On finding a playground mid-walk: 17 April 2019
So while weary-footed Mum took her ease, my daughter played. Well, there was no sign to give age-restriction and she only just tops a young girl’s height … Playtime
[For details of #2019picoftheweek challenge see MariaAntonia]
Crimson’s Creative Challenge #23
Papa painted the walls
He painted them pretty pink.
He went to the slaughter-house.
begged a bucket,
mixed it with lime-wash
and thickly slapped it
Pretty, that pink.
Yeah, but how many died for that bucket of blood?
So? They were foreigners all.
Written for Crimson’s Creative Challenge 23
The traditional cottage in Norfolk and Suffolk was painted in shades of pink, produced by adding ox-blood to lime-wash. And so began my poem.
Until recent years, Norfolk villagers refered to any newcomer not Norfolk-bred as a foreigner. A ‘foreigner’ could live in a village 50 years and still be considered foreign. This attitude probably dates to the Dark Ages, when Norfolk and Suffolk (then considered an homogenous whole) was set apart from the rest of Britain by water (the Fens) and dense woodlands that stretched far to south. In those days, intruders were usually bent on theft or conquest, and therefore were feared and fought. And so arises my final line.
CCC#23
Welcome to my weekly challenge—open to all—just for FUN, FUN, FUN
Here’s how it works:
Every Wednesday I post a photo (this week it’s that one above.)
You respond with something CREATIVE
Here are some suggestions:
You have plenty of scope and only two criteria:
If you post a link in the comments section of this post I’ll be able to find it
If you include Crimson’s Creative Challenge as a heading, WP Search will find it (theory)
If you tag it #CCC others should be able to find it by ‘Searching’ in the WP Reader (fingers crossed)
Here’s wishing you inspirational explosions. And FUN.
Details of the photo are given, if relevant, below this line
Fillet of a fenny snake,
In the cauldron boil and bake …
Um, ladies …
Eye of newt, and toe of frog,
Wool of bat, and tongue of dog.
Ladies, wait!
Adder’s fork, and blind-worm’s sting,
Lizard’s leg, and howlet’s wing,
Scale of dragon, tooth of wolf …
Ladies, stop!
You wretched charlatans. All I want is a salve for my skin.
Written from Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt
Portland Bill built a still in his cellar deep
Asked his ally, Emerald Sally, his secret for to keep
She kept it well, she dug a well, his moonshine for to store
All was fine till the cops saw the sign, now Bill distils no more
04/04/2019
The seldom-noticed catkins of the Weeping Willow …
28/03/2019
Pussy Willow in flower …
28/03/2019
Which willow is this? It could be one of many; call it Generic.
Rape seed-oil: 04/04/2019
This time of year the fields blaze yellow as the sweet-smelling rape seed-oil comes into bloom, and create landscapes sharp in Contrast.
[For details of #2019picoftheweek challenge see MariaAntonia]
Following an exchange with a new follow/follower, I was prompted to trawl the depths of my media library to locate some images I posted long long ago (Sept 2016).
Lo! Here they are. All were produced on my most ancient version of Coreldraw.
WEBLIGHTS: Inspired by the visual disturbances during the early stages of a migraine (of which I am well acquainted)
TRANSFORMATIONS: Two guesses the inspiration.
CHECKERED: A digital version of a painting long ago done in acrylics. At one time part of this formed the crimsonprose banner
MOBYSTRIP: It was an experiment in infinity
PSYCHOANGLES: The first image I used as a desktop background. Now I use my photographs as a random-view continuous slide-show
Crimson’s Creative Challenge
First were the Britons’ iron-clad chariot wheel-rims rattling as they raced along.
Then arrived slick-skinned hard-nailed southern sandals
in haste to decimate the rebel clans.
Soft-soled boots of Baltic seal-skin followed, peaceful in their homestead aims.
All disturbed by the pony-mounted army, Viking swords in hand.
But peace returned—if briefly—on the grant to one of land.
Now feet did mingle, native, immigrant, subject to the Zeelandic king.
Until … battle-hardened foreign knights on heavy-footed steeds rode in.
Next descended the Black Leveller, clad in Death’s bubonic boils;
opened wool-runs to yeomen farmers, encouraged weavers from the Kemp-lands.
I could go on …
But how, you ask, came this Wash Lane to be so name?
From the gush of clear filtered field-waters after heavy rain.
Wordcount 128
Written for Crimson’s Creative Challenge
This is the true history, and reason for its name.
#CCC
Welcome to my weekly challenge—open to all—just for FUN, FUN, FUN
Here’s how it works:
Every Wednesday I post a photo (this week it’s that one above.)
You respond with something CREATIVE
Here are some suggestions:
You have plenty of scope and only two criteria:
If you post a link in the comments section of this post I’ll be able to find it
If you include Crimson’s Creative Challenge as a heading, WP Search will find it (theory)
If you tag it #CCC others should be able to find it by ‘Searching’ in the WP Reader (fingers crossed)
Here’s wishing you inspirational explosions. And FUN.
Details of the photo are given, if relevant, below this line
Wash Lane, Saxlingham, Norfolk. Why is it called Wash Lane? I’ll tell you tomorrow.
