Repost this from Patty’s World.
Colleen Chesebro & reading by Robbie Cheadle of poem Chris Hall
WordCrafter Book Blog Tour today! from Kaye Lynne Booth
I am so delighted to be part of the anthology Treasuring Poetry 3 – Passions!
Welcome to the WordCrafter Poetry Treasures 3: Passions Book Blog Tour! This is a very special tour, because at each stop, you will meet not one, but two of the contributing poets of the anthology. We’ve got a great tour planned with readings and inspiration posts from the authors, and book reviews. (Scroll down for the tour schedule with links, but be aware that the links won’t function until each post goes live.)Plus we have a great giveaway, so follow the tour to meet the contributing authors and additional chances to win a digital copy of Poetry Treasures 3: Passions!
Comment and let us know you were there, and get a chance to win a copy of Poetry Treasures 3: Passions in the digital format of your choice.Follow the tour and leave your comments along the way. One entry per stop.
Passions treasures…
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The sound of a small explosion emanated from the Manager’s office, rattling the door and causing the lettering to peel a tiny bit more from its glazed panel.
The Bartender and the Supplier had been busy arranging the new stock on the mirror-backed shelves behind the bar, while Mimi, and her spatula-wielding assistant, Tom had been in the newly-refurbished kitchen preparing for Saturday night’s crowd.
They arrived at the office door together, Tom entered first, his eyes sweeping the room: the Raconteuse, quietly dripping by the fireplace, and the picture of the galleon hanging on the wall behind her.
Tom stepped forward, searching the red-haired writer’s face for an explanation, but none came; he reached behind her, running his finger around the damp picture frame: ‘I believe we have experienced a Dimensional Disturbance,’ he announced, glancing at the Raconteuse, ‘your escape route, might I surmise?’
The other Proprietors looked at Tom uncomprehendingly; Tom grinned, ‘it’s like a get-out-of-jail-free card for a blocked writer,’ he winked at the Raconteuse, ‘a stroke of luck that you introduced the Portal in here as a precaution before going to write yourself back in time.’
‘Luck had nothing to do with it,’ replied the Raconteuse.
~~~~~
This has been my second offering this week for Denise’s Six Sentence Story Challenge where this week’s prompt word was stroke.
*crafted on Canva by the author from an image on Pinterest
~~~~~
Join us at the famous SSC&B for more Six Sentence Stories
~ click on the sign to enter!
Joey glanced at the carnage he’d left behind; an ominous silence pervaded the blood-spattered hallway.
Raising a hand to acknowledge Gary, Joey took a deep breath to quieten his thumping heart and shot back into the building; he burst into his flat and snatched up his back-pack, stuffing it with a handful of clothes and the small battered box which contained his ‘important stuff’.
Skidding back down the stairs, he paused by Ceridwen’s door; it opened before he could knock, revealing Ceridwen, clutching a bristling Cullen in her arms. Digging into his pocket, Joey pulled out a thick roll of notes and started to peel a few off, but Ceridwen shook her head; Joey was about to speak, but she silenced him with a look and with a nod of her head, gestured for him to leave. Giving Cullen’s head a regretful stroke, Joey fled the scene, only pausing to scoop a small shiny object from the hall floor.
Half an hour later, Ceridwen stepped sedately around the fallen bodies and picked up the pay-phone, wondering how she was going to explain all this to the emergency services; one thing was certain though, she wasn’t going to betray young Joey.
Written in response to two challenges:
Di of Pensitivity 101’s Wednesday’s Three Things Challenge: SEDATE, QUIETEN, SILENCE
Denise Farley of Girlie On The Edge’s Sunday’s Six Sentence Story Word Prompt: STROKE
Photo credit: illustration from a book somewhere on my bookshelves which has mysteriously disappeared🐪
Click on the Café sign for more #SixSentenceStories
Creeping out at dawn, she tiptoes barefoot over golden sand, gritty grains sliding between her toes. The sun, a crimson sliver, struggles to free itself from the horizon. She steps onto the jetty, its planks still moist with dew. Now, tugging softly at the mooring rope, she draws the boat towards her. With a brilliant flash, sunlight flares across the azure water bathing the bay in its gilded rays. She shades her eyes, tastes the salt on the breeze, inhales. Then, she drops lightly into the boat, casts off, and slips away into the morning.
her island awaits:
magical voices whisper
giving up secrets
~~~~~~~~
Image credit: Saffu@Unsplash
The image shows a red motor boat anchored near a quay. There is a small buoy floating near it. In the distance you can see a small island.
Written in response to Sadje‘s What Do You See #138 photo prompt
The red-headed writer, aka the Raconteuse, realised that something had gone seriously wrong with her plan to write herself back in time to find the key to the mystery of the Gatekeeper’s sudden disappearance and subsequent demise; mostly because she simply hadn’t wanted to believe that he’d gone.
