Friday, October 6, 2017

Friday 55 October 6 2017

Greetings, fellow travelers. It's once again Friday, the threshold of a weekend and of our jaunt down Route 55. This is a writing challenge, asking you to put your thoughts into 55 words of prose or poetry, no more, no less, but it is also a gathering of spirits. Spirits battered or unbowed, spirits flying rudderless--some of us in a sad case when it comes to our muse. Therefor I want to emphasize that this is a place where there are no rules except that you use the form, no endless Mr Linky or obligatory chit-chat, no mandatory one-phrase comments dragged from reluctant keyboards, and most of all, no faking it. We are here to enjoy each other and feel comfortable with working with words together, whether it's every week or once a year.

This link I found through Rommy Driks talks about the difficulty of being creative in the crazyhouse of Trump's America--some of you may relate. That said, with the hat tipped to a better human than I will ever be (you can read about Galen here,) I hope for us all to have a kickass weekend, despite the times and the dismal real-world provocations otherwise.





So, let's begin. 
(Oh, and it *is* the month of All Hallows, by the way...)





The Arrival

The eyes of the hag
stare from the night,
broken windows
in a house with no kitchen.

October has come
to harvest the bright
to coo to the dead
to slip the razor
inside the fruit.

The red way shines
in the bitter light.
There's nowhere to hide,
no road that runs out
of Murdertown.

~October 2017














Image via internet; author unknown. Fair use.












Personal Note--My blog-hopping days of "love yours--here's mine" are over and items posted in this spirit may not be answered. There are literally dozens of sites for that--you don't need this one.  Also, each prompt begins on Friday and expires Sunday evening. Older prompts are not monitored.


28 comments:

  1. Can someone have an imagery crush? I hope so. Because right now, I'm totally crushing on the imagery brewing out of your entire poem... especially the middle stanza. The tone embraces the soul of the season--I think I just saw October and his Blood Moon dancing with delight. What I love most is that although things look rather dire, the poem leaves me with the sort of hope that screams of good tomorrows to come. The dead will be lullabied to sleep, and after the razor is done with the fruit... we'll have some seeds.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Thanks Magaly--I love that you can find hope in anything, including my(as someone who no longer is allowed here once said) 'odes to doom and despair.' And I love your own wild ongoing tale and what you're doing with it.

      Delete
    2. I think I have to see/find some goodness through the spilled blood. If I don't, I will drown. And one can't kick the guilty bastards in the teeth while one is drowning...

      Delete
  2. I go so excited that I forgot to add my link to my "Wild Magic". Here it is:

    http://magalyguerrero.com/wild-magic/

    ReplyDelete
  3. I like the imagery here the razor, the fruit, that Hallow lead up to the last line. I didn't know you had been to Detroit once again the violence capitol of America (so they say).

    Ya know Joy, Trump one would think would be ripe for inspiration but the carnival he has made thus far has been a London Fog that one never knows what is coming out of the murk. Fie on it.

    this was all I had today

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. I think that town is becoming every town, Mark...not just Detroit any more, but a blood shadow everywhere. And Trump couldn't be inspired if an angel flew up his butt--it would die there. Thanks for this, and for playing.

      Delete
  4. Grimy and macabre - this is no bowdlerized version of October. The horror is splayed out like a body at a crime scene. Darkly brilliant.

    This is my contribution: http://kestrilsrhythmsandgroove.blogspot.com/2017/10/candied-violets-last-lesson.html

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Thanks Rommy, for the comment, for playing so adroitly, and for that article--I found it very reassuring.

      Delete
  5. Cricket played early:

    https://cricketvigil.wordpress.com/2017/10/04/phony/

    ReplyDelete
  6. Aw. Music to my ears. Adore this doomy round. The trickster's off his/her meds. Consider my weekend's ass kicked.

    A 55 for the shadow looming over October's shoulder:

    https://blueoran.wordpress.com/2017/10/06/anything/


    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Thanks, B--my meds never seem to work any more. ;) You nailed a rock and roll feeling with yours, and made me almost want to date a musician again. Nah--been there, effed that up. ;)

      Delete
  7. Hi, Joy, I began this poem as a 55 worder for you, but it seems incomplete. I may revise it at a later date but leave it here for your perusal.

    http://calibanandmiranda.blogspot.co.za/2017/10/curses-heart.html

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. This is a perfect thing in itself, Kerry--and whether or not you take it further, it suited both the season and the form down to the ground. Thanks for coming to the party...and in your very best dress, too.

      Delete
  8. I am enthralled by the image of a house with no kitchen, such a place seems unsanctified, somehow. Yet the harvest is in and the razor is sharp!

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. I had the same feeling about the kitchenless house, Kerry. What a device, but Hedge is the master at that!

      Delete
    2. Thanks ladies--I knew you'd get it.

      Delete
  9. Lafayette, I am here!

    http://fireblossom-wordgarden.blogspot.com/2017/10/an-old-scarecrow-shuffles-into-dannys.html

    Yours is uber creepish and scarily scintillating. I expect no less from my Halloween hobgoblin-in-crime!

    So anyway, here's mine, I'm not visiting yours lol.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Yay!! I love Danny's, and I love this! And I really love that you were able to play--thanks for all of that and more, Shay.

      Delete
  10. A dark tome indeed. Kitchenless houses (souless and bare) and razored fruit( tempting and deadly) are such potent images. Here's my take on it all, inspired ( if that's the right word) by the article linked.

    https://paulscribbles.wordpress.com/2017/10/06/carry-at-hip/

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Thanks Paul--and thanks for adding your 55 to the mix.

      Delete
  11. Wow! Wow! Wow! I love the whole thing but that second stanza is incredible!

    https://blackinkhowl.blogspot.com/2017/10/swamp-tears.html

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Thanks so much, Susie and thanks for playing on your beautifully designed new blog--I loved yours as well--some of the phrases are definitely tattoo-worthy.

      Delete
  12. I stand amazed with Susie on the sandwiched stanza Hedge:)
    Here's my painted picture...well, it's somebody else's pic...my words
    https://angieinspired.wordpress.com/2017/10/06/exhibitionist/

    ReplyDelete
  13. I'm taken by the image of decay and emptiness, but then the active foreboding of the razored fruit gives a wholly different sense than just that of a passive decline. No roads, indeed. A grim world surrounds your thought in this, Joy. Not unusual for any of us these days, unfortunately.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Yes, I don't think you can be unaffected creatively by what we are watching. This last week was particularly brutal. Thanks very much for your thoughtful comment, Steve.

      Delete

'Poetry is an echo asking a shadow to dance' ~Carl Sandburg