1877 - Mind Games

   Image: ChatGPT 

The Sunday Whirl presented these twelve words for us to use in a creative writing piece.  

mind visit thinking creature exists criminal know dirt walk head writer rumbles

Poets & Storytellers offered us some quotes to use.  I chose:

“It was a bright cold day in April, and the clocks were striking thirteen.” ~ George Orwell 

Mind Games

Writer: OK, time to write something. (Stares at blank page…)

Writer’s Mind: It’s April you could write Aprilly is that word things I wonder showers April has showers is that a northern hemisphere thing didn’t Orwell write something about April clocks that’s it clocks in April striking thirteen unlucky for some why only somewhat unclear overcast showers mud dirt take your shoes off before coming in to what eat maybe rumbling tummy ordered breakfast where is it thunder rumbles rain forecast should I walk home is where the heart is hearth too shouldn’t worry wrinkles and ulcers op soon write while in post op don’t know probably whacked who’s to know no to know no-know words exist meaning is optional subjective no use if meaning not understood cool isn’t necessarily cool Granny said things were criminal but they broke no laws are made to be broken records repeat repeat repeat like my thinking doesn’t make it so what Shakespeare I think or not to be sure what now where was I for an eye seems harsh I’m sure creatures don’t do that clash horns then graze side by side calmer life brutal too at times are a changing what does that mean where are they going who knows chop it off to spite yourself visit clinic here sew it back to the future do I want to go there sorry I wandered off where were we trying to find a writing topic to meet the prompt hardly.

Writer: (still looking at the blank page) *sigh*

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1876 - The Taste of Life

 

The Sunday Whirl presented these twelve words for us to use in a creative writing piece.  

taste summer sweetness snap rush half resin turn melts luck passion hand

dVerse Poet's Pub has the prompt "Comfort Food".

Poets and Storyteller asked us to write on what we feel deeply.  Food!

The Taste of Life

Preamble

I have been lucky, blessed

With a family that cooks—

A passion that nourishes.

I

Apricots

The early fruit of summer.

My mother would slice them

Onto fresh, buttered bread,

Sprinkle on cinnamon

And a little brown sugar

For added sweetness.

Served on pine floorboard off cuts.

The taste has been stored for a lifetime.

II

Gravy beef,

The cheapest of cuts.

Slow cooked until it melts—

A rich, gelatinous meat,

Served with sliced potato

And mum's special coleslaw:

Half cabbage, half tinned pineapple.

The taste has been stored for a lifetime.

III

Mrs Kier.  No first name.

Granny’s sister ironed her shirts

And was given the recipe

For a rich dark fruitcake.

Granny would regularly turn out

A cake, sometimes iced, often not,

For all family occasions.

Hand mixed, no rush, delicious.

The taste has been stored for a lifetime.

IV

Burnt butter.

Sounds a disaster but it’s not.

Burnt Butter biscuits

With half an almond on top.

The smell is rich, unique, 

And should they cool—

They snap 

And crumble as you eat them.

The taste has been stored for a lifetime.

Postscript

The taste has been stored for a lifetime.

But, in truth, the recipes live on—

In the repertoire of sons and grandsons.

The people too—my mum, my grandma.

Who else but us now remembers Mrs Kier?

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1875 - You Never Know

 

 Modified by ChatGPT

The Sunday Whirl presented these twelve words for us to use in a creative writing piece.  

facade doubts curiosity bitter torn hit restless hope massive frail strip sting

Poets & Storytellers has the prompt "looking back".

You Never Know.

The Elder

I was young, I was raw,

I was full of idealism and hope.

The world was wondrous 

And I was very curious.

The Youth

I am young, I am raw,

I am full of idealism and hope,

I am curious, but full of doubts too.

Confident, restless, reckless,

I put up a façade.

The Elder

Now, my journey nears its end.

I am frail and getting tired,

I am not bitter, but alone

I wonder—

What’s it all been about?

The Youth

What to do? Where to go?

I am torn between choices—

What is the right path to take?

Could I be making a massive mistake?

Will my choices hit their mark?

The Elder

There was no right or wrong.

Life’s decisions were made

And it unrolled accordingly.

That is the sting, I guess—

You never know.

