Poetry competition CLOSED 2nd July 2022 9:45pm
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Razzerleaf
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A picture is worth a thousans words.

robert43041
robert43041
Viking
Tyrant of Words
Canada
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Joined 30th July 2020
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Poetry Contest

Using a thousand words or so, tell me why the pic you choose to show is worth a thousand words.
Could be told in a poem ( the form you choose is yours) or prose.

Indie
Indie
Miss Indie
Tyrant of Words
Australia
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Look forward to reading the entries

robert43041
robert43041
Viking
Tyrant of Words
Canada
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Joined 30th July 2020
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Yes, that should be great fun. imagination running rampid?   Love and romance unbound.  The horrors of evil?   Or some about Witches  and witchcraft perhaps?  The sky is the limit.       Regards, Robert.    PS:  shall you submit a piece?

Indie
Indie
Miss Indie
Tyrant of Words
Australia
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Joined 3rd Sep 2011
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If I get the time, l'll have a crack.

robert43041
robert43041
Viking
Tyrant of Words
Canada
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Joined 30th July 2020
Forum Posts: 449

A chair.

   He walked in the trift shop among the clothes, the linen, the drapes and the books, he veered to he right half-way down one aisle heading to the furniture section. He was was here looking for a small bookcase on top of which he could also put a plant or two.  He was the master decorator of his tiny apartment.
   It caught his eyes.  
   A simple chair.  A seat . A back. Four legs. Functional. It was originally crafted by a dedicated worker in his atelier.  Fabricated with care, sanded down, polished and varnished.  As it was part of a set of four and the accompanying table, it was not for him. This mahogany set was later purchased by a young couple starting in life.
   Well, starting, but with a step ahead.  Their first home after their difficult year or so after university.  Then their first child and big hopes. By profession, she was a lawyer, he was an architect.  Their house was in the polluted city but still, they were no different from a lot of city dwellers and  they each needed a car to get around.
   But the city got on their nerves.  So on week-ends they hit the road and ventured an hour or two in different directions and finally found the spot of their dreams.  Ten acres of grounds near  forested area.  Perfect place to build their residence designed by Lisa's husband James himself.  As for the decoration of the interior, Lisa took care of that herself.  Pale blue here, egg white there.  This superb texture for the drapes and the perfect butterfly afghan tapestry for the far wall.
   Everything was new except for the kitchen set of table and chairs of their former residence.  This was placed in a small alcove adjacent to the main kitchen area which was equipped with the most expensive and most recent innovations.
   True, the outside needed a bit of care as well as it pretty much looked like jungle.  They were in the middle of nowhere so a small garden was needed.  A small project for the near future.  More importantly, what is a residence in the country without a swimming pool?  After all, one must have something to entertain friends and visitors.
   After Marcus, their son now seven, came Lisbeth.  Today was her third birthday.  birthdays and holydays were always joyous affairs with plenty of gourmet good , catered for neither of them had  knowledge, talent, or dexterity to produce such marvels as those prepared by their friend the five-star chef Jean-Michel who was always at hand to design and create wonders.
   This day was even more fantastic, if possible.
   Dozens of friends and colleagues on hand, tons of gifts for Lisbeth, including a huge doll house.
   Don Orwell, also an architect and friend, was there to say good-bye as he'd recently obtained a contract to build a new museum in Dubai.  A freind of Lisa was proud to say she's successfully defended
a very wealthy fellow and would now have to consult a banker in view of placements.
   Suddenly there was a  scream from Rosalie, the lady who lived in the nearby village and sometimes served as baby-sitter as well as helper to Jean-Michel at times.  She was nort baby-sitting on this day.  She was helping with the trays of hors-d'oeuvres and difficult to say if it was the scream or the cling-clang noisee of the fancy plate of delicacies as it hit the side of the pool which came first.
   Defeaning sounds as the people gathered and as Rosalie's husband jumped in, all dressed up and fancy shoes, hurrying to get to the small body and get it out of there, rthen trying to get Lisbeth to breathe.
   Too late.
   Shock.  Cries.  Disbelief.  Denials.  And after days and days, after the burrial, then recriminations.
   ''You just HAD to have a pool, didn't you?'' Lisa screamed across the living-room, throwing a lovley porcelain vase at the afghan  butterflies on the wall, ''social status demanding,''
   ''Don't put it all on me, darling.  You were glad to have a place to bask in the sun and get an enviable tan'',
   Such tragedies as the death of a child sometimes create an even stronger bond between a couple.
   Not this couple.  Lisa packed her pags and her jewelry, made legal arrangements to have Marcus stay with her.  James obtained visiting rights.   She moved back to the city, left her broken dreams behind and settled in an area where the was no swimming pool in sight.  James had auction people come over. They made an offer on everything  in the house, offer which James readily accepted, no squabble and the kitchen table and chairs in the alcove were packed away.
   james sold the house, moved to  a Bed and Breakfast for a brief duration while he looked for another
parcel of land where he could buils a ''shack'' of  futuristic design.
 
