1899 - Unplanned

 

Poets & Storytellers have the following prompt: We will invite you to find inspiration in the following quote, by C. S. Lewis, “You are never too old to set another goal or to dream a new dream.” 

Most of the wondrous things in my life have been surprises, totally unplanned.

(Ironically C.S.Lewis wrote a book called “Surprised by Joy”, presumably undreamed of.)

So, I went a bit contrary to the prompt:

Unplanned

The joys of my life—

All my greatest treasures,

Were all surprises.

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1898 - The Tide

 

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

wave turning unholy lips swagger lost dead rise twist blade feast edges

The Tide

The tide is not for turning.

It swirls, twists, rises—

The unwary are swept along,

The waters crashing over them.

Below them, below the waves,

The swagger of the dead—

Amused, feasting on their plight.

They too fought and lost

But they offer no advice—

Their lips are sealed,

Their story is well recorded.

But that’s the problem, isn’t it?

Data is a double edged blade.

We are drowning in an unholy,

Unending sea of information.

No supporting driftwood to grasp—

Just a constant, increasing surge 

Of floating froth.

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1897 - Reflection

 

A Pardalote that keeps attacking its reflection in my study window.

MLMM Monday Wordle #482 presents the following words for us to work with:

Shoulder, hide, care, join, share, pride, pleasure, steps, betrayed, friend, kind, missed.

Reflection

Small, feisty, determined.

It attacks with intent—

To defend what is his.

A proud heart.

A stout heart.

Who is this intruder,

Hiding in his realm?

No friend of his, to be sure,

“Begone, yon vassal!

You will not be missed.”

◊

It is morning.

The man in the mirror

Stares back at me,

Examines me.

Shoulders bare, 

Face lathered,

A kind look, quizzical.

We share the ritual steps

Of water, soap and razor,

Join in facial contortions

To ensure coverage

For the twin blades.

But does he share

My pleasures, this image?

Does he judge me?

Does he care what I do?

Have I betrayed him?

He watches, mute.

I wipe down and leave.

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1896 - A Twisted View

 

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

fright runner potatoes road drifting twisted pinch glassy prickled neck shifted still

Poets & Storytellers asked us to use: teeth, hammer, blooms.

A Twisted View

The world comes to him.

Brashly, loudly, relentlessly.

Stories of grief and gloom

Stories of contrived love,

Of kittens in distress,

Lycra bums on bikes

Racing down foreign roads,

Men with no necks

Chasing leather balls 

On sodden paddocks,

As if it mattered.

Politicians with earnest looks,

Dubious intent, 

And doubtful prospects,

Arguing the day’s talking points,

Hammering the opposition,

Drifting (or running)

Into hyperbole as required.

A pinch of salt is also required.

The news— or some movie,

Hard to differentiate—

Both designed to frighten,

Anger or entertain,

Stories that prickle and prod.

In between, the advertisements,

Earnest people with perfect teeth

Hammer, hammer, hammer home 

The message: Buy, buy, buy.

Glassy eyed and foggy brained,

Still sitting where he was yesterday

And the times before that.  Still.

Outside, life shifts—seeds grow, bloom,

Wither and die.  

Unperturbed, he reaches for a crisp—

Potato eats potato.

1895 - The Case of the Mind vs The Ego

 

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

tolls spell inclined mind find pretending sigh hit guilty fine fault liar 

The Case of the Mind vs The Ego

Intro:

The mind has been brought 

Before the Court 

Of Petty Thoughts,

Charged with the crime

Of wilful assumption.

(The Magistrate enters and sits)

The gavel raps.

The court is in session.

“How do you plead?”

“Guilty, your honour.”

The prosecution sighs…

“Your honour, I protest.

The accused is pretending,

Accepting fault

To avoid the roasting

I had in mind.

If I was you, your honour,

And obviously I am not,

And do not wish to be seen

As disrespectful,

I would be inclined 

To find him in contempt.

How can he plead guilty?

I have such a fine case

To hit him with.

Granted, he is not a liar,

As I agree with his assessment

But the toll on my self-esteem!

