#BlogBattle: Moon

A lovely poem from Anita.

anita dawes and jaye marie

The August 2018 Blog Battle

The prompt word for August is MOON

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My silver lady hangs safely among the stars,

Swimming through the firmament on her 28-day cycle.

Shedding her light upon the earth

Often she sits in the pale blue sky during the day

On dark nights, she brings romance and mystery

Often time’s shady dealings are done beneath her gaze

Yet for me, she is my lady bringing magic

A time of spells, for love and luck

She is known for inspiration, which all writers need

A friend since early childhood and remains so to this day

At 72, the years have been long. I whisper my thoughts to her

On nights when I cannot see her, still I whisper

As I know she is out there somewhere in the world

I believe she has stopped me losing my marbles

My mind as sharp as it was years…

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The Landscape of Life

From Anne Copeland. The first post from her new blog. Please say hi to Anne.

All in a Day's Breath

12059 (2017_03_13 17_06_21 UTC)

My Garden of Earthly Delights by Anne Copeland

Life is like a landscape, and it would be a boring life if it were all flat.  We can appreciate the flat because we know the hills and the valleys, just as we appreciate hot because we know cold, light because we know dark and happiness because we know depression.

Every day we can choose the colors we will paint the landscape of our lives, and we can also choose how much of the landscape we will paint.  Some may choose dull colors and stop the painting with a minimum of strokes laid down, and others may cover their landscapes with colors and texture and depth.  But in the end result, each of us paints a life landscape that is unlike anyone else’s.

Some will look at their palettes and canvases and feel they have been short-changed.  Still others look at the…

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Old Blue Devil

Within the sky

You formed one day

I have you said

With dipping horn

Not gone away

I willed you go

Your old one eye

Belligerent

Inclined to stay

Declined my sigh

Am home, it cried

Among and in

The shallow mind

The narrow gaze

The snarling din

Resistant to

My magic frown

This hungry eye

Just widens now

And gazes ever down

©Stephen Tanham

A Thousand Miles of History XXII: Seeking the circle

From Sue.

Sue Vincent's Daily Echo

“It’s somebody’s drive.” The neat rows of montbretia made that very clear. Yet, this was at least one of the ways we could, according to the map, get to our first site of the day. We had already driven up and down the road, done a couple of ‘U’ turns and consulted the very detailed map we had purchased the evening before, but maps only tell you where you need to go… not what is in your way on the ground. Like private property.

“But the map says…” So, we turned into the farmers drive, pretty soon realising that the unmade track was never intended as a public thoroughfare. We pulled over at a safe spot and consulted the map yet again, somewhat uneasy at what felt like trespassing, even though the map assured us we had a right of way. It was at this point that the farmer himself…

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Wayland: The White Horse…

From Stuart.

The Silent Eye

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But according to some, Wayland has far more onerous

responsibilities than shoeing the horses of passing way farers…

*

A group of local lads were enjoying a drink

one evening at the White Horse Inn, Woolstone,

when an unknown man wearing old fashioned garb

entered and ordered a pint of the local beverage.

*

He wore a leather apron, a tall hat,

and he took his drink and sat

to one side of the ale-house by himself…

*

After awhile the sound of a horn rang out

and could be heard

echoing eerily through the vale…

*

Startled from his reverie by the horn,

the stranger leapt to his feet and hobbled

out into the night, his pint unfinished.

*

As the uncanny sound faded over the downs

the locals looked out and up to the hillside

to find that the White Horse was gone!

*

When dawn broke…

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Inspector Sunday

 

Inspector SundayAA 11Aug

Inspector Sunday examined the room in minute detail. His deadly enemy, Adrian Cheng, might be anywhere. But the sinister arch-criminal and master of disguise was nowhere to be see.

“Perhaps a coffee would help?” the tocking of the clock seemed to say. Sunday considered the suggestion, and gave in to its subtle persuasion…

“I’ll find you,” Sunday muttered, a few minutes later, sipping the latté, slowly.

©Stephen Tanham

A Thousand Miles of History XIII: A toe in the water

From Sue

Sue Vincent's Daily Echo

The legendary land of Lyonesse lies off the uttermost point of Britain. It is told that the people of that land were tall and fair, beautiful to behold, wise and learned. At the centre of their lands was a wondrous city, with a great place of worship… or a castle… at its heart. No tales survive of why the cataclysm came that drowned the land in a single night, though later, there were the inevitable whispers of wickedness and the wrath of the Christian God.

Only one man of Lyonesse escaped the deluge, a man named Trevelyan. Out hunting near Sennen, his horse cast a shoe and delayed him as night fell. Falling asleep beneath a tree, he was awoken by the roar of the rising sea and, mounting his horse, rode before the crest of the wave to higher ground at Land’s End. Local families still bear the three…

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Wayland: The Blessed Isles…

From Stuart.

The Silent Eye

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The tone of the tale once Britain is reached,

becomes very different…

*

Alighting on Berkshire’s High Downs,

Wayland came upon an ancient chambered tomb,

and made it his home.

*

Tradition now has it,

that if ever you are riding the Ridgeway,

and your horse loses a shoe,

you need only tether it nearby,

 leave a silver-sixpence on the uppermost stone of the tomb,

and on your return your horse will be shod and your money gone…

*

Wayland, it seems, never works while being observed.

*

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Wayland: Silver-Smith of Souls…

From Stuart.

The Silent Eye

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There are a number of intriguing aspects to the legend of Wayland Smithy…

The earliest written sources appear late and are decidedly piecemeal.

*

Wayland is the son of a God, Giant, or King of the Otherworld.

He is schooled in metallurgy by Dwarves, whom, in skill, he quickly surpasses.

He lives, hunts, and works alone in a region associated with wolves and bears.

One day he comes upon a swan-maiden bathing skin-less.

He finds her skin, appropriates it, and she lives with him for nine years.

At the end of which time she discovers her hidden skin and flies away.

*

Wayland is then taken captive by the King of Sweden,

maimed to prevent escape and set to work on an island…

Wayland surreptitiously kills the king’s sons, turns their skulls into goblets

and presents them to the king and queen.

Their teeth he turns into a brooch…

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A Thousand Miles of History XX: Ghosts in the wildflowers

From Sue.

Sue Vincent's Daily Echo

We headed back the way we had come, to take the narrow turning we had missed…a fortuitous misstep which had allowed us to see Cape Cornwall. We were looking for an old tin-mining site where, once upon a time, something quite remarkable had been found buried beneath the debris.

Ballowall… Krug Karrekloos in Cornish and sometimes called Carn Gloose… is a cliff top barrow that was first begun in the Neolithic era, which began around six thousand years ago, and which saw continued use through the Bronze Age. The factual description of the place is the easy bit. Borlase, the Cornish antiquarian who first excavated the site, not long after it was exposed beneath the mining debris, was drawn to the barrow in 1878 by the miners’ tales of strange lights and dancing fairies.

The excavation was not up to modern standards… they seldom were in the early days…

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