Picture Inspiration Outlet, Allow the Picture to Stir Your Muse Options

[AMETHYST]

[Eisa]

Hi Liz

This is a great idea. I'm not very good at word challenges, but this is different. I have already had some thoughts come to mind and a few different endings. Given time I think I might use this.

Hugs
Snow

[AMETHYST]

Yes, I find that pictures stir thought a lot easier to me than words... I hope to see something from you! :) It would be so nice to start seeing more new poetry from both of us ... :)

Huigs, liz

[JustDaniel]

Alas, my old mind's in the gutter
as I look upon it... can't utter
a word in this fog;
I'm too lame to jog
and now sense my heart's all aflutter.

[Alan]

FOGGED OFF

Daniel claims that his mind's in a fog,
but I dispute that, he's just wrong, by dog
He's writing tomorrow
not in anger, more sorrow
soon he will catch up with his back-log !

Love
Alan

Oops, that was FEB 22, not March. Still why waste a mediocre limerick ?

[Guest_ohsteve_*]

FOG!

Fog horn moans, mist is stealing the buildings one by one,
It slowly creeps in one lamp post at a time.
Insidious grey tendrils wrap around never let go,
Lone man takes his chances, walks to his favorite pub.
Does he ever get there?
Ah, there's the rub.
Fog so thick, to drive you have to open your door and look
for the yellow lines.
Stand on a blue runway light and look down and not see,
only feel with your feet.
Tomorrow with it's bright sunshine will find
all the building there, just a brick or two missing.
It works it's way slowly,
Last year I lost five hours.

Mar 25 2011
© Steve Pray

[Sekhmet]

Hi Steve, I am a rare visitor to Karnac Crossing, so I've only just bumped into this very enjoyable response to the misty, moody photo. I thought you caught the mood excellently.
I often use photos and paintings to jump-start my be-fogged mind. Its pulling new ideas out of mid-air that gives me problems.
Hugs, Leo

[Guest_ohsteve_*]

Thanks Leo, I just found this again and it gave me different muse.

Canterbury Days and Cambridge Nights.

The fogs of autumn wend and wind
around the weary collages and universities.
Where the schools are just starting class,
burdens of learning the ancient arts,
knowledge passed down for generations.
The ivy flourishes upon their walls;
as layered with leaves as the insides
are layered with the dust of multitudes
of passing feet, that have shuffled through
these hallowed grounds.
Walkways are paved with asphalt and concrete
instead of carved and quarried stone.
The particular odor of dead leaves and small
bonfires celebrating the guy,
gunpowder, treason and plot, the words run rampant
as rockets light up the heavy fog.
Colored strobes of sudden glares,
memories of these and music played out across
meadows of Kings Cross.

June 14, 2011
© Steve Pray