Thaw

Frozen fingers crack. Spring thaw awakens.

Winter’s chill fades. Flowers bloom anew.

Wheat fields rise. Crooked figures creak.

Green shoots climb amongst eager limbs.

A murder of crows. Pecking. Jabbing.

Lifeless eyes patiently bide their time.

-o-

Breaking free from tormented ice shackles.

Flora and fauna. Bone and sinew.

Oppressive dark skies expose hungry mouths.

Wary rabbits avoid their tainted playground.

Through mist laden fields something stirs.

Nature watches unnatural rebirth. Haunted groans.

-o-

Long time dead. Rising once again.

Fading chill unlocks terror and beauty.

Flourish and stagger. Elegance meets dread.

Armies of buds, blooms and blossoms.

Cannot hold the revenants at bay.

Husks march through the fading mist.

-o-

Silent world greets rot and ruin.

Weeds burst through a concrete jungle.

Mother nature slowly reclaims stolen ground.

Creatures go in search of food.

Furry paws, feathered wings, demon mouths.

Decaying predators roam. Nature’s magic pursues.

-o-

Spring bows out. Summer slips in.

Twisting vines enslave slow plodding feet.

From Winter escape to Summer’s cell.

Trapped in webs of nature’s force.

Entombed in statues of dazzling green.

Returned to earth. Rest in peace.

This poem was inspired by Indigo Spider’s Spring Poem Competition. The theme was Spring and a poll will be on display from the 4th April, closing on 10th April. The winner will receive a painting from Christina Deubel, a painting inspired by one of the the poems submitted that wins the poll! Even if you don’t enter you should check out her blog and her amazing art work! Stunning stuff indeed!

Since I’m on a roll with the editing of my novel, The Range, I couldn’t help but keep this poem themed around the events of the story. It shows that any undead or zombie plague will eventually be trapped, frozen solid by winter. And yet as spring thaws out the army of ghouls mother nature has a few tricks up her sleeve to redress the balance by blanketing the wandering nasties with a riot of weeds and foliage and dragging them back into the ground.

My poem is an extension of the Twitter stream #sixwords where Tweeters use only six words to Tweet. My take on #sixwords is to use 6 words per line and 6 lines per stave. It’s been fun working out the best use of words to convey the feel of the poem.

Blood, Sweat & Stars

An insane drummer hammered inside his chest.

B-boom. B-boom. B-boom.

Sticky blood rolled down tired fingers.

Golden sand defiled from his last stand.

Ragged breath rushed over his dry chapped lips.

His lungs were sacks of burning coals.

Vinegar sweat stung his harrowed blue eyes.

Silence devoured the dunes.

0

An orgy of flesh lay at his feet.

A cannibal butchers delight.

Rot and ruin slain by hammer and knife.

Moan and groan. Shuffle and stagger.

Soulless husks hungry for food.

The dead no longer tell tales.

Where hundreds stood thousands will come.

Flooding the beach ahead of the tide.

0

They had stood together. Once.

His friends. His brothers in arms.

Crusaders united against the walking dead.

One by one they fell. Dragged beneath a sea of arms and teeth.

They fled through familiar territory transformed and abused.

Hell on Earth. Paradise lost.

Shopping malls awash with blood.

School yards bereft of play. Hungry critters hunted the living.

Friendly neighbourhoods raped by gunfire.

Onward they ran, chasing the setting sun.

0

Side by side they battled on.

To warm wooden paths amongst the dunes.

Fair weather times lay in ruins.

Sinew and muscle sliced and diced.

Thrashing limbs. Gaping mouths spewing blood and plague.

Countless foes swarmed like locusts.

Fight or flight.

Friends divided.

Escape route diminished. Cut off. Ended.

A plea for help swallowed by foul breath and demon eyes.

Abandoned and alone.

0

Pushed toward the shore. Hope for rescue chewed up. Spat out.

Yet still he swung hammer and knife.

With his spirit dying he resisted their blood lust.

Slaying, reaping, murdering through blood sweat and tears.

Until the last of the dead lay still and oozing.

In silence the stars came out to greet him.

At the end of the board walk he gazed at their beauty.

Arms raised to the heavens he awaited their applause.

Heroic efforts deserve rewards.

0

A single moan drifted through dunes.

Hammer and knife. Hungry for blood and sinew.

The stars could wait.

At least they would not abandon him.

This short piece was inspired by Indigo Spider’s Sunday Picture Press – a challenge to write between 50 and 1500 word piece of fiction using one of 5 photos as a prompt. The twisteroo this week was to write a piece about abandonment.

This week I’m back with the zombie hordes and keying this short poem (if you can call it that, I’m not so hot when it comes to poetry) with my novel, The Range. I wasn’t in the mood to write an actual piece of fiction this week. I wanted to keep things short and sticky so what better way to convey horror and abandonment than with short bursts and one liners.

Maybe it worked. Maybe it didn’t. I can’t really tell. I really enjoyed my previous SPP piece, Just Beneath My Skin I’m Screaming, but this one…well, I’m sure if it sucks you’ll let me know, dear blog reader, right?

This picture prompt is called My God, It’s Full of Stars by Thomas Zimmer http://500px.com/photo/2003025

Excellent picture prompts from Indigo. If you want to join in and write a short piece of fiction clicky-click Indigo Spider’s link above and wrap your imagination around one of the pictures.

Just Beneath My Skin I’m Screaming

Linus King, or Lingus Dingus as his meagre collection of friends called him,stared at his journal. The empty pages mocked him. He was scared to put the nib of the pen against the paper because once he started he didn’t know if he could stop. He fought against the urge scrawl words about the darkness that sought to consume him.

Yet as he gripped the pen in his hand he realised he had no choice. He had to write about it. About them. He didn’t want to but he felt compelled to trap his dreams between the pages in desperate hope the nightmares would dial it down for one night. That was all he begged for. A single night of emptiness and solitude. With a shaking hand he touched the nib of the pen to the page.