POETIC BLOOMINGS

POETIC BLOOMINGS is a Phoenix Rising Poetry Guild site established in May 2011 to nurture and inspire the creative spirit.

PROMPT #102. Ekphrastic Poetry – 2013 Photo Prompt #2

Photo credit:  MARJORY M. THOMPSON

Photo credit: MARJORY M. THOMPSON

THIS IS YOUR PROMPT.  WHAT DOES IT SAY TO YOU?

(Thanks to Marjory M. Thompson [aka MMT] for use of her photo)

MARIE ELENA’S POEM

Inhabiting Moments

There was a day when life moved at the speed of carriage; when intimacy waited for marriage. Evening meals were planned, prepared and, following prayer, shared. 
 
Dim the light. 
Rewrite the greed.
Linger.
Proceed
Gently though the years, before time disappears.

© Copyright Marie Elena Good – 2013

WALT’S LIMIT

SLOW DOWN, YOU”RE MOVING TOO FAST

Up to speed traveling
on the path of least resistance.
Upon his heart’s insistence,
it’s pedal to the metal.
Despite speed bumps, he will
take his lumps and move along.
Don’t limit his progress,
or he’ll plow you down!

 

© Copyright Walter J. Wojtanik – 2013

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265 thoughts on “PROMPT #102. Ekphrastic Poetry – 2013 Photo Prompt #2

  1. Henrietta Choplin on said:

    Thank you, MMT, Walt and Meg… I need to sleep on this one…

  2. LIMITS

    No one can tell me how fast I can go,
    how far I can fly
    how high I can climb
    How much I can love.

    No one can tell me what choices I have,
    how hard I can try
    how long I can continue
    how soon I can begin.

    No one can limit my existance
    my resistance
    my exuberance
    my patience.

    Try, just try to stop me.
    The only thing that can limit me is my imagination
    my reluctance,
    and my fear.

    And I will never allow that to happen.

  3. Life Is A Highway

    Life is a highway,
    Leading on and on,
    With many twists
    And many turns;

    Given the choice,
    I’d choose an open
    Highway, surrounded
    On all sides by hills

    And grassy flatlands;
    The wind in my hair,
    And on my face,
    The sun at my back;

    Going a good seventy,
    Or more, miles per hour;
    Open countryside,
    Tall white windmills;

    Don’t try to limit me,
    I couldn’t go slow
    If I tried my hardest;
    But I won’t even try.

    Life is a highway;
    Give me an open highway…

    © Copyright Erin Kay Hope – 2013

  4. Ennui

    E veryone likes bucking authority
    N o limits, no laws
    N o restrictions, no restraints
    U ntil they get run over by another
    I ntrepid renegade

  5. Pingback: Silent Screams | Metaphors and Smiles

  6. Silent Screams

    Silken-slinking and black,
    it inks the pavement in secret;
    it creeps in a slow sheet.
    A street so familiar
    becomes a stranger
    while he sleeps.
    He’s early rising
    and in rush of morning
    he forgets that winter
    still kisses the earth,
    he fails to recall
    that frost still lingers.
    A fast fling
    from car to woods,
    the sound of his body
    as it hits the ground
    resounds through nature.
    Last year’s grass
    yellowed –
    crisp with remembering
    cried out,
    tried to remind him.
    Slow down sojourner!
    Take care early traveler!
    Beware, the ice crawls here!

    Copyright © Hannah Gosselin 2013

  7. DebiSwim on said:

    I had just finished this for an assignment and it seems appropriate here. I’ll work on another after church today.

    Whitney:
    Stolen Moments

    Time’s a thief.
    What does he do
    with all those
    purloined hours
    of wasted
    aimless moments
    littered along the wayside?

