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.

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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?

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What are they thinking?

The message is quite simple—

No-one wins a war.

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They glorify it—

The have never been to war.

It is not Hollywood.

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Old men sit at home

Nursing bone spurs in their feet,

Send others to die.

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No goal in sight—

What do they hope to achieve?

Hard to fathom it.

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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.

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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.

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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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1862 - To Himself

 

 Image: ChatGPT but with a little human intervention

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

beam blunt works moment own shape ancient envy truth scroll shift fluid

To Himself

During a rare moment,

Sitting on his own, 

Possibly in a campaign tent,

Likely at a battle front,

The most powerful man

Of his day sits to write.

Not on a royal papyrus scroll,

On a wax tablet with a stylus.

Does he, like Sun Tzu, write works

Of battle strategy and planning?

Of court politics and intrigue?

Of future empire building?

To put the truth bluntly: No.

He works to shape himself,

To build an ethical inner citadel,

Where self-control is the walls,

Compassion and kindness the beams.

A structure to counter envy, sloth, and pride,

To shift focus from without to within.

This ancient scribe, an emperor,

The wearer of the royal purple,

Is writing to himself, directly.

And, unknowingly, indirectly to us.

Time and events are fluid, shifting,

But his wisdom is eternal.

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Posted to dVerse Open Night