Saturday, March 9, 2013

FSF Challenge - Whispers

This week's writing challenge from Five Sentence Fiction ( Lillie McFerrin Writes ) is based upon the prompt "whispers." You'd think that I, supposedly being a horror writer, would do something dark with a prompt like that. Looks like I screwed up again. If you were looking for horror, you can always read my "mummy" story here.

Although the recent snow wasn't much, it made me long for warmer weather and the sounds of summer. This started me off on an overindulgence of poetry, one for each season. Time is short these days, so I had to knock these out rather quickly - I may make a few changes if I come up with better words after reading them over.

Anyway, I hope they are enjoyable, and please leave a comment. It's even OK to say you don't like them - I'm not going to come hunt you down or anything like that. Well, I probably won't...

Whispers In A Summer Field

Image - summer_whispers.jpg - The hayfield behind the house ©2013 K. R. Smith

Beneath a mid-summer sun
I walk the fields in presumed silence,
Not a sound to interrupt my thoughts;
But that is not true.

Though not a single person spoils my view,
Not a voice calls my name,
Everything around me speaks
To those who listen well.

There is the rustle of the mouse,
Searching through the drying blades
Until the hawk, with fluttering feathers,
Lands softly, ending each party's hunt.

Circling higher, a buzzard soars
In its never-ending quest for death,
Only the faint hum of air over its wings
For company.

Most loquacious of all is the wind, 
Brushing the grass in hushed, curling waves,
Racing randomly across the hills,
Whispering in my ears.

Whispers In Orange And Brown

Image - autumn_whispers.jpg - Leaves in my yard ©2013 K. R. Smith

The poor things are rather inhibited,
Hanging there by a stem,
All in shades of orange and brown.

Oh, yes, there is the occasional dandy,
Flaunting a bit of red or yellow,
But they're still awfully close-mouthed.

Should one lose its grip,
They refrain from any screaming or wailing as they plummet,
Making only the slightest complaint as they strike the earth.

Stubbornly reserved,
They refuse to say a word,
And remain insufferably stoic.

And there they lay,
Until the wind stirs them
And they all decide to speak at once.

Whispers On A Winter's Evening

Image - winter_whispers.jpg - The Gunpowder River along the NCRT ©2013 K. R. Smith

The snow, cold and dry,
Blows like sand over a white dune
As a bird, brighter than fresh blood,
Scratches in the leaves under a bush.

And the fox, a flash of fire

Across the ice,
Though barely heard,
Lifts its ears to listen.

In a tree,
Dark, glistening grackles sit silent and wary,
Eventually taking flight over the ivory fields
With the hushed beating of wings.

There are so many voices here,
But not a single word, and yet
I take heed of their advice
And continue on my way.

For it is the soft moan of the wind,

A song played on the rusted wire fence,
Telling of the night to come;
It is time for me to leave.

Whispers On The Green

Image - spring_whispers.jpg - The place where my father is laid to rest ©2013 K. R. Smith

Between the cold and the heat,
After the white and before the brown,
The warming Earth renews itself
Splashing bits of green around.

With daffodils and crocus,
Scarlet buds bursting on maple trees,
I rest upon my favorite bench
To do the same for me.

They say a young man's fancy
Turns to love on such a day,
But truth be told, though mature in years,
I've never quite turned away.

So as two lovers stand beneath
A tree beside the pond,
Their whispered words I need not hear
To fully understand.

And as another couple passes,
Smiling, eyes aglow,
I think of a girl with long red hair
From a spring so long ago.

All images are the copyrighted property of K. R. Smith. They may be used with attribution.

© 2012-2013 K. R. Smith All rights reserved


  1. Your writing is deep, poetic, and beautiful.

    1. Thanks!

      I did make a small change in the first one.

      I changed:
      Lands softly and ends both party's hunt.
      Lands softly, ending each party's hunt.

      This seemed to be the only arrangement that satisfied all of the grammar checkers. Every other arrangement seemed to cause some problem. Where's my English teacher when I need her?

      Again, thanks for reading and commenting!

  2. These are absolutely beautiful. I live on a rural hilltop and can relate in some way to each one.

    1. It's easy to be poetic when you experience a place like that, isn't it?

  3. Thsee are wonderful poems KR, each unique, yet tied together in the feeling and thoughts of whispers. The first one made me long for the prairie fields of my childhood home! You captured each season so well, and ended it on the perfect note, rather than in the dead of winter. Perfection! I would love see more of this from you! :-)

    1. Thanks! I'd like to take credit for the order of the seasons in the post, but I started out with summer and it just worked out that way. It is an important point, however, to think about how you want a series like this to end.

      And I do appreciate that you liked them enough to ask for more, but it is rather difficult to become known as a horror writer unless the whispers start coming from zombies or evil spirits and such. Come to think of it, I do have a short story titled "Voices In The Water" that's along that line (that I need to get back to), but I'll try to balance that with some brighter writing for you!

      Thanks again!

  4. They're all gorgeous poems; fantastic description. Winter is my fav season and you captured it beautifully. x

    1. Thank you!

      I wanted to use another picture, one my wife took with the snow blowing through our fence (and it does have wire on it, but it's not rusty) that really fit the poem, but I couldn't find it...

      Each season has its own feelings, and winter can feel desolate in a beautiful sort of way. I'm glad I was able to describe it in a way that others understand.

  5. I enjoyed all of these, particularly the summer one and the ideas summed up in 'Though not a single person spoils my view... To those who listen well' - so true.

    1. That's my favorite part of the poem, too.


  6. Beautiful, loved autumn and winter best, perhaps because they're my favourite seasons anyway! The whispers of nature are rather soothing...


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