On my desire to spell out

The prosecution case

In fine and well reasoned points…

This is just not fair and equitable.

If you accept his plea of guilty

I shall demand a retrial.

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1894 - The White Bird of Scorn

"I arrived on schedule. The food appears to be missing. Explain."

MLMM Monday Wordle #480 presents the following words for us to work with:

crow, window, near, time, expect, flight, message, begin, stars, regret, smart, dark

The White Bird of Scorn

Is a white cockatoo

The anti-crow?

Both are smart, true,

But there are differences—

Black versus white,

Meat versus seeds.

Crows are gymnastic stars,

Fearless and in your face.

Crows sit on power poles,

Near but not too near.

Cockatoos, flights of cockatoos,

Appear on time, noisily,

At my window.

Food is expected, demanded,

With dark looks if it is absent,

The message is clear—

I will regret it

If tithes are not paid.

Crows shrug and move on,

Cockatoos begin to

Dismantle your house,

One window at a time.

◊

 

1893 - Surprised by Life

 

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

kindle risk dig until differing chill spin waning  ghost softly alone know

Poet’s & Storytellers: “We shall invite to write about a time you surprised yourself.”.

Posted to dVerse Pub's Open Night,

Surprised by Life

I

Now, in my waning years

I look at the photo, softly,

Look at the happy shadow,

Look at a ghost of myself.

II

He looks so happy,

Sitting on the steps.

Oblivious to all that lies

Ahead of him.

He can’t know, of course,

What surprises,

What different paths

Will present themselves,

Kindle his interest,

Spin stories of ‘maybe’

To invite him in.

III

He will take risks,

Get into trouble,

Dig himself out again,

Sometimes alone,

Often times not.

He will experience

The warmth of love

And the chill of loss.

But sitting there, happy

It is all opaque to him.

Until it happens.

It is one of life’s blessings

That it unfolds slowly.

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1892 - Serendipity

 

A Galton Board

What's Going On invites us to write about 'The Journey'.

I was in a reflective mood.

Serendipity

As you ramble on through life, Brother, whatever be your goal,

Keep your eye upon the doughnut, and not upon the hole.

Is it a journey

If you have no idea

Where you are going?

Is a destination,

A place to aim for—

Is it mandatory?

Must you have one

For it to qualify

As a true journey?

What if you step out

With no end in mind?

Is it still a journey?

Yes, certainly, university

Was a stop-off, a way station,

But beyond that—

A thousand possibilities

In the Galton Board

Of life.

What, I wonder,

Is the collective noun,

For journeys not taken?

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1891 - Before

 MLMM Monday Wordle #478 invites us to use the following words:

dream, touch, kind, calm, forehead, hand, cool, shared, picture, cheer, want, before

Before

She was dying.

It was unreal

But very real,

It was no dream.

I cooled her forehead,

Held her hand,

Played her music

Hoping to cheer her up.

But she was dying.

◊

“Nugget” she called it,

Always wanting to be positive.

I used different words.

After a year of a kind of calm

It was on the move, growing.

Why kill your host? I wondered.

She was not really dying—

She was being killed.

◊

As I sat beside her,

Touching her, comforting her,

We reliving shared memories,

Picturing scenes long ago.

Eking out one more day

Before…

◊

1890 - Number Forty One

 "41 Mosaic" - Photo: JCN

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

sighs siren knocking still centered lost slip doors true screams beneath curse

Second prompt: Poets & Storytellers Prompt: 

We invite you to find inspiration in the idea of letting go of something 

that used to be wonderful, which no longer fits in your life.  

Number Forty One.

After she died

The house was empty.

Yes, true, I was in it.

Yes, all our belongings 

Still filled cupboards, shelves,

Beneath the beds—

But nonetheless it was empty.

Hollow.

After a few weeks

Neighbours stopped knocking,

The doors to some rooms

Were pointedly closed.

I never wanted to scream

But sighs were always near.

I felt lost, no longer centred.

The house was not cursed,

Not haunted.  Just…nothing.

Eventually the siren call

Of far away places

Was irresistible.

I shut the front door,

Hugged the dogwood,

And slipped away.