  8. I love it Debi. If you ever get an answer, I would love to hear it!

  9. PASSING 35 MPH

    young teen-age daughter,
    this time (speaking in gross
    understatement) I say you’ve
    overstepped yourself again
    shown yourself
    typically stubborn
    for the last time refusing to lift
    your foot from the pedal
    giving that shiny blue Mustang
    enough horse power to gallop

    into the shiny blue expanse
    of the next world’s highway
    beyond speed-limit signs
    beyond reason
    beyond parental advice
    while we survivors
    grounded to life without you
    regret we knuckled under
    to your buy-me-a-new-car
    birthday wishes

    when we could have instead
    sent you off on a Roman holiday
    a week in the Bahamas
    or gifted you with a thick envelope
    wadded with fifties
    mad money to bankroll
    your painting the town red

    instead of leaving us
    on empty
    stranded
    Flat-tired weary
    Stalled in your memories

    #

  10. Henrietta Choplin on said:

    Slowing Down

    Big, white, puffy cloud of grace,
    move slowly, surely in my space
    of skyline’s shadow that is traced,
    Into a tranquil, peaceful place…

  11. Thank God, no, Marie! Most of my poems and stories are fabricated worlds I like to visit but not necessarily want to live there.

  12. Sorry – I posted too fast and put an earlier version up. Here’s the correct version:

    No Limits

    “In love, somehow, a man’s heart is always either exceeding the speed limit or getting parked in the wrong place.” ~Helen Rowland

    He raced through love as if on fire.
    ‘though, once in a while, he felt stirred,
    but mostly he thought ‘slow’ absurd.
    He liked his speed to be much higher

    and women were what he’d acquire.
    In this, his quest was undeterred
    ‘though, once in a while, he felt stirred,.
    He raced through love as if on fire.

    And then, he met his heart’s desire,
    but he was not what she preferred.
    She said, “With speed, all lines get blurred.
    We’d crash and burn…a funeral pyre.
    Won’t race through love as if on fire.”

    ###

  13. claudsy on said:

    Nice prompt guys. You know I love doing these, don’t you?

  14. Nearing the Breaking Point

    Revolts often spurred by limits
    Protests raised by restrictions
    Demonstrators demanding release
    From an imperialistic government
    We are a people of freedom

    We resist because we are free
    Even the common sense limits
    That protect us from ourselves
    Restrictions, nevertheless
    And cause for resistance

    But limits as of late
    Have handcuffed us all
    To an all-powerful government
    Bent on control and power
    Bent on removing freedoms

    We are a people of freedom
    Nearing the breaking point
    How much more will we take

    (C) 2013 Earl Parsons

  15. ejparsons on said:

    Bullet riddled sign
    Unseen by those passing by
    Danger lies ahead

  16. Metal on metal
    gas pedal pushed to the floor
    green grass broken lives

  17. DebiSwim on said:

    Traveler speeding down the interstate
    rushing to get somewhere,
    you’ll never know
    what use to lie just over that knoll.

    A busy, bustling town
    neat houses, mom and pop stores,
    a community of caring people,
    no more.

    Cause progress came a callin’
    built four lanes where two once sufficed.
    Then a big mall went up
    and sealed the town’s demise.

  18. Speed Reduction

    We learned the lesson long ago
    from turtle racing skinny hare:
    since speed is mostly wind and show,
    to reverence life by going slow,

    The principle—that we should care
    for paths themselves—we hurried past,
    hell-bent on racing, lean and spare,
    zooming those flowers growing there.

    Speed limits nesting in the grass
    raise thoughts of youth so quickly gone.
    Our turtle selves can amble on;
    We know some ages last and last.

  19. Thanks for the photo-prompt MMT . this is what I saw…

    Runaway Train

    she grew up fast
    too fast her mamma said
    she was that kind of girl
    she developed
    physically
    mentally (she thought)
    she developed
    tastes
    desires
    she developed a life of her own

    her mamma said slow down
    there’s plenty of time
    but she discarded the advice
    casting it out of her road
    she ran wild
    out with the wrong crowd
    out of control
    she ran into her daddy’s wrath
    until she ran away

    still helter-skeltering
    steaming round the curves
    leaning into mishap
    and misfortune
    living on her wits
    living on her looks
    on her luck
    she changed her hair
    she changed her clothes
    she changed inside

    mamma’s words ringing her ears
    as she lies sleepless in the flop-house
    wondering where it went wrong
    wondering where the next meal comes from
    what she’ll have to do to get it
    wondering if her mamma still loves her
    if her daddy’s still mad

    it was always full speed ahead
    she ignored the speed limit
    she never saw the stop sign
    the crossing was closed
    a south bound freight was coming fast
    faster and faster
    faster than her
    her world exploded in chaos
    darkness
    misery

    her memory is fading
    as are her looks
    used and abuse
    used up and cast aside
    she stares at the tear-stained photo
    fading day by day
    the memory of her mother
    and the milk carton she’d saved
    always kept
    always would
    the only picture she had of the girl she once was
    until the express train in powder form
    takes her away again