   It was a year later  that a young couple entered the huge auction house in the same town where Lisa  opted to reside.  The  auction house occupied two floors and a basement. The most expensive  items, from marble statues to paintings , XVIIth  and XVIIIth century desks and assorted furniture as well as displays of  jewelry occupied the two main floors. In the basement was found mainly furniture in various state of dissaray and often under a small  layer of dust.
    Jim and Paula were looking for an antique set of table  and chairs.   No doubt some of the items offered belonged more to the junk yard but a man's waste is another man's treasure. But this particular set with its exquisitely crafted chairs caught Paula's attention.  ''I love it'' she said, looking to jim for approval.  he thought  that the set was rather big for their apartment but it was her choice and that was that.  Besides, they had big plans and would  certainly move to something more spacious eventually.
  It took them two years  actually as they kept dreaming and working, Paula in the pottery shop, gaining experience and creating.  as for Jim, he worked on computer programming.
   Then, one day, Success. He sold one of his programs for ten million bucks.
   Champagne.  Caviar.
   And the purchase of a sprawling estate near a wooded area.
   Pool included.
   Two years later Jessica was born.  Her fifth birtday was also a special one for Lisa as she achieved a milestone with Internet sales of her pottery products.
   Big party with family and  friends.  Lots of foods, drinks and laughter.
   By the pool.
Written by robert43041 (Viking)
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Razzerleaf
Razzerleaf
Fire of Insight
United Kingdom
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Joined 15th Sep 2019
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One of Hells Angels

With all his weight he rammed down the kick start of the Norton Commando. The bike spluttered but didn’t catch. Under his breath he cursed the bitch and threatened to swap her for a Jap bike with an electric start. “Now just fucking start”, he shouted as he bounced once more. The bitch complied slowly at first until the choke did its job. ”Hey Pan Head, where you off to?”, asked one of the chapter's younger members. “Got to sort out some trouble with one of our own”, he replied, then rode away from the ramshackle sheds that the Forest of Dean Hells' Angels called their home. He never glanced back.
 
He had always been called Pan Head and most of his people assumed that was due to a love of Harleys; those that had been around in the early days knew that the name was due to the way he cut his own hair. He had joined the chapter at sixteen, a runaway on a BSA Bantam. Even at this tender age they soon learned not to mess with Pan Head. If there was ever any trouble he would be the first in and always the last to leave.
 
The road and years had not been kind to this now old greaser. Long rides would cripple him for days and sometimes the pain in his knuckles would get so bad he would drink himself into a stupor. He rarely spoke and the members of his chapter had stopped trying to converse many years ago, only the new members asked him questions and only occasionally did they get an answer and that was usually, ”Fuck off”.
 