The Youth

Is there a right or wrong?

If my choices are wise… or otherwise

Life will unroll accordingly.

That is the sting, I guess—

I will never know.

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1874 - Denial

 Poets and Storytellers invites us to use “the world is burning, but…”  in a writing piece.

Denial

The government happily kicks it,
Down the road of "voters will nix it".
The world is burning, but… 
There's a complacency glut
And a hope that someone will fix it.

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1873 - What did we lose?

 Modified on-line image.

The Sunday Whirl presented these twelve words for us to use in a creative writing piece.  

colony rattling still lose crunch life fits hunch scan packages grasping chains

What did we lose?

“Perfection of means and confusion of goals

 seem to characterise our age.” 

— Einstein

Chains clank.

Unseen things rattle.

Here and there a crunch.

Boxes jostle on roller tracks.

Robot arms grasp packages

Moving them smoothly

From machine to machine,

From track to track,

Scanning, labelling,

Fitting them into pallets—

There is noise everywhere.

But beneath it all—

A strange stillness.

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It looks like a bustling colony,

Never stopping, never still, it bustles—

But it is devoid of life,

The thing that drives bustle.

It hums—

But there is no-one humming,

No-one hunched over screens,

No-one pushing buttons—

Just machines.

The robots are here.

What did we gain?

And what did we lose?

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1872 - The Wall

 

Detail from one of my paintings.

The Sunday Whirl presented these twelve words for us to use in a creative writing piece.  
shelter settle rose rocks edge step messy flesh left ghost scrap tremble

Poets and Storytellers request that I write about my message to humanity.

 

The Wall

It shames me to say this—
I don’t care.
The world does not deserve my care.
◊
I look around me
At the messy, dirty, greedy world
That has little to commend it.
It makes me want to build a wall of rocks
To shelter me from it, protect me
From a world that daily appears
One step closer to the edge 
Of oblivion.
◊
But I am not being fair—
The world itself is lovely:
Sunsets, roses, pines, the oceans,
Stream, birds, butterflies, wide steppes.
The feel of wind in my hair,
The touch of grass on my flesh…
The world, the earth, is a wondrous place.
◊
But what is left of it now?
Why can mankind not settle
For the beauty that it has inherited
From the ghosts of people past?
Does it have even a scrap
Of awareness of its responsibility
To the generations yet to come?
Alas, there is no sign that it does—
War, greed, arrogance, consumption, entitlement.
The edifice now trembles, wobbles;
Small stones fall here and there
As the structure flexes under stress.
◊
But I am beyond caring.
Nothing I say or think or do matters.
So, in tiredness, not anger—
I build my wall,
Rock by rock.
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1871 - The Pilgrim

  Image: ChatGPT 

The Sunday Whirl presented these twelve words for us to use in a creative writing piece.  

shroud symbols water rock sun tracks spear stolen cross promise moon trail

Poets and Story tellers had the prompt of 'dance'.  I snuck it in, briefly.

dVerse Poet's Pub has an open night.  

The Pilgrim

"Not all those who wander are lost" 

-- J.R.R. Tolkien

He travelled on a promise,

On a hope, maybe a prayer,

It seemed to be solid ground

And yet, he wandered—

Not lost, just wandering.

◊

His tracks trailing behind him,

Slowly stolen by the wind.

Time passed, punctuated by the cycles 

of the moon and sun—

Tangible but ephemeral 

Symbols of his wanderings.

Wanderings, for his goal was not clear,

The promise was there but shrouded too,

Dancing tantalising on the edges of his mind.

◊

Trees, rocks, water, savannah, snow

Deserts, swamps, forests,

Fields filled with spears of hollyhocks,

Temples of monkeys,

Lakes filled with lotus,

The wide steppes of the tundra—

He had crossed them all.

And still he wandered.

And that was enough.

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1870 - Vox planetae

 

Image: scavenged from the internet and modified with PhotoShop.

The Sunday Whirl presented these twelve words for us to use in a creative writing piece.  

jaw debris stitch slather voices beasts tides salty vault edges silver tilt

I didn't use all of them in the end.

Poets and Storytellers had the prompt to work with the Terry Pratchett quote: 

“There was a light at the end of the tunnel, and it was a flamethrower.”  