While roaming around the inner reaches of her writer’s mind, jotting down what she’d thought should be her next step, events had overtaken her; apparently the Gatekeeper’s casting off of his mortal coil had merely been an elaborate ruse on the part of the Gatekeeper and his equally-imaginative collaborator, Ford the Supplier.
A clever misdirection – she should have known.
Meanwhile, mention being made of a mysterious coffin had sent her down another stupid rabbit hole, the curse of the ‘brancanneering’ story-teller, and now she was stuck on some god-forsaken beach, up to her ankles in chilly seawater, while a strange Gothic ship loomed on the horizon; a storm was brewing too.
A sudden gust of wind ushered in her own personal downpour, drenching her notebook; she applied her pen to the page, but it refused to mark the soggy paper.
How was she going to write herself out of here now?
~~~~~
This has been my second offering this week for Denise’s Six Sentence Story Challenge where this week’s prompt word was key.
*crafted on Canva by the author from an image on Pinterest
~~~~~
Join us at the famous SSC&B for more Six Sentence Stories
~ click on the sign to enter!
‘I lost him!’ Gary panted through the side window of the van, ‘I followed him into the park but he jumped over the wall… I think he’s back in the house,’ his eyes slid to the building where Patterson and his cronies were waiting; one of their number had also just pitched up, red-cheeked from running.
A nerve in Patterson’s temple twitched as he took out his keys and strode over to his car; beckoning to two of his crew, he indicated the now-open boot: one retrieved a crow-bar and the other a stubby-handled axe.
‘They’re going in!’ Gary’s voice rose half an octave with anxiety as the front door began to splinter.
As the door gave way, Joey launched himself over the banister, kicking wildly, taking two of the intruders down as he swung to the floor; spinning away from the man who was wielding the axe and snatching the crow-bar from where it’d fallen; with a mighty roar, Joey raised the crow-bar, smashing it against bone and flesh, Patterson was the last to crumple.
Joey stumbled outside, allowing the crow-bar to clatter to the ground.
‘In here, mate!’ Gary beckoned from the open back door of the van.
Written in response to two challenges:
Di of Pensitivity 101’s Wednesday’s Three Things Challenge: ANXIETY, CHEEK, NERVE
Denise Farley of Girlie On The Edge’s Sunday’s Six Sentence Story Word Prompt: KEY
Photo credit: illustration from a book somewhere on my bookshelves which has mysteriously disappeared🐪
Click on the Café sign for more Six Sentence Stories
Is this the road I should be on
the path I ought to follow?
I feel as if I’ve lost my way
caught up in toil and trouble.
I’m looking for a brighter path,
one filled with joy, not sorrow.
I place my hand upon the gate
but still my heart is hollow.
So many years meandering
I’ve drifted week to week,
but maybe if I enter here
I’ll find the place I seek.
~~~~~~~~
Image credit: Keith Hardy @ Unsplash
The image shows a wrought iron gate with the words “the way” written on it. There’s a path beyond the closed gate leading into a tree-lined lane
Written in response to Sadje‘s What Do You See #137 photo prompt
Ignoring the repeated ringing of the doorbell in the flat above, Ceridwen was distracting her attention from the menacing figures standing in the front yard, concentrating on the progress of a wheelchair-bound man being chaperoned across the road by a white-clad nurse.
A new feeling of foreboding tugged at the edge of her consciousness, accompanied by a gentle tap-tap on her door; she pulled it open, Joey stood before her emitting the disquieting aura she’d sensed before: ‘How did you get in, Joey?’
‘Through the window by the back door you leave open for Cullen,’ her young neighbour looked about anxiously, ‘I just came to pick up some stuff.’
Ceridwen’s eyes followed his, ‘I take it those people outside are after whatever it is you have; not that it’s any of my business, but I should get rid of it if I were you.’
‘Look, here’s the plan,’ Joey’s eyes darted towards the stairs, ‘I’m in and out quickly, then I’ll ring the phone downstairs from the call-box up the road; you go and answer then tell the man outside it’s for him; I’ll talk to him, draw him off, like…’
Joey was interrupted by the sound of splintering wood.
Written in response to two challenges:
Di of Pensitivity 101’s Wednesday’s Three Things Challenge: CHAPERONE, NURSE, WHEELCHAIR
Denise Farley of Girlie On The Edge’s Sunday’s Six Sentence Story Word Prompt: EDGE
Photo credit: illustration from a book somewhere on my bookshelves which has mysteriously disappeared🐪
In the dark hours
the black pit opens
yawning jaws
have intent grim.
Demons lurk
fingers flexing
yellow-bellied monsters
offer their embrace.
Regrets from the past
fears for the future
groping for every
undefined concern.
Breathe deeply
breathe again
for all will be fine
come the dawn.
~~~~~~~~
Image credit: Muhammed Hassan @ Unsplash
The image shows a woman whose face has black streaks of mascara on her cheeks. She wears a sad expression and has her hands placed on her head.
Written in response to Sadje‘s What Do You See #136 photo prompt