The Norton's parallel twin thumped its way out of Gloucester through heavy rain and up onto the spinal trail of the M6. He rode like a zombie into an apocalypse stopping only to feed the bike. He tucked in tight to the tank, hardening against the cold and the foreboding giants that stalked the road as he entered the Jaws of Cumbria. He started to lose the light around Lockerbie but roared on towards East Kilbride and took the ring road round Glasgow heading for Stirling.
 
The bike had been thrashed for nearly six hours straight, through the worst weather God could throw at any of his fallen angels. Pan Head was pretty pissed off as he passed into the Kingdom of Fife and Perthshire. As he entered Bridge of Gaur he was ready to kill anything or anyone that even tried to get in his way. The sleepy hamlet was getting ready to go to bed, the rain had stopped and the street lights reflected orange on the rain-soaked road. The Norton was now moving slowly, searching out its prey. Finally it stopped, slumped to one side like a horse on its last legs as the rider climbed off.
 
Inside Rannoch church the congregation had just started evening prayers; two small children at the back were giggling and snatching prayer books out of each other’s hands. Pan Head slammed open the doors at the back of the Church and stepped inside, the steel segs in his boots clicked on the cold tiled floor and pools of rain collected at his feet. The whole back row of the pews were now wishing they had sat at the front as they turned to see the Hells' Angel that had descended onto their sleepy hollow. “What the fuck are you looking at?” he spat. “Where is she?” he hollered above the faltering pipe organ.
 
The vicar tucked up his robes and trotted towards the crude stranger that had broken his routine. As he passed the front row Alan Edgar, a man well respected for his generosity about Gaur, spoke his mind. "That's right vicar, send the uncouth lout packing”. This prompted others to join in with ayes of agreement.
 
The Vicars' stride broke, he turned to face his congregation. "I can't believe what I'm hearing, is this the way we welcome strangers? tell me, what do you make of this man who visits our church?" he asked. “It needs a bath. Coming in church dressed like that, it’s not right". "Aye who does he think he is?”. “Someone that’s not welcome, I would say”, voiced Alan Edgar, getting braver with the support of his townsfolk. “Why Vicar?. What do you see?”
 
“Alan Edgar! I'll tell you what I see, I see a man who is worth 818 words, I also see a man that has travelled a great distance to be beside his mother when she needs him most. Come in Michael, you must be frozen, let’s go through to the back. I’ll make you some tea. Mums' in bed; she’s very weak but at least she’s home”.
 
With his arm around his son the Vicar turned to look at his flock. ” I think you've held your own sermon tonight; see yourselves out”.
Written by Razzerleaf
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wallyroo92
wallyroo92
Tyrant of Words
United States
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The Window in the Third Floor

