Art – a poem

Weaving worlds and beings
From the merest of threads,
The dullest and the most shiny,
Making loops, connecting
This way
     and that.

Creating beauty,
Creating chaos,
Leaving awe,and disbelief
Darkness and light
         in its wake.

The fruits of creativity,
Are designed to be shared,
With all the world,
And their friends
But are made only for those
Who are the creators

For they are the ones who enjoy
The entirety of the magic
The birth, through to result
The expression
    On the reciever's features.

‘Messages’ – A Poem

Hours of careful deliberation
In silence, and the
Deepest concentration,
Deciphering nuances, messages, meanings
Endlessly woven in
Neat knots of chaos

Yet hOw are we to
know when an artist Breathed
on their work at any giVen time,
In any given place,
and what the relevance Of
these respiratory schedUles hold
in our impressionS of the work before us.

‘Dancing’ – A prompt, a poem

Some shuffle like they do not wish to aggravate a haemorrhoid,
Some have had years of intensive training, and it shows,
Some draw from what they have seen others do on the middle of the floor in a black lit club at 2am,
And some are stationary; hoping the thrumming beat reverberating beneath their feet would
               go
                    away
                            right
                                    now.
 
But even those who remain prostrate feel that beat in the pit of their souls,
They find that their piggies suddenly begin to tap out the rhythm in perfect time,
The endorphins begin to rush and the tune burrows its way into the grey matter,
 On the outside they may be still, but self-consciousness masks a multitude of passions and
              original
                      impressions
                                   aren’t
                                           reality.

Old sayings like “dance like nobody is watching” are unhelpful when the claws of self-consciousness dig in,
There may be nobody that you can see watching, but what about those you can’t see?
The gremlins lurking in the darkness, the pixies in the corners, the ghosts beneath the bed,
Using all the powers they can muster to render you frozen in the face of your favourite song
               for
                    ever
                           and
                                 ever
Amen.

‘The Rocket-Ship’ – A Prompt

Stars and galaxies pass in smudges of colour,
The engines roar like the ringing in the depths of your ears;
Ever constant, ever there.
A long way from home; will we ever see it again?

When training, it was always such an unreachable goal,
Always an if, never a when.
Before we knew it, we were fastening safety belts,
Whilst weeping uncontrollably for the families we may never see again.

The scenery out here is breathtaking, and the experience one to be treasured,
But is it worth it when we know that at home our daughters could be taking their first steps,
Or saying “Mama” or “Dada”, even though we aren’t there?
These are all things we must consider when making this dream a reality

This job is not your nine to five. You don’t get to go home after six hours.
The child that you left at four years old, could be ten by the time you see home again,
Though the things you see, most others will never do so,
Sometimes the things that most see, like those six years you missed, are the most valuable of all.

The Thanksgiving…

This week, we have another prompt from the wonderful 642 Things to Write About: “The worst Thanksgiving dish”.

***

My mother pulled the turkey out of the oven, clouds of soot-filled air billowing out with it. Within seconds, the smoke alarms began harmonising with alacrity.
‘Damn,’ Mom muttered, ‘Damn, damn, damn.’
‘I’m not eating that,’ Harry yelled over the sound of the screeching alarms.
‘Open all the windows and doors,’ Dad commanded me and launched himself into action.
From her play mat on the floor, baby Charlie joined in with some high-pitched wailing of her own. Dumping the tray and its charred contents on the counter, Mom rushed to Charlie’s side and scooped her up into her arms. Vainly, she tried to calm my baby sister by bobbing from side to side and gently shh-ing her. I doubt whether Charlie could hear her over the rest of the noise echoing throughout the house.
All of us, except Harry who was still sitting at the island counter feeding himself handfuls of Fruity Pebbles as fast as he could, were frantically circling the house, trying to disperse the smoke and stop the relentless ringing that was starting to make our ear canals ache.
Once the house was operating at a safe level of decibels, we congregated around the bench in the middle of our kitchen to survey the damage, our eyes glued to the charred bird sitting forlornly in the tray.
‘So who wants a slice of turkey?’ Mom said eventually forcing a smile onto her face.
‘I’m not eating that,’ said Harry, shoving another handful of Fruity Pebbles into his mouth.

Dear Houseplant – a writing prompt

This week’s prompt comes from a lovely book entitled 642 Things to Write About. The prompt was: “A houseplant is dying. Tell it why it needs to live.”

