Photo Title: Fisherman's Blues © David White -Visit his blog site to see additional photos.
The photographer lives in Chester, North West England, and
The photographer lives in Chester, North West England, and
specializes in finding his own unique interpretation of the natural
world, with occasional experiments in lifestyle photography.
Photo Prompt
Study the image. List the first three words that come to mind. Take those words and use them in your writing.
Photo Prompt
Study the image. List the first three words that come to mind. Take those words and use them in your writing.
Writing Prompt
You are the photojournalist who shot this image.
Write a headline and a short caption.
- Write a six line poem.
- Write the first sentence of a book.
Word Prompt
Breathe
Photo used with permission from David White
5 comments:
If you have any suggestions or comments, I always welcome feedback :)
Enjoy your weekend.
word prompt - breathe
In memories...
Breathing death
she barely tasted life,
From horrid struggle hath
redeemed haven for our strife
Breathing hope
we smelled success,
From evil havoc made us cope
we her tough young spirit bless
Cool photograph!
Since I didn't do yesterday's, I'm using both word prompts :)
I breathe in the silence of the night, surrounded by the stars and the trees. Not knowing where my footsteps will lead me, I edge closer to the silence that calls out my name. (something like that)
-silver
-prize
-bait
Cape Cod's Prize catch of the year.
Using a secret bait Jonathan Barr lured in the biggest catch of the year, his nets almost breaking under the mass of flopping silver.
-----------------------------------
Silver backs flashed
while young fishermen brash
headed into a swirling blue,
and the storm it began to brew;
their boats all washed ashore
as splinters; nothing more.
-----------------------------------
Camille stole a nervous glance over her snow covered shoulder, the sun had yet to rise over the silver bay, but she knew she stood in the market square, the familiar smell of fresh bait centering her senses; soon her brother too would venture out into the cold and display his prize cod.
Word prompt
Standing silently
I almost forget to breath,
a graveyard of old trucks
among the fallen fur trunks
each rusted spot bearing
another tall tale, each growing
a little more with every storm,
for their voices my heart mourns.
But to silent contemplation
I return as shadows turn crimson.
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