      He feels a chill down his spine as he walks through the door. The music is loud, the air is warm and everyone seems in a trance as they dance into the night.      
      He has keen sense of smell and yet amidst the alcohol, the mix of colognes and perfumes that fill the air there is something different about this club. Almost everyone seems Goth, but that’s ok with him, last month he had visited a place that was country and the month before that an all 80s retro club. But he still can’t put his finger on about this place. Everyone was beautiful, dancing as the bass from the speakers thumps in his ears.      
      He walks by the dance floor filled with partygoers. The booths with are filled with others who are swaying to the beat watching people. A brunette who catches his eye. She is sitting with three other women who were just as pretty and two men who are pale and blonde dressed in black suits, black shirts, one with a red and the other with a purple tie.      
         The brunette has distinguishable blue eyes wearing dark crimson red lipstick. He walks up to the bar and orders a beer. The bartender, another young looking tall man looks him as if ordering a beer seems strange in this club. The place is so loud he doesn’t hear the bartender how much for the beer, he puts a twenty and mouths “keep the change”.      
         A man in his forties wearing suit that looks a little too big for him walks up and order two fancy drinks. He looks at him, recognizing the familiar scent of the cologne and the alcohol in his breath. They look at each other, they acknowledge each other and the man walks toward a tall redhead in a tight slinky black dress and six inch heels with red bottoms. She looked at least fifteen years younger than him and then he lost sight of them in the crowd. Two brunettes walk past him, one eyeing him.      
      The lights in the place are almost dizzying but the music seems to move even the most still of hearts. He suddenly notices his foot tapping to the beat. Two men, who look like they spend eight hours at the gym every day, walk by wearing almost see through black shirts and leather pants. I’m definitely out of my league here, he thinks as three young women in black mini dresses walk by looking at their muscles.      
      “Wanna dance?” he hears someone say a few feet away in the beat between songs. He turns and sees a young man asking a petite girl in white mini dress and red high heels, to give her some height, as she and her friends are already dancing in a circle. She says something to the guy but he leans closer to hear. As she talks to him, she sees him standing at the bar. She is young, pretty with brown eyes and a delicate face. She’s a lovely vision, he thinks to himself.      
      She looks at him a couple of times and smiles. He looks over at the booths and sees the brunette eyeing him as well. Then he notices they too get up from the booths to dance as well.      
      “I’ve never seen you in here before” a tall man in a blue suit and white shirt says as he takes a sip of beer.      
      “They hardly let me out” he says taking a drink, the same kind as the man in the suit.      
      “Who’s they?” the man asks curiously.      
      “Work” he says with smile.      
      “I’m Todd” the man said shaking his head.      
      “Marc…” he stopped abruptly looking at the brunette with blue eyes passing by. “Marc.”      
      “This place is lit” he hears guy say to his friends as they walks past them.      
        “It is” Todd says “and the women are just so…” as more women join the dance floor.      
      Young, Marc wants to say but keeps it to himself.      
      “Young” Todd finishes.      
      Marc shakes his head. He makes eye contact again with the girl in the white dress who has her hands up on the air, writhing seductively, as one of her friends “backs it up” to her, getting the attention of others.      
      “So what do you do?” Todd asks him. Marc now asking himself if this guy was trying to hit on him pauses for a second and takes a sip. “Don’t worry, I’m not hitting on you, I’m just waiting for my friends.”      
      Marc finishes his sip. “Distribution” he said. “I distribute beverages.”      
      Todd nods.      
      “I’m the guy that delivers to stores, business, schools, etc.” Marc adds to the lie.      
      “Which…” Todd was about to ask when Marc cut him off, “You see that PTY over there”. Todd turns to look. “Oh she’s a cutie” Todd says then he turns back to Marc.      
“I don’t think she’s no more than twenty-five” Marc adds.      
      “You look young yourself” Todd says when Marc responds.      
         “I’m almost thirty-seven, that’s like two-hundred fifty-nine in dog years. You think a twenty-five year old would hook up with some as ancient as me?” Marc says smiling.      
      “Why don’t you…” Todd begins and Marc interrupts again. “You see that brunette too” Marc begins. “There is no way a guy like me can hook up with either one.”      