***

Dear houseplant,
I know we aren’t on the best of terms right now. I know that I could have done more to make our relationship work. But my life doesn’t revolve around you. I am not the Earth to your Sun. I need to make money to maintain the lifestyle you have become so accustomed to.
I know it may not seem like it, but you really help me out. You living your best life really makes me smile. That is enough incentive to live, right?
Stick around! Giving up is too easy!
What about your friends? Do you think they deserve to stand by your side and watch the life drain from you? It won’t be quick. It will be painful, horrible to watch you go through that and not be able to help. What did they do to you that would make you want to do that to them? They will miss you if you go!
So, come on. Stay. You have so much more to experience.
Who knows, maybe I’ll buy you a drink sometime.
Love,
Me

Prompt #2: The Unrequited Love Poem

Our second prompt from ThinkWritten is “The Unrequited Love Poem”

Unbelievably secluded
Nothing that can prepare you for it
Realistically, common
Excruciating and disorientating
Quilted with hope, disappointment and fear
Uselessness; a feeling that you become well acquainted with
Inspiration for most love songs
Truly “love”, or is it just longing for something that you know that you can’t have?
Ego- and soul-eating
Deceitful; how can your brain betray you in such a way that it promises that you will one day succeed?
Lost cause, not always, but in most cases
Old; as time itself
Veritably consuming; every waking hour as is your right is given to them
Entertaining, when you are not the one hopelessly pining for one you can never have

Something a little new for 2021: Writing prompt #1

I am going to try something a little different this year. The frequency with which I write has become abysmally low, so I am going to endeavour to write EVERY DAY. I know. big commitment. I have found a set of 365 Creative Writing Prompts on ThinkWritten (thanks, guys) and I am going to try my hardest to stick to the commitment of every day.
What does this mean for you? Well, it means that you will probably get a selection of these prompts coming at you every Thursday. My favourite of the week, most probably. So I hope you stick with me on this journey. We could be in for a rough one.
And, where better to start than with prompt number one: Outside the Window.

Outside the Window

A great orb of gas burns high in the sky, its heat radiates even to the most hidden and secluded parts of planet Earth. Many creatures of the Homo sapiens variety call this planet home, though they have no idea whether there is a different species out there who use the same term for an entirely different planet.

The Homo sapiens know the gaseous orb by the name “sun”, though, no one really questions how it got this name. As far as they are concerned, this is the name that the thing was born with, though back then, there was no one of their species around to give it that name.

The sun is the most constant thing that the Homo sapiens and the other creatures they share their planet with have ever known. It has always been there and most likely always will be; at least for the entirety of their relatively short lives.

Spot is not of the species Homo sapien. He is of the species Canis lupus colloquially known as “dog”. Spot is enjoying the warmth that the sun provides on a gloriously fine afternoon. He lies upon his side, soaking up as much warmth as he possibly can. His tongue lolls from his mouth, and he pants heavily. Sure, he should probably move to a cooler place, but the heat is too delicious, too irresistible to pass up.

In the distance, he hears a fellow Canis lupus share his thoughts with the neighbourhood. Apparently the chicken at his house is disgustingly dry. Poor thing. He probably gets his chicken especially cooked for him, too. How disappointing to have it dry. Spot sighs in lamentation for the poor, unfortunate neighbourhood dog forced to eat an unappetising dinner.

These are the ways of the neighbourhood. Every one is to know everyone else’s business. Every dog is to share the horrors that are the dinner that you have provided from them.

From the outside, looking through this starkly clean window and onto the place they call planet Earth, it really doesn’t seem like that bad a place to call home; even if your cooking is critiqued to within an inch of its life by a furry demon who should just be happy with what they are given, really. Right?

‘Opinions’ – A Poem

You are welcome
to have your opinion
on whatever it is
you feel strongly about

It’s how we have
individuality,
identity,
and alike

But when those opinions,
beliefs and ideas,
begin to hurt those around you
you should stop

Take a minute. Take an hour.
consider how they affect,
how they resonate in those
other than yourself

The people around you are
ALLOWED to have opinions
that differ and diverge
they don’t have to think the same

But we are obligated to care
for all, for those with whom we disagree,
as well as those we agree with.
we owe it to the world

— and to ourselves.

‘Me’ – A Poem

It is easy to paint ourselves
with a pair of sharp horns,
and barbed tail.
It is easy to see all that is wrong,
all the mistakes, the disappointments,
all the times that you’ve failed.

Every day we complain,
about the things that haven’t gone our way,
from speed bumps, to devastations,
short-comings, and bruises
from all those things there’s no getting away.

You’re not thin enough, not solid enough,
not tall enough, not short enough,
not loud enough, not quiet enough,
not smart enough, not dumb enough,
not pretty enough…
doubt swirls in your head whether
any of these assessments is reality at all.

But still we tell ourselves these things, because we pick and pick and pick
hoping that something within us,
something miraculous, will change
just one of those things
and make us more…. and will stick.

If only we could see
the glow above our heads,
gleaming from the halo that hovers there,
or the luscious wings sprouting from our backs, coated in shining feathers
we ignore the good, and are quick to condemn ourselves,
but tell me….

Is that really fair?