Tag Archives: prose

Poem Challenge at https://businessinrhyme.com

Below is a short poem I wrote in response to a challenge set by Maja at https://businessinrhyme.com. Visit her website and enjoy some of her lovely prose.

NaPWriMo: Day 5

Poetry prompt: What’s in the news today?

Pick one news headline and that can be something you really dislike; now write your own news that are quite the opposite, news you would like to hear or read in the newspaper, news in the form of poem or a story.

 

Headline – Russia blames rebels for Syria gassing

We are two
Friends not foe
Hands joined
Our breath as one
Pure air the prize.

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Left Behind – 100 words (ish) for the Friday Fictioneers

Photo Prompt ©Jellico’s Stationhouse

A shout out to the amazing Rochelle at http://www.rochellewisofffields.wordpress.com. She organises the photo prompts and links for the Friday Fictioneers. Authors write a piece of 100 word fiction, prose or poetry based on a photo prompt and exchange comments on each other’s work.  If you are a writer of short fiction, join the group and let your imagination feed us with your stories. 

 

‘How will you manage?’ A snowfall of damp tissue fell from Rosie’s fingers, scattering on to the hall carpet. She resisted the urge to reach out her shaking hand and grab his shirt.

His back to her, Geoff ignored her cry, grunting as he lifted the dufflebag strap on to his shoulder.

He had given up answering.

‘Who’ll look after you?’ A sob broke the question. She chewed her lip. Why couldn’t she keep quiet?

Geoff sighed, quickly pulling the door open but as he stepped through, he turned and blew a kiss.

‘I’ll be back next weekend, Mum.’

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Moving On – Friday Fictioneers

Photo Prompt © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

Photo Prompt © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

He left and darkness fell.

For days she hid, reluctant to share the news. Plates collected in the sink, bags of rubbish gathered by the door. She ignored the red light flashing on the telephone. The candles she burned did not mask the smells of stale food and unwashed body. Her flat became a temple of the lost forever.

One day the pain ebbed a little, and she opened the window for air before returning to her nest on the settee. The twittering song of a visiting finch filled the silence. She opened her eyes, ready for the new day.

 

A shout out to the amazing Rochelle at http://www.rochellewisofffields.wordpress.com. She organises the photo prompts and links for the Friday Fictioneers. 

Authors write a piece of 100 word fiction, prose or poetry based on a photo prompt and exchange comments on each other’s work.  If you are a writer of short fiction, join in and let your imagination feed us with your stories. 

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Beauty – A Story for the Friday Fictioneers

Photo Prompt ©Roger Bultot

Photo Prompt ©Roger Bultot

Chalk and cheese: one of the girls caught his eye, beckoning him closer. The other disturbed him. She would not last, her beauty was fragile and he saw the poison in her eyes. Blonde and the red hair interlaced, a colourful curtain that joined them as they whispered.  What secrets did they share? He edged nearer and she caught his eye once more. That glance sealed their fate.

He never looked elsewhere and nurtured by his care and love, the beauty within blossomed until she dazzled everyone.

 

When I read out some of my work recently, I realised that sadness and gloom dominates my short writing. This week I have attempted something with a more positive slant and am interested to find out if it works for my readers. If not, I will have to return to my dark side.  

Thank you to Rochelle at http://www.rochellewisofffields.wordpress.com who organises the Friday Fictioneers. Authors write a piece of 100 word fiction, prose or poetry based on a photo prompt and exchange comments on their work.  If you are a writer of short fiction, join us and see where your imagination takes you.

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Cinquain

I’ve been experimenting with the form of cinquain in poetry today.  Poetry is not my natural writing model but I love reading it and today I have been told that my daughter has felt my grandchild kick for the first time so it seems a fun thing to try today. Feedback is welcome as I am always striving for improvement.

 

BIRTH

Hello,

Precious being.

We have waited and yearned

for this moment of arrival.

Our child.

 

This form of poetry has 5 lines

2-4-6-8-2 syllables

 

THE MAN IN THE PARK

He danced

through the wild night,

caring not for the others,

his spirit abandoned and free.

Mad George.

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Whispers – Writing inspired by Art

Oil by Fabian Perez

Oil by Fabian Perez

 

We shared secrets once upon a time, our thoughts fused, harmonious as though we were one soul, not two. I never asked your opinion; rarely did it differ from mine. We played our games at the expense of others – everyone knows that children can be cruel, and the weak suffered when we sharpened our tongues. Our beauty and youth protected us; no one dared to mention the word ‘bully’. You were my world and I was yours.

Then Maria arrived. At 15 she was already a woman, with Latino eyes that glowed with promises of passion and with a shape that drew hungry stares from all of the boys. Your loyalties shifted and suddenly I was invisible. From the side-lines, I watched as this witch cast her spell and I had no power to warn you of the danger. The remainder of my school years were not easy – victims do not forget or forgive. Your new love rallied their support and I was made mute. Friendless, I left those school days behind me but the lesson was not lost.

People say that I have grown into my looks. My once willowy figure has swollen so that curves accent my tiny waist and shapely legs. At great expense, a surgeon softened my face. Illicit earnings paid for the changes (but that’s a secret you aren’t allowed to share). It isn’t hard to get lost for a while – I didn’t need forever.

‘So, here we are again. Who would have guessed that we would run in to each other? Do I know what you do now? Please tell me, I want to know it all.’

Are you able to read my mind? Can you detect the plan? Of course not. You are enticed by my shape, and my eyes, and the messages I imply.

‘Two children within two years. That’s a lot of work for you. Yes, I understand. You must be so tired. Why doesn’t your wife understand? No, I don’t have children, life is too good. No husband either.’

Do you know that I am reeling you in? Tantalising you. I know you. You were my soulmate. You still are. Let me in again and I will show you dimensions of my personality that you never knew.

‘Yes, I have a wonderful career. My job takes me to exciting places. I do meet interesting people. Things are never dull.’

Are you envious? Is that a spark of desire I spy? If I move a little closer, will you be able to resist – the swell of my bosom, the scent of my perfume? Not too fast, it’s better to wait for what you want. Can you feel the heat of my hand against your ear, the warmth of my breath?

‘Can I let you in on a secret? Are you able to guess what it is? Something to do with lust. Keep trying. You’re close.’

The bulge in your throat moves as you swallow and a sweat is dampening your brow. I pretend to stumble and your arms reach out. We are a perfect fit, my dreams have not misled me.

‘This wine is going to my head. Time for bed. Would you? I may not get there on my own.’

Everything is ready upstairs. Two wine glasses half filled, one stained with the print of my lips. A rumpled bed. The camera. An envelope addressed to a tired mother.

 

 

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Progress – a story for the Friday Fictioneers

 

Photo prompt © jean-I-hays

Photo prompt  © jean-I-hays

 

Once, businesses thrived on Route 66. Our community worked to supply the passer-by.

That was years ago, before scheming developers forced the decision to divert the traffic away from our town. Now, thousands of cars use the super-highway to go to a recently built shopping centre. They say that you can buy anything there. Even if I had the cash, I couldn’t bring myself to use it.

My father couldn’t pay the bills, opting for a quick, but bloody ending.

Our inheritance crumbles as the earth reclaims what it can; hand-outs feed my mother and her children.

Thank you to Rochelle at http://www.rochellewisofffields.wordpress.com. She organises the Friday Fictioneers. Authors write a piece of 100 word fiction, prose or poetry based on a photo prompt and exchange comments on their work.  If you are a writer of short fiction, join us and see where your imagination takes you.

 

 

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