# July Challenge: "Sand"



## Chesters Daughter (Jun 30, 2017)

The prompt for this month's challenge, as chosen by PiP is: *Sand*

You are free to interpret the prompt in any way you wish, though of course, site rules apply. If you are unsure of the challenge rules please read the 'stickies' at the top of the board. *Please note that all entries* *are eligible to receive critique in the voting thread.* 

*The inclusion of explanatory text or links of any kind within an entrant's challenge entry is prohibited and will be immediately removed upon discovery. As always, only one entry per member is permitted.

*As previously announced, anonymous entries have been abolished, therefore, entrants must post their own entries in this thread, or if you desire to protect first rights, please post your entry in the *workshop thread*, and then post a link to it here in the public thread. *Failure to do so runs the risk of your entry being disqualifie**d*, so if you require assistance with the task, please PM *me*, and I will gladly help you.

If your entry contains strong language or mature content, *please include a disclaimer in your title.

*Kindly make sure your entry is properly formatted and error free before you submit. You have a *ten minute grace period* to edit your piece, but anything edited after that will likely see your entry excluded from the challenge. 
*
Do not post comments in this thread. Any discussion related to the challenge can take place in the Bards' Bistro. 

Everyone may now use the "Like" function whenever they so choose.



This challenge will close on the 15th of July at 7pm EST.*


----------



## ArrowInTheBowOfTheLord (Jul 2, 2017)

*Nor Any Drop to Drink*

The hills roll on and on,
Sand slipping over sand,
The color of peaches.
Peaches—
Sweet and ripe and lovely,
And full of cool juice.
The sand, it ripples like water,
Water—
Sparkling like twin moons
Pure, better than if the hills
Were made of gold dust.
The desert—
Why does it provoke me?
With visions of fresh springs,
||||And lush orchards fed by those springs,
||||||||Ripe with peaches 
||||||||||||and cherries 
||||||||||||||||and belladonna—
The vultures are calling,
In the blue blue sky,
Cry echoing over cry,
Sun—
You lovely darling,
Cool off, won’t you,
For a little while only?
Shadowless—
Yes, the desert is spotless,
Pale, gentle, undarkened,
Blank like shrunken canvas,
Sand—
Spilling over itself forever,
Horizon to horizon, is sand,
||||Bare burning sand in a lovely peach color,
||||||||Perfect in its irony, metallic on my tongue,  
||||||||||||The sun spinning like a gyroscope above all—
||||||||||||||||These peaches, why are they
||||||||||||||||||||so dry—

||||||||||||||||—
[FONT=&Verdana]
[/FONT]


----------



## Chesters Daughter (Jul 3, 2017)

*A Coward's Solution for Unpleasant Recollections*

I walk the shoreline
at breaking dawn
on a crisp
late winter morn,
numbed to my knees
by frigid brine,
seeking to freeze
my overtaxed mind.

Tender lips of tide
kiss my steps
and quickly hide
every trace 
I'd been there,
each grain of sand
restored with care.
Tracks of my lone
intrusion erased;
the sea always rights
what's been displaced.

I so wish the sea
as company
everywhere I amble,
for then there'd be
no memory 
of missteps taken 
so senselessly.

How I abhor treading
this beach alone
seeking to exile
recollections
etched in stone -

indelible
for eternity,
forever consuming
inner harmony - 

if only my memory
were made of sand
then unwanted footprints,
upon demand,
would be effaced by
my certain hand
leaving only those
I can withstand.


----------



## andrewclunn (Jul 4, 2017)

*The Beach Between Chapters*

An elderly woman wearing a breton of straw
With her extended arm she offers a piece of bread
to a duplicitous sea gull who lets out a call
and burgles the whole baguette from the woman instead

A rail thin fellow holding a metal detector
Bright white sunscreen covering his arms, legs, neck, and face
He goes from treasure hunter to garbage collector
The unintended good Samaritan cleans the place

Spread blanket, umbrella... the layout is typical
It's a father and daughter having a picnic lunch
The three-year-old made her dad's sand-which more literal
so he indulges her with an unsavory crunch

A man carries a surf board covered in tribal art
Long bleached hair, no shirt, he seems ready to shoot the curl
But he's not looking to surf.  He's just playing the part
as he b-lines it towards a group of sun bathing girls

That's enough people watching for today
As I lie back and raise my book in hand
Some people come here for the salty spray
I come for the beach, the air, and the sand


----------



## midnightpoet (Jul 6, 2017)

*Sandstorm*


----------



## Darkkin (Jul 7, 2017)

*The Sands of Tide:  Song of the Lamb*

Sands of Tide: The Song of the Lamb

Velvet bleak, the Sands of Tide held by the Karakul Ewe Lamb,
lightning forged at Deeping shore by Back the Stormcrest Ram.
A storm glass bell that marks the Turnings, Time held in sands—
Elements, savagely cast, pure wonder unmarred by mortal hands.

Phi, Selkie of the Standing Stones, plays for the Lamb, damned.
Velvet bleak, the Sands of Tide held by the Karakul Ewe Lamb.
_Ting the song of the Tide—Cling, ring: Turtles at Gibbous Stair._
As the Tide turns the Ibex casts a Turtle high in to the crisp air.

A flipper dips, drips…And Turtle paddles on; the Tide Bell tolls.
_Cling, ring: Turtles at Gibbous Stair. Pray for the feuding souls._
Velvet bleak, the Sands of Tide held by the Karakul Ewe Lamb.
Blinkken, astride Back the Black—Last of the Stormcrest Rams.

_Find Clementine…Cling, ring._—Heed it, The Song of the Lamb.
Phi warbles upon her flute of bone, calling the Stormcrest Ram.
_Find Clementine, the Karakul Ewe Lamb, lest we all be damned._
Velvet bleak, the Sand of Tide held by the Karakul Ewe Lamb.


----------



## Nellie (Jul 7, 2017)

*The Great Sand Dunes (haiku)*

amidst the Rockies
westerly winds carry sand,
shifting scenery.


----------



## Phil Istine (Jul 9, 2017)

Whodunnit?


----------



## The Fantastical (Jul 9, 2017)

Toes and Cheeks


----------



## sas (Jul 12, 2017)

*Burned Beyond Recognition

*1.
He was tatted
against her breast; latched on
before love’s sweet milk would dry
like a sand any breeze could take.
Heartbeats bruised, yet
neither sifted for what might be left

because nothing was, just initials
left to sag—graffiti

on flesh abandoned
    and remembered
    and remembered
    in mirrors.

2.
At the wake
crepe draped each reflection.
She assured—“It’s all for the best.”

_because nothing was left_
_of initials, burned with her breast_

_like those same inked letters_
_scrawled after “Love, ______”                                                                             _
_on love letters he sent.


._


----------



## aj47 (Jul 13, 2017)

carefully measured
sand enough for this moment
time in a bottle​


----------



## escorial (Jul 14, 2017)




----------



## PiP (Jul 15, 2017)

*FAITH*


----------



## Chesters Daughter (Jul 15, 2017)

This challenge is now closed.


----------

