1914 - Chains and Mud

 

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

keys drumming rare morning lazy humming odd whispers open chain urge ghosts

Chains and Mud

They know, of course,

That their good life

Is supported by those

Living in chains and mud—

But somewhere else.

Those living in chains and mud

And the ghosts of those

Who preceded them

Keep the machines

Running, humming along.

Money machines.

It has always been so.

On the rare occasions

Of friction, with radicals

Drumming up dissent,

Urging rebellion,

The barons dub them lazy

In pointed editorials.

Should those below

Wish the odd morning off

The tame press divides them,

Spreads whispers of betrayal,

And trust vanishes.

The chains remain intact.

Those with the keys

To open them

Have no intention

Of it being otherwise.

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1913 - A Passing Thought

 

MLMM Monday Wordle #489 
presents the following words for us to work with:

once, three, haven, peace, thoughts, why, angry, if, final, love, none, dream

A Passing Thought

We have thoughts

But do thoughts have us? 

Probably not.  Why?

They make us angry.

They convey love.

They create peace—

Or dismantle it.

They torment us

At three in the morning.

There is no escape,

No haven from them.

Or so it seems.

Once they capture your mind,

They seem to have captured you.

But is this really so?

Is it really so final?

Is there no escape? None?

What if thoughts 

Were just dreams,

Just clouds drifting

Across a clear blue sky

And you just watched them 

Passing by?

◊

1912 - Mulch Ado About Nothing

 

Image by ChatGPT

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

screams desolate temples bone sparks pit voices follow underworld spiral weave current

Coincidentally, it contains 'bone', the prompt from Poets & Storytellers

Mulch Ado About Nothing.

Do worms scream?

Maybe so.

Rumour has it 

They sing though,

With rich baritone voices

As they weave their way

Through the underworld—

Their temples are the compost pits

Of peels, shells and bones;

Spiralling, twisting, writhing

A pink, tumbling current,

In the sea of mulch and decay.

But no desolate lives for them—

They are both male and female

So, when the sparks of love

Warm their wormy loins,

The coupling that follows

Is doubly satisfying.

Perhaps that is when

They scream.

◊

1911 - Painted into a Corner

 

Image nicked from the internet

dVerse Poet's invites us to use some butterfly names in a writing piece.

Painted into a Corner.

He looked at the brochure—

Glumly, quite dejected.

He was ready to give up.

All he wanted to do 

Was paint his bedroom.

In front of him

Was a multi-page matrix

Of coloured squares,

Each neatly labelled.

◊

Appalachian azure

Autumn leaf

Clipper

Clouded yellow

Crimson Patch

Duke of Burgundy

Fatal Metalmark

Fiery skipper

Gatekeeper

Golden birdwing

Golden Hairstreak

Green marble

Large Tortoiseshell

Lustrous copper

Miami Blue

Monarch

Mourning Cloak

Orange Sulphur

Painted Lady

Peacock

Pine Satyr

Rice paper

Rusty-tipped page

Silver Emperor

Silver-banded Hairstreak

Small Wood nymph

Sonoran Blue

Speckled wood

Spring white

Velvet rose

Wandering skipper

◊

"I only wanted 'beige'".

◊

1910 - Pastorale

 

 Image by ChatGPT

MLMM Monday Wordle #488 
presents the following words for us to work with:

light, cast, street, tickle, sensitive, view, cool, pigeon, dance, attract, evening, glow

Pastorale

Warm and amber,

The evening light streamed 

Low through the plaza,

Through the tables,

Through the legs,

Through the pigeons,

Drenching everything

In a golden glow

As if bathed in honey.

It tickled the lavender flowers,

And drew long, dancing shadows 

From the bobbing pigeons.

Locals came and gathered

To bask in the fading day,

Drinking wine or coffee,

Dunking biscotti,

Sharing their lives.

Young children danced,

Revelling in the evening warmth.

The pigeons, always sensitive

To rowdy children,

Viewed them with cool disdain—

At a distance.

Whatever was happening elsewhere—

There was peace here.

◊

1909 - A Different Space

 

Image by ChatGPT

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

wild cross left staff last split burial grind space land room hood

Disclaimer: I could no space for grind that didn't sound forced.

A Different Space

The burial was over.

The last casserole

Had been left

On the doorstep.

The phone was quiet.

The walking staff 

Was in the corner.

The hood, gloves and scarf

Hung behind the door.

◊

His life had been split

Into before and after,

Crossing between

Two different lands.

This land, this second land,

Is uncharted, undreamed of.

◊

One life eventually ends 

But life itself goes on.

Like a new garden bed

Waiting for attention,

It has a chance to renew.

Patiently tended,

Given the room to grow,

It blossoms—

Unexpectedly.

◊

1908 - The Place

 Image by ChatGPT

MLMM Monday Wordle #487 
presents the following words for us to work with:

cheers, choir, grand, ill, man, place, reserved, rest, stool, together, turn, twinkle.

Up front confession: I didn't use choir or twinkle.  
 

 

The Place

 Dedicated to the lovely Linco Li.

An accountant,

In France,

With a spreadsheet

And ergonomic stool,

Who wished him no ill,

But no longer needed him

In his grand scheme

Of rows and columns,

Decided it was his turn

And he was “let go”.

Être remercié—

To be thanked.

 

◊

 

New staff were shown

Every desk—

Except one.

“That one’s taken.

Take one of the rest”.

The man who had sat in that place

Was not there now.

But he could be.

 

◊

 

So, she reserved his desk.

She kept it clean.

And, should he return—

It was ready for him,

There would be cheers.

And cake.

And they could sit,

Quietly,

Side by side,

Working together 

Again.

 

 ◊

 

 

1907 - Fallow

 

Image by ChatGPT

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

home world denied bees pleas forgotten folklore wonder strum fallow sigh sky

Fallow

The sky was clear,

A gentle wind blew—

Strumming the trees,

Rustling the grasses.

Bees, ants, and butterflies

Went about their business.

Birds flitted from tree to tree.

Animals grazed at ease—

The occasional disagreement

Over mates or territory

But calmly and normally.

◊

Man, as was his wont, denied

that the world, his home,

Was at risk of collapse.

Pleas for him to be aware

Went unacknowledged

And were quickly forgotten.

Eventually, man faded away.

The planet gave no sigh of regret.

He became the folklore of the herds,

Of the flocks and of the schools—

The inheritors of the wonders

That he could not see.

◊