      “I can introduce you to Belinda” Todd says.      
      “The one with the blue eyes?”      
      “Yep, that’s Belinda”.      
      “I don’t think I’m ready yet, I need more liquid courage” he says turning to bartender and ordering another beer.      
      “My friends are here” Todd says. Give me a few minutes and we’ll meet you upstairs in the private lounge. Marc nods.      
      Just then the girl in the white dress walks up to the bar and orders a drink. They smile at each other. Marc has a slight stubble. He is a little insecure of the couple of gray hairs in his chin and a few his temples, but amid his dark hair, dark eyes and athletic build, women have always found him attractive in for his rugged looks.      
      “How come you’re not dancing?” the girl in the white dress asks.      
      “I’m not too good” he says in his low husky voice. “Besides I saw you turn down a couple of guys”. He could smell her perfume, something he smelled a few months ago in a department store at  a mall. She is petite but has a curvy figure. She had soft brown eyes, like honey, red full lips and dark brown hair curled at the ends. She has tattoo of flowers, elephants and butterflies from her shoulder to her elbow.      
        “Nice ink” he says.      
        “Thank you” she responds.      
        “Is the elephant for good luck?”      
        “Yes!” she replies with enthusiasm.      
        He pulls up the sleeve of his dark navy shirt, his strong forearm has an elephant tattoo that almost matches hers.      
        “Oh my God!” she says in a high pitched voice. Marc can smell the alcohol in her breath and it’s a turn on. She calls over to her friends. Soon he is talking to all of them.      
        “I’m Evelyn by the way and this Tina, Kate and Dana”. Marc is entranced by Evelyn’s voice. He introduces himself, shaking their hands. He can smell each of their fragrances. The five grab booth and as Marc walks behind looking back he quickly glances at Belinda on the dance floor.      
        They all talk for nearly half an hour and as Evelyn finishes up her drink she says, “Marc let’s go dance”. Feeling the pressure he smiles and agrees.      
        They spend the next two songs on the dance floor, at times her body grinding up against his. His hand sometimes caressing her waist. “You’re pretty good” she says but in the midst of the music but he pretends he doesn’t hear and leans closer.      
        “You’re pretty good” she says again right in his ear. For a second there he felt her lips in his cheek. At that moment she instantly got closer to him, their bodies touching. He looked over at Belinda who was now dancing with one of her girlfriends almost in the same manner. Her crimson lips seem to almost kiss her gorgeous friend. Marc and Evelyn keep dancing.      
        “You know her” Evelyn asks as she has her back pressed up against his.      
        “No, not really. I met her guy friend earlier.”      
        “The guy you were talking to? I think he’s the owner” Evelyn adds.      
        “He said I could check out the private lounges upstairs” Marc replies.      
        “Let’s go see” she says. She takes Marc by the hand and they go up the stairs behind the stage.      
        The upstairs is a little quieter and darker. There are booths that run along a long hallway, the ceilings are high with white pillars amid red velvet curtains from floor to ceiling muffling any sound.      
        “This used to be an old theater they renovated a couple of years ago” Evelyn says. “See the new crown molding and decorations on the ceiling” she says as they walk down a long hallway.      
        “You know a lot about art deco?” Marc asks.      
        “I’m majoring in architecture” she responds.      
        “Majoring, as in you’re still in…” he says when she cuts in.      
        “I just went back to school” she says holding his hand. They came to a second set of stairs at the end of the hallway. “They lead up to offices” she says. “I heard they have these beautiful large windows, let’s go check them out”.      
        “What about your friends? Wont’ they be worried about you?”      
        “I’m a big girl, I can take care of myself”      
        “Big girl? If you take those heels off, what are you? 4’10” 4’11”?”      
        “Shut up” she says laughing. “I’m 5’2” and a half…see” she says removing them. She looks up at him. He leans over and kisses her in a dark corner by the stairs that lead up to the third floor.      
        Her lips are soft and moist. He can smell her hair and her skin. He can feel the goose-pimples on her shoulders, her breathing is getting heavier almost breathless as he puts his hands around her waist bringing her closer. She puts her arms around his neck the lips locking and their tongues dancing making them tingle.      
        “You’re so” he starts to say but stops.      
        “I’m so what?” she asks as her mouth reaches for another kiss.      
        “The music…it stopped” he says looking down the darkened hallway.      
