilda Bane is as lovely and brilliant as ever, for it weren’t for her the story would have alreadied closed with lion the victor. Also good of you to have spared the mulberries ripe upon the vine by taking a moments few to completely bypass them by that machine that ye ride that sorely would have turned them into unfruitful wine before their time, sparing them rather for dinner of them was most satisfying and lion, well, he still lingers about the grounds of the garden walled but that’s a tale for another day.
~*Thunderous Midnight*~