    Iain

  20. janeshlensky on said:

    Sevenling

    At 35, I thought I knew
    the speed of yes
    the thrill of go

    I revved and roared
    my limits few
    I didn’t guess

    some times pass slow

  21. seasons passing
    too quickly one to the next ~
    please slow down

    2013-04-07
    P. Wanken

  22. claudsy on said:

    I’m still writing like mad today. Got a late state. I’ll be back later to do comments. I just had to tell a story. What else can I say.

    A Moment’s Passing

    It was his age, you see,
    That day he celebrated;
    He never saw it coming
    Around that oak-lined bend,
    Never imagined that time
    Could stand still while life
    Continued without breath,
    Without rhyme or reason’s
    Interference into his day;
    He never before believed
    That all that life contained
    Could be held within lungs
    Thirsting for air but unwilling
    To capture, for taste’s sake,
    A new breath to accompany
    Uncounted memories flooding
    Through a brain staggered by awe.
    He never saw it coming that day
    And he never had a chance to tell
    The world how much he loved it.

  23. The Curve

    It was like the whole school
    Students, teachers, janitors
    Had to see for themselves
    Though the wreckers had come early
    And the cops made sure no souvenirs
    Lingered for the morbidly inclined.

    We came at dawn
    When the traffic was slow
    Before the flowers and the notes
    The girls who suddenly discovered
    He had been their secret heartthrob all along
    The Junior. mechanics and engineers who explained
    What he should have done and why it had happened.
    Sure.

    The wreckers had finished and some insects
    Were chirping in the grass like they always did
    Later rain would fall and slowly the blood
    Would sink down into the ground and the
    Grass, like they used to say about battlefields
    Would grow a bit greener, fresher…
    A new sign would appear – maybe it would
    Say 25 – 20 for all the good it did.

    When some dumb kid with a new set of wheels
    Had to see what they would do and where was there
    A better place to find out than “Dead Man’s Curve?”

  24. Marie Elena, I am totalling digging your poem this week.

  25. Ol’ Thirty-Five

    By David De Jong

    Half-past nowhere on highway one,
    Stands a willow, sweepin’ the sun.
    Ruts from a path seen if you stare,
    Remnants of a shack, yonder hills there.

    Molly, Bearshoot, an’ ol’ man McGree,
    Always took their turn, under that tree.
    Each time they passed, it erased their tracks,
    Vanishin’ from the law on their backs.

    When they passed the sign, lead was spent,
    No one knew, exactly where they went.
    Life was reckless, rich, and flat six fast.
    They knew, it was too crazy to last.

    Ranger Renkins, stubborn, old as dirt,
    Still wearin’ that ol’ star on his shirt.
    Carried a Hawkins, Colt by his side,
    Dakota mustang, his preferred ride.

    He swore an oath, to uphold the law.
    Those three there, were pullin’ his last straw.
    Green-horn sheriff always lost their trail.
    Folks thinkin’ this some legendry tale.

    Renkins, Chennoah, (his mustang ride),
    Took hills, lookin’, for a place to hide.
    He crossed country most folk never see,
    For him, it was nat’ral as could be.

    He found ol’ man McGree’s hidin’ shack,
    New batch whiskey, cookin’ out back.
    They weren’t expectin’ no company,
    When he hollered from behind a tree.

    McGree pulled his triggers, bark whizzed by.
    Molly an’ Bearshoot were feelin’ spry,
    Jumped in their rig, took it to the floor,
    Left ol’ man McGree, lying at the door.

    Young Bearshoot drivin’ lickety-split,
    Cursin’ the law-man, givin’ him a fit,
    That flat head six, screamin’ like a breeze.
    Renkins an’ Chennoah, slipped through trees.

    Renkins pulled his Hawkins top the ridge,
    Pulled the trigger as they crossed the bridge.
    Molly an’ Bearshoot fell off the road,
    A shot to the tires, made em unload.

