1345 - Silent Night

 

Elephant's Child put up the prompt to use 

Wreath Pine Ribbon Stealth & Chimney

in a writing piece.

Silent Night

The front door is unadorned—

The wreath lies in the box

Surrounded by baubles,

Tinsel and a lifetime of knickknacks.

An advent calendar is unopened.

Pinecones, ‘snow’ tipped,

Are still in their bag.  Ribbons too.

No ornamental candles flicker.

The chimney has no stockings.

The pleasure has gone from Christmas

Not by stealth, but up-front and brutal.

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Backstory for new visitors:

My wife died of brain cancer earlier in the year.

I'm not a glum as this sounds,

It's creative writing.

1344 - The Laneway

 

Image by ChatGPT

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

This weeks words are: 

earth, herbs, cobbled, vines, thread, spark, heart, whispers, witches, shifts, pearls, words

The Laneway

“It is good to have an end to journey toward; 

but it is the journey that matters, in the end.”

— Ursula K. Le Guin

Life is like a winding cobbled laneway,

Bumpy, twisted, and somewhat random.

Aromatic herbs grow in corners, in cracks,

Where earth has gathered over ages.

Vines twist and thread their way up fences,

Some houses present their faces to the path

Opening their heart and hearth to the traveller,

Others present their back—not wrong, just different.

Coloured gateways, fences of all sorts,

Line the traveller’s path, guiding and repelling.

Whispers, words heard behind these walls

Indistinct but emphatic, spark thoughts

That, like the laneway, weave and shift.

The mind of the walker of this cobbled path

Hears the gems, the pearls, but also the doubting

Thoughts of the witches, demons and goblins

Perched on fences, chattering, incanting, laughing…

“Turn back, Dick Wittington! Turn back!”

But there is no turning back.

The laneway closes behind you.

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1343 - Allegro Non Troppo

 

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

This weeks words are: 

remote, misty, scrape, slippery, candles, fresh, dust, magic, minor, strum, string, follow

Written with love for my daughter, Lydia.

Allegro non troppo.

We are stringed instruments

That the god of fortune strums.

The double helix sets the tune

Life then sets the harmony and drums.

The past can be slippery, obscure,

Misty, distant and remote,

But scrape off the years of dust

You will find it fresh beneath that coat.

The helix leaves a clear tune to follow,

The past is gone, so best move on.

The helix twists, a thing of magic.

No minor chords in its sweet song.

So many candles have gone unseen

Birthdays, first and in between, are stacked

So many thoughts of what might have been.

Now is the time for the second act.

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1342 - Wombats Don't Eat lettuce

 

Wombats don’t eat lettuce.

“No act of kindness, no matter how small, is ever wasted.” 

– Aesop

It was a simple act,

Done on an impulse.

The outer leaves of a lettuce

Were presented, as an offering.

Nothing.  Marsupial indifference.

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But life’s like that, isn’t it?

Or, at least, it should be.

Little acts of kindness

Thrown like bottles

Into the tumbling sea of life.

Maybe they are found.

Maybe not.

Sometimes the message arrives.

Sometimes not.

But that’s not the point—

Just keep throwing.

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