What are Ozlandish Writings?

From July 2010 to December 2014 we ran OZLAND PICTURE STORIES as described below. Sadly though the number of writers reduced over the years and we decided to call it a day. We leave these as a record of the good times we had.

Are "You" ready to challenge your writing skills? Then participate in our OZLAND Picture Stories writing series at The Ozland Art Gallery.

Each month a new picture will be picked, from our OZLAND Artist of the Month collection, with different themes. Your goal is to write a 500-1000 word... poem... essay... or story about the picture picked. This is a chance for you to challenge your writing skills each month. Story can be written in ANY genre... sci fi... romance... ghost... fantasy... fiction... non-fiction... biography... mystery... historical... whatever your writing genre... feel free to experiment. Send your writing inworld to Sven Pertelson as a notecard to have it included on the web site. We meet at the The Ozland Art Gallery each Wednesday at Noon and 6pm SLT to read the latest submissions on voice. More Information

Monday, December 6, 2010

The Lonely House - by lillian Morpork

It stands, dark, quiet, alone
Blindly gazing out to sea.
No sounds but the sighing wind,
The seabirds, waves crashing on the rocks.
Outside, the Christmas decorations
Are dark, unlit. Will Christmas come?
Will this dark old house
Once again echo with voices,
Footsteps, laughter, carols?
Inside, the decorations,
Green swags, red bows, icicles,
Colourful balls, are dull with dust.
The lights on the trees are dark,
Dusty. Dusty too are the gaily wrapped
Gifts, piled high under the trees.
The house is lonely, only faint echoes
Of joy and laughter linger.
No enticing odours of turkey roasting,
Applewood logs burning.
The fireplaces hold only the ashes
Of the last fires, three weeks old.
Where is the family?
The old house stands, dark, silent, alone,
Blindly staring out to sea.
Then, empty windows facing inland
Reflect movement. Two racing dogs,
Irish wolfhounds, bounding happily
Over the snow. Behind them, running,
Shouting, the children! The family comes!
Soon the old house glows with light,
Outside and in. Dust is gone,
Trees sparkle, laughter rings.
Fires blaze in warming hearths,
The heart of the old house warms, too.
Christmas will come again,
And love, and joy, and feasting.
The family is here, where it belongs,
And all is well. Christmas will be Merry.

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