    They grazed the tree and took out the sign,
    Ol’ Renkins, Chennoah, come out fine.
    He cuffed em, walked em both back to town.
    That ol’ highway sign – still layin’ down.

  26. Passing Through

    The rusted road sign tossed into the field
    bears silent witness to frustration
    or simple daredevilry. I picture him,
    putting along, some driver passing through
    this speed trap of a town, eager to reach
    his destination, slowed not by traffic
    in this town that rolls us her sidewalks
    every evening, but the arbitrary law,
    passed contrary to strangers sporting
    tell-tale out-of-state plates on the way
    to somewhere else. Uncaught, moving
    on down the road, did his mischief
    make him laugh? Maybe he just felt
    eager for the simple math equating
    minutes to miles before reaching home.

  27. “Remembering the circle of life”

    1. A lighted match can only pass
    month-by-month en mass

    . . . but Once.

    2. Bright spheres spin
    then spin anew.
    . . . a solo revolving memorable tune.

    3. Life speeds on in aging light
    from new to prime to thirty-five,
    from thirty-five to fifty-old
    then fifty leads to wrinkled wise.

    4. The match fades fast.
    The sphere spins free.
    . . . . an everlasting aging spree.

    5.Miles then end in markered grass.
    Another lighted match is passed—
    . . . a solo ride that lasts en mass

    but Once.

  28. Marjory M Thompson on said:

    Whooo…I had forgotten I had sent you the photo!…
    THANKS a Bunch for using it. Looks like I am late to this Garden Party #102 and there are a lot of wonderful poems to read. I would like to comment, only my machine won’t let me. 😦 No matter what, how or where I tag, I can not bring up any comment boxes other than this one at the bottom!!

  29. Although I’m probably dating myself, this photo put me in mind of the Mark Dinning song ‘Teen Angel’ and also, a movie about the story of Jan and Dean.

    Teen Angel

    “Long for me as I for you, forgetting, what will be inevitable, the long black aftermath of pain.” ~Malcolm Lowry

    I took the curve at Deadman’s Pass
    a bit too quickly. Now I know
    that what I did was all for show.
    Who would have thought that metal, glass

    and you would wind up in the grass.
    My sweet teen angel, now you go
    a bit too quickly. Now I know
    I took the curve at Deadman’s Pass

    at breakneck speed. I hit the gas
    instead of 35. “Too slow,”
    I said, just when a headlight’s glow
    rushed towards us. Oh my love! Alas!
    I took the curve at Deadman’s Pass

    ###

  30. Marjory M Thompson on said:

    SIGNS of the TIME

    Full speed ahead, get it here-and-now. Texting, i-phone, i-pod, no waiting, read/hear in now. Must have a thousand channels on which to view the past, present and future. Need the News, Traffic and Weather updates 24/7. Instant replay, instant food, ATM-instant cash, instant credit, instant gratification – buy now pay-later, interest-free next 18 months. Card maxed? Get a new one. New house, car, boat and RV, drive through service, fast food, home delivery, passing lane. Only the best will do. Total sound-around, lights, entertainment, Go, go, go. New hair, new clothes, new look, new toys, new tools, new widgets….new, new, new.

    Hit the brake,
    you’re going to fast,
    slow down. Breath.

    • I like this, M!! Though I’m definitely a child of this age, and have no idea what I’d do without my iTouch, I still feel like this sometimes. 🙂

    • Henrietta Choplin on said:

      Powerful, M… I prefer a simple life… everything else is just “drama on the page” — I can write about it — 🙂 !!

  31. This is straying a bit, but it still ties in a little.

    Those Very Few…

    Little, wild, happy girl,
    Dancing in a brilliant sun;
    Never dreaming things would change
    Or I could ever be unhappy.
    I was nine and times were good:
    Fast and fun and full of laughter.
    April 20th brought me up with a jolt,
    April 20th came and went,
    And took you with it;
    Now I’d give the rest of my life,
    However many years that is,
    If I could just have those few years back:
    Those very few years
    When you were with me,
    And times were good:
    Fast and fun and full of laughter.

