Christmas day is nearly upon us, and the children are still waiting. We hope you have a Merry Christmas, and here’s this week’s editing!

Merry Christmas and a happy new year,


Rose-Sky Journey Pieces.


Rubber bands

They tiptoed around what it had become, where they were now, and what was to come…

Their romance had withstood the aging of time. Ticking watches no match for what they had created. Days, months, years had come, were seen, and gone again. All twisted into the whirlwind that originally started this movement.

Life’s journey steps not thwarted their love attempts. Everything designed to shake their very existence, their way of being, not an issue for these two. It made them stronger, more determined, perhaps bolder than before. What they couldn’t achieve alone, they achieved together. Encouraging one another, to places where they hadn’t been before. A sincere belief in the good of each other. The passion for the other ones’ passion, almost as strong as their own spark for life in each of their ways.

Words spoken, even those unspoken woven into each other’s memories. Every compliment, passing phrase helping to define the couple, the individuals they were today. The sparkle of his eyes, the smile moving across her soft lips. Each gesture, each secret, gentle gesture shared between them alone.

His touch left tingles upon her spine. The way she softened his brows with her ring adorned fingers. The hugs that turned to embraces. That led to kisses, and nights of passion. ‘I care’ in the taking of the hand before crossing the road, leading her to safety in a world where she could still hold her own. Two white golds rings now revolving the finger where he delicately placed the rings. Time hadn’t changed their love, but had thinned those fingers that held the wedding symbols. Hands that had held each other during the joy, the births of children, the losses of life. Fingers that had intertwined during prayer, of hope, for safety, someone to care. Hands and skin that were weathered from the cooking, and life itself. Despite all this, here they are, in what they had created. His ring now gone, stored away somewhere safe, for where her fingers had slimmed, the weight his fingers had gained.

Voices they can’t mistake, a hello that was begging to be saved. From the first smile, something sparked, a collision destined for something. Neither could still answer exactly what that something was. A questionable force that drove them together, stuck them together with a superglue life mix, and left them forever entangled in each other’s lives, thoughts and hearts. Along the way there had been steps that have stretched that rubber band of love. Where others would have snapped, or let them band go, even when stretched to the thinnest a band would go, they were still there. Consciously, unconsciously, who knows, but they were there, both holding on. If you ever want to know if a band has been stretched too far, try letting it ping back again. Watch the looks, the expressions, those silent rolling tears as you again come face to face. The gentle good-byes, the after thoughts. Should that spark still remain, and remain within them in indeed it did, the journey proceeds once again.

The circle that had gone full circle, had been lapped, many times by this pair. A pair of love birds perhaps, the sun to his moon. The salt to the pepper. The cheese to the pizza slice. Wherever this path may dance next along the way, nothing was more certain than the memories that would remain. Something that couldn’t be broken, no matter where they were, or what they were doing. He would forever be a part of her journey, and she a part of his. Into his eyes, she longed to gaze once again, to see what laid within his soul. That laugh he could never forget, a crazy moment shared over those certain hot drinks.

It would all be worth it, if she could say it again,

I love you.

Rose-Sky Journey Pieces.

Words by Rose-Sky Journey Pieces.

Photography by Rose-Sky Journey Pieces, 2016.

‘Glitter rose.’ Photography by Rose-Sky Journey Pieces. 2016.


Daily Prompt: Moody – and why to love it!

via Daily Prompt: Moody

Moody : Adjective – (of a person) given to unpredictable moods, especially sudden bouts of gloominess or sullenness.

  • Given an impression of melancholy or mystery. (Oxford dictionaries.)

‘That moody person over there’. ‘They are so moody.’ ‘Her time of the month, so she’s moody!’ Moody, always a negative describing word of ones’ character. Someone doesn’t like your mood, your not joyful enough, and suddenly, bam! You’re moody. The female cycle seems attached to this term, because if we should we all skip around at cramps and the such.

Why should moody be a negative?

Would we rather be robots, synthetic lives, and not show any emotion ever. Not the good, the bad, or the ugly? Perhaps, we would prefer someone to save face, to bottle up emotions inside, creating internal turmoil, because then it would not tint the perfected world around us.

To think, to feel, to act on our emotions, is all part and parcel of being human. No one, and I mean no one is happy with everything, all day, every day, for the whole of their lives. Even those that have learnt the art of thankfulness, of being grateful, perhaps even praying or meditating on the good in their lives, can not pretend there’s not a time when an emotion that’s not jolly surfaces.

It’s in all of us. The reaction to a bill, the world news, that one day when we have bit our tongue for sometime, but now it’s a volcano ready to boil over. The day you thought would never end, the weekend that couldn’t come soon enough. Pen marks, but not on the paper, again. Repeated words, because the listener didn’t actively listen.

