Like luminous petals falling Over lush green lawns your Violet verses float down in Eloquent abundance.
Love-filled lyrics pervade the ether Elegant stanzas resonate with rhyme Tantalising texts torment my senses Tempting cantos seep into my soul Eternal love spills from your pen while Rhythms of ecstasy permeate my heart.
Image credit: Timur Kozmenko The image is of a girl dressed in a red swirling frock walking towards open gates. The gates appear to be of oriental origin and are very tall. From the open gate you can see mountains visible through a cloudy sky.
Image credit: Tim Hüfner @ Unsplash The image shows wall art. A woman is dressed in 1950’s style. A speech bubble next to her says, ‘Listen to your inner child’. There are cartoons and graffiti on the wall too.
Reaching out across the airwaves tuneful voices high and sweet echo brightly from a distant chapel of vaulted ceilings and flickering candles
She sings along, only slightly out of tune picturing pews of fresh-faced choirboys with golden halo hair and snow-white surplices wide-eyed and open mouthed
Smiling, she chops and slices as the voices transport her while her hands work busily preparing for the feast
Now the warm summer wind drifts through the open kitchen window while wintery hymns embrace her in nostalgia.
It’s my special festive tradition to listen to the carol service from King’s College Cambridge while cooking on Christmas Eve. This year will be no exception. Some particularly fond memories of mine come from the years when my husband had a bike shop and used to go out late on Christmas Eve to deliver the children’s bikes to their houses after they’d gone to bed, just like Santa Claus, while I made us a late supper of fishy treats.
Image credit: Shche-Team @ Unsplash (The image shows an outdoor scene. An old fashioned radio is placed next to a couple of candles and a wicker basket. Behind the radio is a pot full of blooming red flowers)
Look at her a face illuminated by street lamps, by passing cars she watches, she waits the expression on her face is one of… nothingness.
Look at her dark circles under her eyes, a bruise on her cheek hidden by her hair the look in her eyes is one of… emptiness.
Look at her what did he do? what do you do? while she’s beaten and broken one woman, one of many, living in… hopelessness.
Society sleepwalks, liberals shake their heads say wise but empty words, while behind closed doors this never ends.
A woman is killed every three hours in South Africa, according to police statistics – a rate five times the world average. Half are murdered by men with whom they had a close relationship.
Written in response toSadje’sWhat Do You See #56photo prompt. Image credit: Phmaxiestevez @ Pixabay (The image shows a young woman looking out the glass pane of a partially open door, with an indecipherable expression).