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1889 - The Dogwood

 "Kissing Porpoise" - Photo: JCN

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

lifetime share relax connect place last class awe home will years trip 

Poets & Storytellers invites us to write about a dead tree.

Posted to dVerse Open Night too.

The Dogwood

It was her great love—
Holding pride of place
In the front yard—
And also in her heart.
Planted when
The children were young.
Slow growing—
A lifetime tree
In a class of its own.
It graced our home 
There for thirty years or more
But it was always “her tree”,
Sharing in the arrival 
Of family and visitors,
Welcoming us back 
From trips overseas.
We would relax on the verandah,
Enjoying its changes.
Draped in white spring blossom,
Each flower appearing
As a kissing porpoise.
Flowers then gave way 
To acid green foliage,
Turning scarlet in autumn.
Passing strangers, in awe,
Would photograph each other
In front of it, share it—
A work of natural art,
A connection with nature.

She died.
The tree lived on,
A living reminder of her.
I left the house last year.

A short while later—

The tree died.

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1888 - Coma

 

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

wide line self hollow rare track twist eye trance trudge powder empty 

It has a faint connection to Poets & Storyteller's prompt “Mostly dead is slightly alive.”

Also posted to dVerse

Coma

“Do you think he can hear us?”

◊

Fragments.  Self. Others.

Fragments of life—jumbled.

Scrambling, tumbling.

Like a trance.  But not.

Lost.  Found. Puzzled.

A birthday party.  Mine?

A bush track, somewhere.

I trudge behind.

Bells!  A wedding.  Whose?

A line of guests.  Not me.

A woman?  Mother?

I can smell soap.

“Wash your face, it’s filthy”.

Dancing!  The Twist! 

“Open wide!”

Ugh! Bex Powder!

A house!  Who’s?

Hollow, empty, dusty, dark.

A letter.  A rare treat. 

It vanishes.

A dog, is it mine?  Not sure.

Warm, brown eyes.

I hear voices.  Familiar.

Distant.

◊

“No. Probably not”.

◊

1887 - Dreams

 

   Image: ChatGPT 

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

crush crisp creamy script brisk dreams dust seeds dim night whisper shimmer

Posted to dVerse

Dreams

Night

Crisp sheets

The Sandman

Sprinkles dust

Drifting

The mind blurs,

Creamy, dreamy,

Dim memories—

Seeds sown

Into the black loam

Of the untilled paddock

Of the mind.

Visions shimmer,

Voices whisper.

Or not.

No script.

The seeds planted

Sprout

Giving uncertain

Harvests. Crops

Mutate. Fragment.

Stretch, warp, twist.

Flying.  Falling. Crushed. Loving. 

Fearing. Dragons. Friends. Lovers. Demons. Holding. Swirling. Loving. Faster.  Slower. Panic.  Embracing.

Chasing.  Chased. Chaste. Or not.

Close emotions.

Distant alarm.

Intrudes.

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1886 - My Pets

My Pets

 For the last sixty years or so

Creatures shared in my roadshow:

Some hidden, some on display

More dependants, I would say—

Cats and dogs and the ATO.

◊

For the overseas folk: ATO = Australian Taxation Office.

Prompt from What’s Going On

1885 - The Club

 

Image by ChatGPT

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

limits list still bill smoke ring distant wish silky spill fit key 

Poets & Storytellers asked us to take inspiration from bookshelves.

The Club

The first thing that you see 

Is all the books:

They cover many of the walls

Of the premises.  Wall-paper.

Browsers—the traditional kind,

Search through them.

Others are absorbed in a book—

And a Chesterfield,

Sitting still, distant, wishing, dreaming.

A waitress appears and disappears

Into the mahogany shadows,

A silky smooth apparition,

Like a swirl of smoke,

To appear as needed 

No need to ring, she knows.

Coffee, liqueurs, cold drinks

Latte, aperitif, amuse bouche.

No bills, accounts are mailed.

A board on the wall lists options

Little changes though—

The room drips history, consistency.

Change of any sort doesn’t fit.

There are limits here—

understood, not stated.

This is another world

Nothing spills into it.  Or out.

That is the key to its charm.

And success.

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