1934 - But we do

 Image by ChatGPT

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

stuck water words winds wither still cluster bridge spell wicked temples realm

But we do.

Remembrance Day.

Where the same words are said,

Over and over, year after year.

But they have never stuck,

Never been absorbed—

They vanish on the winds of…

Of what?  Winds of arrogance,

Winds of expediency perhaps.

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Wars still happen.

Young men and women still die.

The old and the covetous,

Safe in their palaces and temples,

Fall under the spells of the voices,

Wicked and ambitious, beguiling,

That whisper a cluster of seductive lies,

Lies that they can extend

The realm they control

With no cost to them.

But not without cost.

The joyous hopes of the young

Wither and crumble,

Thrown off the bridge of ego

Into the cold and turbulent waters

Of expediency.

◊

Remembrance Day,

Lest we forget.

But we do.

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1933 - The Watcher

 

Image by ChatGPT

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

dead pines penance mourns folk glimmer graveyard remorse ghostly fragments lover shadowy

The Watcher

The crab looked at him

From the shadowy, glimmering pool.

The faint movement of the eyes,

Showing it was not dead, just still,

Just watching carefully.

He continued along the beach,

The cold, ghostly eyes watched

Him depart, showing neither pleasure

Nor remorse.  Passive relief.

◊

The tide had burdened the shore

With a graveyard of plastic.

Like a lover scorned,

The sea returned our gifts.

I wonder, he thought,

Whether the planet mourns?

Whether it pines for the times

When folk still cared for it?

Before we fragmented.

◊

Back in the rock pool—

Displaying patience, not penance,

The crab watched.

And waited.

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Posted to dVerse Open Link

1932 - Flying Solo

 

Image by ChatGPT

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

preys brews fly glow forest cave monster spin hidden filter head stick

Flying Solo

A faint glow through the curtain

Announces the sun has risen.

Above a bed, a fan spins slowly.

There is a large lump in the bed

Beneath the woollen blankets.

Inside this blanket cave is a man.

He stirs, slowly, reluctantly.

Eventually his head sticks out

From where it had been hidden,

Groans and retreats again,

Until the persistent drone

Of a lone circling blowfly,

As urgent and manic

As only a blowfly can be,

Becomes too annoying to filter out.

He pulls back the curtain

And surveys the rich forest

That was once his lawn,

Wonders idly if there be monsters

In those woods, a monster

That preys on blowflies, perhaps?

Probably not, he decides.

He sighs, pulls the curtain closed,

Brews a strong coffee, drinks it,

Puts in yellow foam earplugs

And returns to bed.

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1931 - Lost Property

 

MLMM Monday Wordle #499 

presents the following words for us to work with:

crutch, wool, warmth, settle, kind, dog, lonely, secure, push, hand, slip, press

Lost Property

It's amazing what is left behind:

One crutch, of the aluminium kind,

One wooden press, with well-dried flowers

One VHS of Fawlty Towers

One lady's bright red satin slip

Some garlic extract for fighting thrip

One well thumbed IKEA catalogue

One studded collar, to suit a dog

Or perhaps for some adventurous mate,

One very rusty iron gate.

Three woollen socks, different shades

A pick, an axe, and three old spades

Some kind of sex toy, in a velvet box

Two not working cuckoo clocks

One lonely teapot, blue and chipped

One printed copy of a TV script

One child's pusher, wonky wheels

One large jar of pickled eels

One old box of dried dog food.

One rubber dummy, slightly chewed,

Used to help a young child settle

One bright orange whistling kettle.

One hand warmer, rather cold

One wedding ring that may be gold.

One wooden box, painted red

Its lid secured by some thread.

A floppy jumper: for warmth, not looks,

One cardboard box of sundry books.

Umbrellas of all shades and sizes,

Football trophies and swimming prizes

Half a pint of woodworking glue,

Every day there's something new.

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1930 - The Pitch

 

Image by ChatGPT

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

anchor search moment laugh find inhibits comfort always want squirrel spaz auto

The Pitch

An advertising man proposes a name for a new cider.

“You want something that welcomes,

That oozes comfort and familiarity,

That people will know and search for,

Something that stops them for a moment,

Makes them laugh, makes them happy,

Something that puts them on autopilot,

Something that makes them buy,

Buy by the crateful, to squirrel away

Beneath the stairs, always ready,

So that it is anchored in their mind,

So that it is easy to find when needed,

Where nothing inhibits their desire.

It is spicy.  It is made from Jazz apples,

I recommend you call it SPAZ.”

“No.”

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1929 - The Devil Fish

 

Image by ChatGPT

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

show backbone beings believe bit storm stream ring scratch tempting devil hunch

The Devil Fish

The storm was coming.

It showed in the slate grey clouds

Building on the horizon.

But he believed

That it was the best time to fish.

Besides, he had promised 

To bring home some dinner.

So he was tempted

To fish, just a bit longer…

Sensible beings were already ashore

But he had a theory, more a hunch,

That the fishing is best in a storm.

All he needed was the backbone to hold firm.

He let the line stream out

For just one last try.

Nothing.

No nibbles.

Not even a pull, a scratch on the line.

Just rain.

Torrential.

Drenching.

Rain.

◊

Back in the pub,

With a ring of enthralled mates,

He told his tale of derringdo,

Of his fight with the Devil Fish,

The one that got away.

“It was this big”, he said,

Holding up his hands,

“Between the eyes”, he added.

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