Embrace it, feel it, then do something with it. Give the mood, the moody you the time it needs. Acknowledge how it makes you feel, and why you’re feeling like this. Then do something with it. Use that built up tension to work out, complete that work deadline or bake that favourite cake. Splash the canvas with paint in the name of art, knowing the colours reflect what you have been feeling. Create something, do something about the situation.

Then pause.

When it’s all said and done, then you can start to let it go. Remember what is good instead, where you’ve been, and where you’ve got to go. What could you do to turn the mood into a positive, a motivation, rather than a doom?

I don’t believe moods, or being moody is bad. Everyone has emotions, whether they choose to accept that or not. It’s what you do with them with moody, that makes it count. I personally seem to write better (in my opinion), when something has rattled my cage. Something that’s given me a reason to create.

I want to say thank you to the moody you, for there’s never a rainbow without any rain, and you can’t appreciate the stars if you’ve never seen the dark. Turn the moody into another creative side of you.

Rose-Sky Journey Pieces.

‘Moods in waves.’ Photography and edit by Rose-Sky Journey Pieces. 2016.

A touch of paint!

Even as we draw closer to Christmas, there’s no stopping the creative process!

This week I have been busy painting in between photography and Christmas preparations. The first image is of a hand-painted Christmas bauble. The bauble was designed and 3D printed by Bespoke Fantasy Costumes. It has then been primed and painted by hand with acrylic paints by myself.

The second image is of ‘Waves’ a canvas painted with oil paints, again painted by myself. I like the simplicity of it, yet it looks striking now it’s dried with the different shades from dark to light.

‘Waves’ is available to order now, and any questions or orders can be directed to Rose-Sky Journey Pieces either through this website, or by e-mail to .

Coming soon is more creative photography and editing!

Rose-Sky Journey Pieces.

Photography by Rose-Sky Journey Pieces, 2016.

Ornamental Heart

Ornamental heart.

The heart can’t pretend to be what it’s not,

It captures it all from life,

The memories, the love and the not.

A human heart is not a perfect shape,

as it reflects what it’s given, and what it gave.

So why do we show this symmetrical design,

Given the lumps and bumps in our own lifetime?

I believe it’s because of rose-tinted glasses,

When the love that we receive,

Brings the joy and hope, we start to believe.

To see the good, the kindness in all that we love,

The dreams achieved, memories given from above.

If we all saw the goodness in everyone’s hearts,

Then perhaps we would all see,

Ornamental hearts.

Written by Rose-Sky Journey Pieces, 2016.

Photography by Rose-Sky Journey Pieces, 2016.

For photographic prints and gift sales, please contact Rose-Sky Journey Pieces.

‘Ornamental heart.’ Photography by Rose-Sky Journey Pieces. 2016.

Primitive light

Evening is here

Winter ends the day early

Frost bites at the ground.

Gloves, scarves, hats, coats on

Rosy cheeks in the dark chill

Red reindeer noses.

But you still burn bright

Carrying on regardless

Not swayed by the frost.

Flicker your warm light

Help thaw the icy castle

Turn cool into cosy.

Primitive delight

One of life’s simple pleasures

Watching you ignite.

Poetry by Rose-Sky Journey Pieces.

Photography by Rose-Sky Journey Pieces.

‘Primitive light.’ Photography by Rose-Sky Journey Pieces. Copyright 2016.

Sacred question, was she worth it?

via Daily Prompt: Sacred

Was she worth it?

A short sharp sentence, with meaning beyond comprehension. Four little words driven together, almost crashing into and out of existence just by being summoned together. Was. She. Worth. It. The question, the answer will depend on the reader, the asker and the answerer. Each as important as the next, and can’t be disregarded, neither played down.

The first assumes an accusing question, one where the answer is already known. That tit-for-tat rendezvous that you thought you could hide. Leaving what was sacred, what was secure, known, to go in search for excitement. The thrill of the chase, the something new. A fresh character you could create for yourself, amongst the mundane. They, the new one, will love you, for the new you. They don’t know your past, or your full present. Two worlds carved out in the running up to this question. Each one to be kept apart, divided, secluded, contained. Yet, you revelled in dipping toes into both worlds, and that’s where the lines started to fade. We get closer to her question, anticipating it now, hearing it echo within us, before she’s even spoke a word. Both worlds now so consuming, you forget where one ends, and the other remains. Stories and memories shared leave bitter confusion to both sides, as you start to forget who said what, where and when. Her ears pricked up, when you remarked candidly about that time when, for it wasn’t her memory you was replaying. With a heavy heart, evidence in hand, she asks you the question. ‘Was she worth it?’ It’s ringing with begging undertones, something, anything to justify this new world exploration. You could tell her it was only once, you were drunk, or real off a list of reasons why you did it. Nine out of ten of those reasons will be reasons why the asker wasn’t worth staying sacred for. She will cry hot tears of fiery fury, as she recalls how worthless she is to you, so she must be to everyone, anyone. For the answer to,

‘Was she worth it?’