I drew inspiration from it without a direct reference.

Vox planetae

[Homo sapiens, triumphant] 

We are supreme, we rule this earthly place!

We run the shop; there is no escape,

We tame the beasts and control the space.

[Planet, quietly] 

Don’t bet on that, you arrogant hairless ape.

[Homo sapiens]

We sit proud atop the world's food chain

We mine the land and sieve the salty seas!

Nothing can stop our onward racing train!

[Planet, quietly] 

They think they can just do as they please,

Give me time, and the scales will tilt my way.

My time frame is longer than theirs—

All their neglect will create bills to pay.

[Homo sapiens, defiant]

We are the apex animal, we have no cares.

We consume at will, with mountains of debris—

We fill our vaults with precious cash

And happily parade about for all to see.

[Planet, quietly] 

Their house of cards will fall and burn to ash

And their tears will be both copious and salty.

[Homo sapiens]

Those who doubt our reign are off the mark

Their thinking ranks both crude and faulty

[Planet, quietly] 

They think planet governance is a walk in the park

Yes, tides will flow — yet rise and rise still higher.

They have been forewarned what the futures hold

But are blindly jumping into the fire.

Of what use then is their silver and gold?

[Homo sapiens]

Our onward progression has no edges!

[Planet, quietly]

You will one day learn that this is not so.

[Homo sapiens]

There is no proof—science just alleges

That they know the final way we’ll go.

[Planet, quietly]

I have endured far worse than you before;

Your reign is brief against my tidal span.

You tilt the scales — but I reset the score.

Time is my ally. Time unmakes your plan.

[Homo sapiens]

(laughter and dancing)

[Planet]

...

1869 - Two Loves

 

Image: Grace and me.  Apologies to Banksie.

The Sunday Whirl presented these twelve words for us to use in a creative writing piece.  

split cringe breathe pieces wings cracks beneath hesitates stretch ship spin chaos

Poets and Storytellers had the prompt "A love story" - I merged the two prompts.

I also put it in dVerse's Open Link

Two Loves 

Margaret Kennedy: 05/02/1952 – 11/02/2024

Laurel Kennedy: 05/07/1933 – 11/02/2024

One day, two deaths.

A chaos, half expected.

I hesitate to draw meaning—

I could spin it many ways:

My world cracking, splitting…

But also a release,

In a dark sense, a freedom.

I have moved from being harbour master

To being an unmoored ship.

I resist the urge to cringe away,

To withdraw from a hostile world,

A world that shook beneath me,

A world that stretched 

Beyond my vision on that day.

A world that lay in pieces.

Like a new born chick,

I stood on the pieces,

Breathed deeply

And tested my wings.

◊

1868 - A Shared Shelter

 

Image: ChatGPT with a little human intervention.

What's Going On invites us to write on the topic "Shelter".

A Shared Shelter

If you really want to escape the things that harass you, 

what you're needing is not to be in a different place 

but to be a different person".  Seneca (c. 4 BC – AD 65)

Refrain

You can run but never hide

For the demons live inside.

You must endeavour to restrict them

Consciously constrict them,

Best of all, evict them

For they love to hitch a ride.

I

You know the story—

The darkened path at night,

Did you hear footsteps? Not sure…

Your pace and pulse increase,

Home is in sight, you hurry,

You fumble but manage the door,

Inside!  You lock the door.  Safe!

Behind you, in the room, in the dark,

You hear someone clear their throat.

Refrain

You can run but never hide

For the demons live inside.

You must endeavour to restrict them

Consciously constrict them,

Best of all, evict them

For they love to hitch a ride.

II

A new partner, the last one never explored you

A new house, the old one simply bored you

A new job, the company openly ignored you

But the new now fills the spaces just now gone.

Has it occurred to you

That the song has a common chord, too?

New words, yes, but the malady lingers on.

Refrain

You can run but never hide

For the demons live inside.

You must endeavour to restrict them

Consciously constrict them,

Best of all, evict them

For they love to hitch a ride.

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1867 - The Renewal

 

 Image: ChatGPT but with a little human intervention

The Sunday Whirl presented these twelve words for us to use in a creative writing piece.  

below renew weaves through cloaks holy untethered tendrils gods spark ash wonder

Poets and Storytellers had the prompt words "flesh" and "spirit" - I merged the two prompts.

