A cynical little piece which follows my personal rhyming/strict-word-order challenge, thrown together hastily in between all the dramas of the house-moving scene:
As crooked wisps of smoke, the same,
Words shimmer like reflected moon seen in a water frame;
Three times God called on, by each name;
Light pleas, as one might pebbles, to counter phantoms, aim …
Lead back to void from whence they came.
© March 2016 Colonialist (WordPress)
Colonialist's Blog 
Haunting. More. Please.
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You mean you like being spooked out? 🙂
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Bloody-minded brilliance! Anyone would think words were rationed!
love,
ViV
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Maybe Scots blood coming out – I economise with them!
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I quite like this!
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That mandated sequence of words certainly led to some unusual images!
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I don’t know how you do it, Col, in so few words – and it makes sense!
I wrote my entry earlier today, only for it to be deleted by a glitch this evening, so I had to hastily re-write mine from memory. I’ve got most of it, but it doesn’t feel the same to me now…
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Another part of my self-challenge is to write the poem as succinctly as possible.
I know the feeling of a lost version (like whole chapters!) – and one is generally convinced that it was better than the replacement. I have found, on the rare occasions where I was subsequently able to recover the first version, that such conviction is usually correct.
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A whole chapter must feel worse than a few-word effort, Col, and it didn’t feel very good when my entry vamoosed into the ether! I think I agree that the original is always best…
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