Had never been spoke aloud. It would be a defining moment, but not here or today. No, today would be a day of deals, contracts, offers. Clinical, with self-esteem shattering undertones. A price was set, pre-determined in her head. She know her worth, needed to know her worth. Key board warrior typing with passion and fury, everyone presumed she was a wolf in sheep’s clothing. To the contrary, her needs for basic survival, to give, to love, to care for her pact, she was instead a sheep in wolf’s clothing. The world was not hers for the taking, it was knowing when to speak, when not to, and when to rattle cages. She would become a yes girl, loosing the argumentative streak. When a job was lost, the employer was never blamed. Internally, she quizzed herself, do I need to be thinner, lighter, taller, prettier. Those that made the deals, temporarily burnt away the rejections. The clan spoke often of prices, rates, prices for skin revealed. Being a muse to their shutters and clicks, not once could anyone reaffirm the sacred question,

‘Was she worth it?’

Was she worth saving from herself? Was the problem indeed inside her head, and not perceived as obvious as day is to night to everyone else. Perhaps, there was no problem, and it had been created amongst the memories, the to-do’s, the bills to pay. Recalling the times those sacred words had not been said before, unanswered questions strewn about her life. Her very existence, almost non-existent to the world at large. Could she be capable, deserving of being loved? Who would want to love her, to never leave her, to cherish what she could bring? Why, oh why, was she even here, created, what was the purpose again. Eyelids heavy from self-questioning, a heavy heart from yearning for it to be said. The ‘I love you’, ‘I want you’, ‘I need you’ ‘s, echoing in the silence once again. Screaming inside of her, the romantic, the female and feminine form is demanding the answer that no one up ’til now will give. To tell her heart that she’s amazing, the one, a thank you for the little things done. Thankful to have met her, to know her, to be there with her. But there’s no answer. Not a ring, nor a chime. No one pips up, yelling it will be okay. Her soul tattered, worn, where once there had been a cup full of future’s, you and I’s, together’s, forever’s. Alone, not even she could answer,

‘Was she worth it?’

The sacred, special sound of a child tiptoeing towards your room. A breath held as you wait for the request, an explanation to why their bed is yet to see them sleep tonight, as softly as a baby. ‘Mummy, I just want to cuddle you.’ The blow of the question, that question, being unanswered softens. A smile takes her face by surprise, for when you’re wrapped up in the questions, the possible answers, the tangled web of life, smiles come with rarity these days. How can you say no to that? They cuddled, perhaps she needed the cuddle more than the child. Maybe the child sensed her longing, wishing to be held. Or, maybe, more likely she had seen the tears that had flowed at the times she had tried to hide it not so well. The child began to recall a memory the mother had buried deep somewhere underneath the present, motherhood and homework. She, now with purpose in her voice tells the young ears listening that she will never leave them, will always be there, no matter what. Wanting the conviction of the answer to sound as certain as the answer, no differing here or grey areas to be left untold. An innocent tear leapt from the eyes of the child, followed promptly by the words, ‘Mummy, don’t worry these are happy tears, because you just said I would never lose you.’ The bitter day resurfaces again, to when she did think she would lose her, she, mother. It was that defining moment, when she could then answer,

Was she worth it?’

Her heart beating with gratitude, with love, but with a fierce protective overtone, she knew the answer. She was worth it. She was worthy to be alive, to have a purpose, to have feelings, thoughts, dreams, just like any other human in the worlds we have created. The sacred question, only four words long, had been answered. Not by another person, an object, an interview, or a job. Nor by a poll, quiz, or by opinion or vote. What she had given was life, created by union, was life. Something although created billions of times over, would not be the exact same recipe as the child who stood before her today. The one she held in her own arms, or repeated that word ‘mummy’ hundreds of times in one day. She was the hand to hold, the smile to the tears, the food to the plate. Her voice was of reason, of answers to questions not yet explored. She was their safety net, a carer, but perhaps most importantly, their mother. Was she worth loving? Yes, but not everyone would, or could. Was she worth the fight, the long haul? Only to those worth going the distance to find out, but right now it didn’t matter. One day they might see what they’ve been missing, and in that time she would have created her own world once over all over again. Her, with her own passion, her love, her children. A smile on her face as she awoke, and a tear rolled down his cheek as he remembered, clicked to answer to that sacred question,

She was worth it.

The sacred question now burning his tongue, could he make it up, show she was the one,

 ‘Was he too late?’..

Written by Rose-Sky Journey Pieces, in response to Daily Prompt : Sacred.

Photography and edit by Rose-Sky Journey Pieces, 2016.