        Suddenly in the distance blood curling screams begin to fill downstairs. Then he notices that some of the patrons in the booths begin to attack others, charging at them with fury, biting their necks, slashing at their throats. Evelyn is about to scream when Marc covers her mouth. “Quiet, they’ll hear us”.      
        The screams begin to get louder as people are running. “We might be under attack” he whispers softly “but I don’t hear shots” he says when a few people run into the second floor then are attacked by those in darkened booths.      
        “What the fuck” Evelyn says now crying.      
        “Go upstairs and find a place to hide” he tells her, when amidst of those few running one of them is her friend Tina along with others who are being tackled to the floor.      
        Tina makes it past a few of them before she is tackled by a large blonde man. Marc grabs a metal pole nearby and as the blonde man sees him approaching he lunges at Marc. Marc with a perfect major league swing hits him square in the jaw. Tina gets up screaming at the top of her lungs and runs toward Evelyn.      
        “They’re fucking vampires!” Tina yells hysterically.      
        “What?” Evelyn now in tears seeing her friend is covered in blood.      
        “They’re vampires” Tina repeats.      
        As she screams, the man gets up again and lunges toward Marc but Marc’s reflexes are fast and swings again breaking the man’s jaw. The others in the back take notice and begin to move toward the three.      
        “Upstairs now!” Marc yells. Tina and Evelyn leave their shoes and quickly going up the stairs. Marc follows behind still clinging to the metal pole.      
        On the third floor, the offices that have not been finished yet. As they run through different rooms, some of the windows are barred. Suddenly Marc sees light from a big window peering through a barred window that leads to a fire escape. Then he smells a few of them coming, he can hear six different footsteps.      
        He grabs a large table and blocks the door. He flips an old leather sofa in the corner by the window and whispers at the girls to hide and not make a sound.      
        “But” Evelyn begins to say, her voice shaking.      
        “Be quiet” he says looking at her terrified face, her friend crying hysterically as they try to calm down.      
        In less than a second two men break down the door and with superhuman strength. They throw the table across the room breaking it in pieces nearly hitting Marc. Four of them walk in followed by Todd and Belinda. Belinda is smiling, with blood on her mouth and chin, her blue eyes now even more pale. Todd has blood in his shirt and on his suit.      
        “I told you I was going to introduce you” Todd says. As he smiles Marc sees his fangs. The others stand a couple of feet apart covering the exits. Marc picks up a large piece of wood from the broken table.      
        “What are you going to do, stab us through the heart?” Todd says. The others laugh. Marc throw it on the floor and picks up a large piece table top, it weighs one hundred pounds.      
        “Ooh look everyone, he’s a strong man” Todd says. Evelyn and Tina see Marc’s rippling muscles beginning to break through his shirt. A light is coming through the cracks of the window but Evelyn sees the street lights are off. One of the vampires sees Evelyn’s head in the shadows and gestures to Todd.      
        “Awe, were you trying to protect her, that little… what did you call her? PYT?” Marc doesn’t say anything but begins to breathe heavier. His muscles now bulging.      
        “He’s not scared” Belinda says.      
        “He will be” Todd adds. “He was interested in you, but then he ended up talking to her even though she’s too young for him” Todd turns to him.      
        “I’m still too old for her” Marc says.      
        “Two hundred years?” Todd replies      
        “In dog years” Marc says beginning to chuckle.      
        “What’s so funny?” one of the other vampires asks.      
        “I came here to rumble” Marc adds with a lower husky voice.      
        “You came here to…” Todd says when Marc interrupts him.      
        “Shut the fuck up and get ready” Marc tells him.      
        “Ready for what?” Todd says opening his arms.      
        “For this” Marc says throwing the large table top through the wood, breaking the window letting the light of the moon in.      
        “You’re making a mess and you’re going to pay for…” Todd says but suddenly stops.      
        Evelyn and Tina look in horror at Marc as he begins his transformation.      
        “It’s a good thing there's full moon tonight” Marc says right before all his human form disappears.
Written by wallyroo92
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PittinixDesigns
PittinixDesigns
Fire of Insight
Jamaica
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Joined 8th Feb 2020
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A Thousand Words

