My Weekly Writing Challenge

My challenge for your this week is to write a poem or story based on the following visual prompt of a haunted lighthouse:


Last week’s challenge was a poem about the sea. There were some fantastic responses:

Judith Westerfield sent the following link to a poem that’s a little different but highly entertaining:

Stephen Baum sent in a simple, but very effective poem he wrote a little while ago:

The Copper Sea

We sailed the copper sea
We played out our destiny
We walked together in the sand
You were my woman and I was your man….
The letters came tumbling from the sky
But the people walked away, They did not wonder why
And the letters cast their shadows on the land
you were my woman and I was your man

En zi‘s poem is lovely:

Animals Under The Sea

Under the crystal blue seas,
live marine animals drinking tea.

They are all clad in pink,
looking ever so neat.

The shark pours tea for the whale,
while the whale tells a tale.

To the beat the seahorses dance,
just what they do every month.

Oh, the animals living happily under the sea,
all clad in pink!

Oh, the animals living happily under the sea,
telling tales and drinking tea!

Oh, the animals living happily under the sea,
dancing to the beat!

Keith Channing‘s is a gem of a poem:

A Day By The Sea

The weather was fine
And so me and mine
Went down for a day by the sea
We piled in the car
Then we drove very far
My parents, my siblings and me.

My Mum had contrived
That when we’d arrived
She’d lay out a fine picnic spread
But she whispered to Dad
That she’d really be glad
When we’re all back home safe in our bed.

“Why’s that?” Daddy asked
As the relish he passed
And we all grabbed with pushing and shoving
“The reason,” she said
“Is that when they’re in bed,
We can get ourselves some serious loving.”

“That sounds good to me,”
Said Daddy, with glee,
“Let’s wear them out, quick as we can.”
And so he did chase
Us all over the place
We ran, and we ran, and we ran.

Though we started off strong
Before very long
We were shattered, my siblings and me.
That’s when Daddy said
“Lets all go home to bed.”
And each one of us did agree.

That night in our bed
From what Mummy said
There must have been some kind of quake
For next day when we woke up
Though none of us spoke up
We knew Mummy felt the earth shake.

It does seem that each
Time we go to the beach
Something strange befalls Father and Mother
Though she tries not to show it
We blooming-well know it
We’ll soon have a sister or brother.

DD Moonsong shares a stunning poem:

The Sea’s Song

Churning, turning, ever burning
Twisting, rolling, always moaning
Groaning, gurgling, even twerking
Dancing, sloshing and gyrating

Spilling shinily on the rocks
Flecking the air, bathing the docks
Breathing gassily amidst the pores
of unknown, unwanted shores

Spawning fish and hiding mermaids,
deep within, where no child ever wades
Tinkling melodies far below abide
where the sand is not reached by the tide

Screeching mollusks, roaring sharks
fluttering ferns and eel-like sparks
some fish puff, others mutter
within it’s smothering, searching stutter

As it embraces all and none,
below the air, beneath the sun
the song goes forever on and on
in its relentless joyful drone

Geoff Le Pard always brings the wow factor:

Sea Lovers
(after a sonnet)

On first sight you are endless; perfection
A sheet of calm, saturating my dreams
With slumbering slow breaths; a rising steam
Clings to you skin, sheered in my reflection.
I swell in time to your timeless surging
Carried far away from my cold safe haven
Fearful at first; my scarred soul still craven
Until freed by your boundless urgings.
Close now, familiar, visage uncreased
By the experiences of years, you’re taunting
Me with your raw beauty, cruel flaunting.
Deeper now I sink, washed love unleashed
Filling undepleted oceans with my sap.
Blue trumps grey: clarity beats muddle –
Crisp words left unsaid; minds befuddled:
Am I adrift? Is there love left to tap?
Unchecked, you will drown me, sensuous sea lover.
I blink and turn away – safe, my life is over.

Riley Reed is a powerful writer:

Emotional Drowning

There is a storm that rages within me,
that churns and tosses like an angry sea.
Waves of emotion battle against my soul,
till there is nothing left to make me whole.

The currents pull and push, drag me under,
beneath the surface, I start to wonder.
Should I fight against those seething waves?
Or do I submit and become their slave?

I see light above the waters surface,
below is nothing but a dark abyss.
Yearning to breathe, I fight to swim upwards,
against the ocean dragging me backwards.

Breaking the surface, I take a deep breath,
embracing relief at evading my death.
Sunlight glistens across a now calm sea,
I look to the shore, and hope to be free.

