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.