a veil of mystery whatever can be revealed something hides its face the waves draw back and forward a pinnacle will fly out
“Mysteries are feminine; they like to veil themselves but still want to be seen and divined.” Karl Wilhelm Friedrich Schlegel
my moon is displayed so bright – full of energy yet the veil pulls down such a strange conundrum dear moon, come back again… please
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Written in response to this week’sTanka Challenge hosted by Yvette M. Calleiro Yvette has chosen the word veil. There are several definitions for veil. Choose whichever version of the word that speaks to you, and write a syllabic poem of your choosing.
What an interesting time the red-headed writer (aka la Raconteuse) and Reena had, and they were hoping that both of them could meet again, and soon, especially since the usual suspects – meaning the Proprietors (plus a few hangers on – the clever ones) might learn a little bit of business between all of them, since Reena has great acumen.
La Raconteuse mused to herself as she crossed the street, as she glanced at someone’s newspaper – that date: 5th November – it was bonfire night; not that many people in the city would even know anything about it, but for her, she would always remember what happened since she originally came from the UK.
Ah yes, Guy Fawkes, such an important time and date (for us); she thought for a moment, this is the way it goes:
“Remember, remember the 5th of November, Gunpowder, treason and plot; I know of no reason Why the gunpowder treason Should ever be forgot!”
La Raconteuse was almost into the Six-Sentence-Café-and-Bistro, although she was still muttering to herself; she’d almost collided with the tall, thin man and the Gatekeeper, who were about to smoke together by the steps, as they each opened a flame on their exquisite zippos.
Just inside Tom grinned, ‘look what I’ve made – it’s almost a sparkler,’– he also came from the UK – as he lit two matches on a tiny cake, ‘we will enjoy, won’t we,’ as they both blew the two matches out; ‘let’s remember Guy Fawkes… in a good way!’
that is no such thing as ‘just’ a cat – ‘just’ a cat? definitely not.
she’s always regal, pretty, beautiful – of course, and she’ll stare, and stare.
what is she thinking? we will never really know, she’s just amazing!
could we pry? nope, definitely not.
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Image credit: Haoli Chen @Unsplash
A white and fawn cat is hiding behind a partially open curtain hanging on a window. Through the window we can see green trees. The cat is also watching the trees.
The two boys had been mooching. ‘Hold on.’ He stopped and pointed. ‘Oh, I see. Interesting.’ They looked at each other, then jumped over the hedge.
‘Ooh, a painting,’ as he peered at it.’ ‘It’s a bit dreary.’ ‘Here, there’s some sticky paints on the easel.’ ‘We could jazz it up a bit.’
Both of them got to business. ‘This looks better. More colour.’ ‘Shall I add an animal?’
Then a man appeared. ‘Oi! He strode toward them. He was wearing a beret! He glared. He walked around. And then he said: ‘Hmm, that’s actually better now, especially that kangaroo.’
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Thanks to Rochelle for hosting Friday Fictioneers Genre: HistoricalFiction Word Count: 100
The red-headed writer (aka la Raconteuse) had been munching her snap, crackle and pop for breakfast, she ate rather quickly, then dumped her bowl in the sink, and stuffed the box into the cupboard; ‘it’s going to be busy,’ she grinned to herself.
She had several messages to do, and then she hurried down the six floors holding her usual big bag, she opened the main door and felt the cold breeze outside, but at least it wasn’t wet, as she made her way to the Six-Sentence-Café-and-Bistro.
Even as she walked through the streets, she could hardly miss all this nonsense around, almost every house had at least one pumpkin or ghost on their stoops; she’d even craned her head right up to see what looked like a couple of witches on the roof with their broomsticks.
It was still pretty early as she entered the lovely Café, and what a great atmosphere it was; she could tell that Mimi had a big hand in making the place look really rather spooky; there’re pumpkins galore, little glowing lights around the walls and even tiny bats on the tables.
La Raconteuse removed her big bag and her coat, shoving them into the back of the bar, while looking around to find something useful to do – polishing perhaps, as she grabbed the first thing she found.
A moment later Tom appeared from the kitchen, ‘trick or treat,’ he grinned; ‘oh, by the way there’s a new guest arrived,’ he pointed, ‘it’s Reena.’
It was lashing down that fall, as she stared outside, willing for something to happen. She’d switched on her tv, and sat down on her dilapidated couch. She’d watched some of the news, but nothing had really grabbed her. She’d switched it off.
She’d picked up a trashy novel from her coffee table, as several magazines drifted down to the floor. Another chapter finished, she sighed and put it down. Surely she could do something better than this?
She went into her kitchen, and brewed some coffee. She mused as she poured, then walked back.
Could she be a writer?
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Thanks to Rochelle for hosting Friday Fictioneers Genre: HistoricalFaction Word Count: 100
Dawn is up, and already little creatures are on the move Geckos and lizards are warming up, and skittering near to the rim Young squirrels hurry down the huge palm tree and up again
The sky is tinged with pink and turquoise, doves are courting merrily Male weaver birds are busy making many nests, looking hopeful Dawn is up, and already little creatures are on the move
Pond skaters glide across the water, striding with purpose A dragonfly flies fast, then hovers, seeking for a mate Geckos and lizards are warming up, and skittering near to the rim
Bright butterflies with glorious rainbow colours dance with glee And pretty flowers wave to the bees asking them to pollinate them Young squirrels hurry down the huge palm tree and up again
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Val‘s Scavenger Hunt – 5th prompt Write a Cascade poem using a season of your choice.
The red-headed writer (aka la Raconteuse) had been miles away as she thought what had been occurring, partly since she had drunk too much coffee and eaten some nice pastries (both delicious) since the Bartender and Mimi had brought both to the Manager’s Office, but also she’d been mulling since it seemed that she might get away with talking about that certain note.
Fine and dandy, she grinned to herself as she watched Tom taking everything from the Manager’s Office and to the kitchen; he muttered to Mini, explaining that he would make a large spice cake for afternoon tea.
La Raconteuse returned to watch as the tall, thin man had a quick conversation with several people including Ms Strome and her uncle; it seemed that they were going back to the main part of the Bistro, as if some particular boot was on the other foot, as one might say, as la Raconteuse arched one eye up, although the tall, thin man was definitely staying, sprawling in the great new chair.
The Gatekeeper had been surveying the room, listening to what had been said, but then he walked back to the mantelpiece, and turned his back, looking at that mirror.
La Raconteuse joined him: ‘don’t you remember what was there before?’ – ‘sorry, I don’t,’ – ‘but look, you can even see where it was, it was more than a yard and a half longer… you really don’t remember?’
La Raconteuse smiled, ‘that was a painting, I wonder where it went?’
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