Inspired by a picture

I have an old and faded photograph of a beautiful, young bride on her wedding day.
She was my bride many years ago, so I will write a composition about this photograph.

Although a thousand words are not enough to express all the feelings of my heart,
This picture of my darling ex-wife, as the saying goes, is worth a thousand words.
I say this despite my inability to estimate the amount of words that her picture is worth.
Perhaps I will have to write more than a thousand words about it in a composition.
It may not require so many words to describe the visual aspects of the picture,
But I will need countless words to convey the emotional effects that it has on me.

This picture brought back happy memories when I found it in a box in the attic.
It also reminded me of the sad moments that Sash and I occasionally experienced.
Sadly, we did not learn to take the bad with the good, and so we had to split up.
Every time I look at this lovely picture, I begin to think about the woman that I lost.
The things that happened and the things that did not happen come to mind.
How I wish I could go back to the wonderful day that she took this photograph.

I along with many other people say that a picture is worth a thousand words,
But that phrasing does not appear to be a realistic thing, it is just a popular saying.
Has anybody ever actually written a thousand words about a single picture?
This old and dusty photograph of Sash puts many words in my thoughts tonight.
And I am going to write all the things that I am thinking about at the moment.
I will count the words just to see whether I can write a thousand words or not.

A professional photographer took this picture of Sash on the day of our wedding.
The photograph was taken indoors and it does not have a scenic background.
All I see in the background is a plain wall and a drape that hangs in front of a window,
But the beautiful image that I see in the foreground will always be in my memory.
I proposed to Sash when she was twenty-five years old and she accepted my proposal.
The day that we pledged to love and cherish each other was the best day of my life.

Sash is wearing a bridal gown with white lace and she appears to be posing for an artist.
She has silver earrings in her ears and a fetching hairstyle with silvery hair jewellery.
I keep gazing at her pleasant countenance because she is such a photogenic woman.
Her pretty eyes are like the eyes of an angelic being and she has the most sensual lips.
I am sure the woman in the well-known, Italian painting is not as beautiful as she is.
This photograph is more valuable to me than an expensive masterpiece in an art gallery.

“A picture is worth a thousand words,” I have heard people say this many times.
Frankly, it puzzles me as to whether anybody should take this phrase literally or not.
To speak or write a thousand words about one picture is easier said than done.
I could write many other things about this evocative picture in my composition,
But I have no desire to reveal personal and private information to the readers.
Moreover, I will not write unnecessary things just to add more words to my story.

Sash is holding the drape with her left hand and she is looking out the window.
The golden wedding ring on her finger does not show because the drape is covering it.
She is not wearing much makeup; she does not need anything to prettify herself.
A closer look at the photograph reveals just pink lipstick and purplish eye shadow.
This charming face is her real appearance; I am looking at her natural beauty.
She was my pulchritudinous, young bride and I was her handsome, young bridegroom.

I stored this picture somewhere for many years and I could not recall where I placed it.
When I look at the subject, the emotional pain outweighs the happiness in my heart.
I see the shapely figure that I used to embrace and the soft lips that I used to kiss.
Although I did not want Sash and I to separate, I could not stop her from leaving.
There is no question about my undying love for Sash; I will always be in love with her.
Judging from my sad tone of voice, anyone could easily tell that I miss her very much.

This 4x6 photograph was printed in portrait mode on high-quality Kodak photo paper.
I am going to scan it and save a JPEG image on my laptop computer for future use.
Now that I have found the picture of my ex-wife, I do not want to misplace it again.
It is my favourite photo, so I will enlarge and frame it and hang it on the bedroom wall.
Every night I will look at Sash’s picture and think about her before I go to sleep.
Although this will cause me emotional pain, I hope that I will see her in my dreams.

I disagree with the phrase because I think a picture is worth more than a thousand words.
It is difficult to write long verses about a pictire that does not have many objects in it.
I am a man of few words and I am not an author, so I do not know if I can do much writing,
But I have taken on the challenge to write one thousand words about this photograph.
This story is not a fantasy or an imagination, it is my recollection of the love that I lost.
I am eager to tell others why this picture of a young bride is worth a thousand words to me.
Written by PittinixDesigns
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