Written for 3/30/2015 #fieryverse challenge on Twitter. Prompt: How do we
how do we escape this bind
find our ties
set aside laws that divide
we are through
This poem was written for the #3lineThursday challenge.
Framing her radiance they pop with life.
Veiled excitement blooms
along that path to becoming a wife.
Written for the
#fieryverse poetry challenge on Twitter.
Fleeting lucidity wanders the space
between dusk and dawn, and ponders
Will I soon forget my own face?
Octane charged recriminations spew
Spittle seasoned with resentment and Bourbon peppers us
Psyches blister, lose another layer
“I CHOSE THIS POEM FOR ITS FERVOR AND INTENSITY. I WAS PULLED IN BY THE STRONG WORDING AND IMMENSELY POWERFUL IMAGERY. I LOVE THE WAY THE FIRST TWO LINES ARE IGNITED, HOWEVER , THE LAST LINE SEEMS TO ADMIT THE COMING OF DEFEAT. THAT LAST LINE ESSENTIALLY RELINQUISHES A BIT OF THE POWER DISPLAYED IN LINES ONE AND TWO. THE FIRST TWO LINES ARE BLATANTLY VISUAL WHEREAS THE LAST LINE IS MORE POETICALLY EXPLANATORY IN THAT YOU CANNOT ACTUALLY SEE A PSYCHES DAMAGE AND LOSE A LAYER BUT YOU UNDERSTAND THAT BECAUSE OF THE ACTIONS IN LINES ONE AND TWO, LINE THREE IS THE UNWANTED BUT NATURAL OUTCOME. THE FIRST TWO LINES ARE CONTENTIOUS WHICH TYPICALLY SIGNIFIES THE PASSION AND HOPE ARE STILL THERE, CONVERSELY THOUGH, THAT LAST LINE INFORMS US THAT LAYERS HAVE PREVIOUSLY BEEN LOST, AND WITH THIS FIERY EXCHANGE, ANOTHER IS LOST. ONE CAN GATHER THAT THERE AREN’T MANY LAYERS LEFT TO LOSE.”
I had no clue where to find Matthew when my aunt asked me to set her handheld, electronic Bible to the first chapter of that book before leaving after our visit today. “It’s the first book of the New Testament” she said as a means to help, but not realizing how little that meant to me. I don’t feel bad about not knowing how many clicks forward from Deuteronomy or back from Acts I would need in order to get her all queued up for tomorrow’s lesson. After all, the Bible really isn’t my thing. And, although technology is my thing, her little gadget was just a simple black box with a couple of buttons, lacking amenities like a screen that could have displayed a table of contents and made the task much simpler for a King James novice like me. I managed to figure out the proper combination of key strokes to move between books rather than chapters within books and got on a roll. The deep, calming voice of the iBible began solemnly rattling off “Judges. Ruth. 1 Samuel…..Ezra. Nehemiah” and intermittently having its impecable pronunciation cut short by my frantic pressing of the downward facing arrow. “Am I going in the right direction?” Before she could answer, the speaker uttered “Job” and she told me to go ahead and stop there. I don’t know if she was just trying to give me a break or if something about the spoken-word trip through the old testament triggered a need to focus on that particular book. I’ve decided that I’ll ask her about it when I see her again next week.
Over the past couple of months I have been visiting my aunt in her adult foster home. I spent a good deal of time with her as a child, but we haven’t been a part of each other’s lives since. I can probably count on one hand the number of times we’ve seen each other outside of funerals over the past 30 years, so finding talking points can often be difficult. There is only so much reminiscing that can be done to fill the time. Upon arriving for our visit today, I started with the usual inquiries like “How are you feeling?” “What’s going on in the world that I should know about?” “Did you eat lunch yet?” She answered all of the questions, some with more gusto than others, but today would end up being about more than small talk. I recently learned that she loved to write and that she even saw a few of her stories and poems published during the 1970s. I had those writings with me today. Since she is no longer able to see small print, I asked if she would like me to read them to her. “Yes, that would be nice” she said, still stunned that her sister-in-law had held onto the original publications all these years and then passed them along to me. Seeing her smile as she listened to the words she’d penned so long ago, discussing what had inspired them, and then sharing some of my own work with her made for a very special day.
So, what does my fumbling around in the Bible at the end of our visit have to do with this story? Whether she was writing a poem celebrating the second coming or a short story that illustrated the kindness of strangers when her family was new to town and her father fell ill, my aunt’s work was inspired by her Christian faith, something that is almost totally foreign to me. I realized today that we have a real connection through writing and I’d like to foster that in any way I can. Who knows? If I study her book maybe we’ll have more to talk about or even write a story together. At the very least, I’ll be able to find the book of Matthew the next time she asks.
The #3lineThursday challenge is to create a 3 line story based on the photo provided by Boris Boden, using no more than 10 words per line. This is my entry:
spinning through time, elements,
and seasons, too much.
I was thrilled yesterday to find that my story had been chosen as an honorable mention this week! Below are the kind words from judge Benjamin Grossman
“A CLEVER PLAY ON WORDS WITH CYCLES. THIS PIECE IS NOT ‘TOO MUCH’, BUT RATHER JUST RIGHT.”
I’ve been thinking a lot about softball lately. From that moment a few months ago when it popped into my head and gave me the name for this blog, to now as I sit here trying to find a story, the memories of my childhood passion are always ready to help.
I don’t recall what year it was exactly, late 70’s or early 80’s most likely. The Vancouver Girl’s Softball Association(VGSA) had finally secured a home of its own. A portion of the old Klineline sand and gravel pit land would be cleared to make way for the complex. In those early years, before there was money to pave the parking lot or even procure an official sign to mark the entrance, making our way into the facility felt like an off-road adventure.
This is a submission for Monday’s Finish the Story challenge. Write a story of 100-150 words excluding the first line provided and incorporating the photo prompt.
Dropping her line into Fool’s Lake she patiently waited for something to bite, casting out the negative thoughts and doubts that constantly swam through her mind and nibbled at the edge of her consciousness. She had never tried her luck here before, always sticking with what she knew and using proven bait. As she teetered and swayed slightly, absorbing the waves of heat from overhead and begging for even the faintest ripple, time seemed to stop. Then, mercifully, the strike came. They laughed! This wasn’t just an obligatory,head shaking ‘Man, do I feel sorry for her’ type of chuckle either. The convention hall was filled with ‘I just about drowned in my cocktail’ kind of laughter. The joke she had worked on for weeks had hooked them. Now it was time to reel them in.
Click the frog to see stories from other writers who have accpeted the challenge this week and to submit your own.
Friday Fictioneers is a writing challenge hosted by the talented Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. Writers from near and far use the photo prompt provided to create a 100 word piece of fiction. Click the frog below this post to add your own story and check out everyone’s submissions.
I seem to be seeing the brain, specifically my mom’s brain, in every challenge lately.
Her thoughts and movements were like a troupe of actors reinventing themselves, weaving through the maze of roles that were new and more difficult to them. Their greeness kept her trapped in a maddening script of continuous wrong turns. Lefts pretended to be rights and rights swore they were lefts. She shuffled and bumped into the shadowed corners of their stage, stuck until the faint memory shone through and illuminated her mark, briefly. When darkness returned, as it would today, tomorrow, and always, rehearsal began again. She’d practice, not knowing the curtain would fall before she ever perfected her part.