    © Copyright Erin Kay Hope – 2013

  32. “Thirty-Five Miles Per Hour”

    The winter gone; bluebonnets peep their heads
    among a broken fence-line, near a sign.
    This ground now hallowed, they will bloom instead
    in wild confusion for a heart that’s blind.

    For those who do not see the need for pause;
    for those who do not heed the gift of life.
    The “pedal to the medal” seems a clause;
    a saying they would live by as their right.

    Below the bonnets grieve the innocent;
    those wide-eyed wonders on their way to school.
    They had so brief a moment to confront
    the jagged bumper of the speeding fool.

    So, spring is here; bluebonnets peep their head
    a heaven-haloed blue for those now dead.

  33. Beaten

    Lying in the grass
    wounded by bullets,
    I can only shake my head…
    picturing the teenage boys
    sitting on their cars,
    a few brews between them,
    taking shots at the sign –
    teenagers making mischief,
    feeling empowered by the total lack
    of respect for rules and public property.

    Imagine my surprise
    when a fifty yards down the road
    there is a little, white haired old woman
    shooting at the “no passing” sign.

    I apologize to teenagers everywhere.

  34. Reminder of A Town

    Neglected on roadside,
    tossed in patches
    of quick growth, a signpost
    lay rusting. Speed Limit:

    thirty-five, relic of
    an abandoned town.

  35. UNLUCKY NUMBER

    He always wanted to arrive before
    he had left, claiming that life was
    passing him by, And when the right
    tyre of his car took out The sign
    by the side of the road, he
    discovered That 35
    was his unluckiest number.

  36. Life in the Fast Lane

    Life…
    a busy, hectic struggle
    to get from point A to point B
    before anyone else does,
    or at least before you’re late.

  37. Disregard

    Disregarded on the side of the road
    (An old sign)
    a reminder
    (with limits,)
    to slow down,
    (we move so fast)
    take in the view
    (the view is a blur)
    enjoy the life we’re having
    (as we rush to the next anticipated event)
    in the here and now.
    (before we’re disregarded and forgotten on the side of the road.)

  38. A Batch of Poem-lets as I work on a batch of bread…

    Hey kids,
    An old highway-sign
    Scarred with weather and lead
    Won’t teach you to drive
    Or put sense in your head

    ***

    We tripped over the sign on our way to the top
    of the hill where the daisies were starting to bloom
    but thirty five miles is much too fast
    for grass highways in God’s living-room
    so we dragged it as best as we were able
    to the top and used it for our picnic table

    ***

    Time flies they say
    And so will we
    If we ignore
    The posted speed

    ***

    This is the spot
    Where she did not heed
    The caution of
    The posted speed
    Now all that is left
    Is weather and years
    In a little place
    Called the vale of tears

    ***

    Don’t drink and drive
    Don’t play with guns
    And if the cop is chasing you
    DON’T try to out-run
    Them

    ***

    That sign in the grass reminds us
    That Time will pass; so why do we fuss
    Over all that will drift as a seed on the wind?
    Let’s just laugh, love, live, pray and be kind

    Thank-you Marjory, for sharing this thought-provoking photo!

  39. Once

    Once there was a road. It showed
    On all the old maps, binding
    Village to city, winding
    Them closer. Drivers, minding
    Its signs, turned, sped, and slowed.

    Fords and Chevys, shining chrome,
    With men in dark suits guiding
    Them, weary women chiding
    Tired children bored with riding,
    They journeyed safe to home.

    That was then. That was before
    The soldiers came, with rumbling
    Tanks that broke the road, tumbling
    Its signs, the city crumbling.
    No one—nothing–anymore.

    –Kate

  40. Marjory M Thompson on said:

    WILL NOT allow me to paste that is. Can add write-ins at the end of the site, but not enter comments after other postings.

    Interesting to read the postings and comments. Thanks for each.

    Since the sign came from a homestead property I know as a child and teen – It did not bring death and danger to me. I expect some of my cousins made the sign hole-ie and I think a shot gun was used. I choos to believe that the sign was not a posted speed limit when shot! MMT

  41. Pingback: Friday is POETS day!! The last podcast of 2013! | Iain Douglas Kemp Writes – Without Anaesthetic

  42. Pingback: POET INTERVIEW – MARJORY M. THOMPSON (MMT) | CREATIVE BLOOMINGS

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