Jane Basil has a talent for humour. Here she tries another approach – very successfully:

Adhin Shamina uplifts:


She will show
what she feels.
Just look at her.
No need to be on your kneels.
Her expressions say much.
In different presentations
different emotions
she will touch.
She will come in waves
like hands she forwards
as generously inviting
or cautiously alerting.
Sometimes like a mother
she offers small waves
like tenderness filled caresses.
Sometimes like a father
big waves for danger she addresses.
Her vastness amazes.
Yet she dwells in hearts
never dearth of praises.
In her berth we sway,
by her side for long
we want to stay
and for joyful moments
she is always the better way.
She opens her arms,
as irresistible calls to us
that creates like spell
and we fall to her charms.
Her gifts are many
yet she never complains
bearing whatever she receives
be they good or pains.
But she deserves much more
for despite her strength
she always helps us ashore.
So she is our mother,
she is our father
and caring for her
should never be a bother.

Sacha Black doesn’t think poetry is her thing. I beg to differ:

Her endless horizon has taken so many,
to lands of beauty and paradise
but her deep blue mood is fickle and dangerous,
while she tempts and treats some with watery heavens,
Many are swallowed and drowned by her darkened mouth.

Steve Walsky posted a great haiku:

The Call Of The Sea

The call of the sea,
its roar hounds me; joyful gain.
Tears from salt water.

Jason Moody brings this to a close with a strong poem:

I lap the shore
I taste the land
I stretch out wide
And touch the sand

I sparkle and gleam
Lit up by the sun
And when you come close
I crash, and you run

On the beach you build castles
In my embrace you have fun
Cooled by my waters
Away from the sun

You’re sad when you leave
A return not so certain
And you wave your goodbyes
To my watery curtain

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9 Responses to My Weekly Writing Challenge

  1. At the top of the hill
    Through fair wind and ill
    It stood and announced its position
    It guided the sailors
    The yachtsmen and whalers
    And never held back from its mission

    At first it had candles
    Wound up with stout handles
    But its dim glow could still pierce the night
    Then lamps of high power
    That shone from its tower
    Became such a comforting sight

    It’s a lonely old life
    For keeper and wife
    But they know that their service is needed
    And each time a ship
    Through the channel did slip
    They knew in their job they’d succeeded

    Now, you don’t need bright lights
    When you have satellites
    And electronic aids are abundant
    Software navigation
    And geolocation
    Have rendered the lighthouse redundant

    In the end it was sold
    This sentinel of old
    It’s now just some wealthy guy’s house
    He’s put a big slide
    In the tower’s inside
    A plaything for his kids and his spouse

    But the day will soon dawn
    When the oil is all gone
    And electrical power will be history
    We will need methodology
    To replace the technology
    Though what we will use is a mystery

    Perhaps they’ll decide
    That a lighthouse can guide
    So they’ll bring back the candles once more
    Then the venerable tower
    Will commence a new hour
    And do the job it was put up there for

  2. Ghosts lit play
    in haze of gray.

  3. Pingback: Three Glowing Sparks | Making it write

  4. stepping from
    the car with an
    airy feeling in
    her head and her
    feet, and a return of
    the freedom which
    she hasn’t felt
    since then,
    a lifetime ago,
    she lets the grey
    glow in the sky
    lead her where it
    may; along familiar
    lanes, abandoned
    by her so long ago
    in the vain and
    hopeless hope
    that the pain
    may fade
    one day,
    and yet she
    roams these
    roads again
    untouched by
    the memory of then;
    of that searing second, minute,
    hour, day, week, month, year, eternity
    when everything had screamed within her.
    when. everything. good. was. dead.
    everything dead.
    now the
    old windmill
    towers above her,
    its crumbling walls
    concealing worm eaten
    floorboards which
    and now two
    figures approach and
    she walks into
    their silken glow.
    her children
    have waited
    in this place
    these many years
    so patiently waited
    for her embrace and as they
    all join hands her form
    shimmers into translucence.

    several miles away,
    strangers stand in
    shock beside the
    wreck of a car,
    mourning her
    shredded shell on
    the blood-spattered bonnet
    and sadly shaking their heads.
    an approaching siren wails, and
    they turn theirheads from death;
    but I see the three
    glowing sparks as they
    leave the heart of the woman
    and soar up to the sky
    and I know that
    she is healed
    at last.

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