The Renewal

Whether you believe

In the gods above

(And in worse below),

Or in the spark of fate

Or in holy interventions,

The tendrils of life

Are largely untethered

And extremely tenacious—

Nothing can cloak or diminish

The wonder of it.

◊

And, without doubt,

There is wonder—

Wonder at how 

Life weaves its cloth;

How flesh becomes spirit,

Passes through ash

Returning once more as flesh.

Continuum.

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1866 - The Madness

 What's Going On invites us to reflect on the current madness going on.

The Madness

Is it happening?

The dogs of war are baying—

Have they forgotten?

◊

What are they thinking?

The message is quite simple—

No-one wins a war.

◊

They glorify it—

The have never been to war.

It is not Hollywood.

◊

Old men sit at home

Nursing bone spurs in their feet,

Send others to die.

◊

No goal in sight—

What do they hope to achieve?

Hard to fathom it.

◊

Home front is a mess—

Distraction is the idea:

Go bomb someone else.

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1865 - Luxurious

 

 Image: ChatGPT but with a little human intervention

The Sunday Whirl presented these eleven words for us to use in a creative writing piece.  

wonderland bound morning ice knees hope cross wheel three cape head 

Poets and Storytellers had the prompt "Luxurious" - I merged the two.

Luxurious

Go with the feeling.

What is luxurious?

It’s a slippery sort of notion.

It is not built on hope

But on quality, on the feeling,

On things bound to please,

But more than "just enough".

It is a step beyond the normal.

But it is also a frame of mind,

Things are luxurious if you think them so.

◊

Luxury wears a warm, fleecy cape

On a chilly winter morning.

It can be as simple as the pleasure

Of ice in your end of day drink.

It can be looking at a winter wonderland—

From the log fire side of the window.

It can be laying your head

On a freshly washed pillowcase

That someone else has ironed.

It can be having three morning coffees

Where one is normal and two is indulgent.

When your knees ache from a cross-country hike,

Luxury is that long soak in a hot bath.

◊

But this is where it gets awkward:

If these things are your normal life,

If the wheel of fortune smiled on you

And you live a life of ease,

Then they may not register as a luxury.

Do the ultra-rich experience luxury

If there is no step higher for them?

I this regard, I claim the luxury

Of ignorance.

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1864 - When The Brain Runs Free

 Image: a Photoshop fiddle of an image found in an 

Angela Weston's post to AI Art Image Hub on Facebook.

dVerse has the prompt "Dream Interpretations".

My first rondeau for a while but seemed the ideal form for a dream.

When Brains Run Free

When brains run free strange things occur

I watch them pass, as a flaneur,

Marvelling at all the things I see—

Butterflies who are sipping tea,

A camel dressed as a chauffeur,

Buildings that melt and socks that purr,

An elephant climbing up a fir…

Things appear that should not really be

When brains run free.

Whistling past in a phantom blur;

Some just once while others recur:

My brain doodles with wicked glee—

What it means is lost on me.

What’s real, or not, rarely concur

When brains run free.

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1863 - The Enigma

  Image: ChatGPT but with a little human intervention

The Sunday Whirl presented these twelve words for us to use in a creative writing piece.  

robes exposed bind beads fabric form harmony chaos cave enigma dwells well

Poets and Storytellers has the prompt "the time of day you like best and why."

Well, time to sit and think, so anytime really.

What's Going On had the prompt "Peace"

Everything sort of overlapped.

The Enigma

“Silence is a source of great strength.” 

— Lao Tzu

No beads,

No robes of fine fabric

Or flimsy cloth.

No long hair or matted beard.

Dwelling in neither a cave 

Nor mountain cabin,

He sits on a park bench.

Alone.  Ignored.

Around him, chaos,

People hurry past

Impatiently, urgently.

The world is in turmoil,

Few recognise it as it is—

A house of cards,

A shared delusion

That binds us,

Draws us inwards

And downwards.

All is not well 

With this world.

But—there he sits.  

Still. Alone. Ignored.

Focussed inwards.

Finding harmony and peace

When around him there is none.

A lone sparrow stops

And watches him.

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