For this week’s WordPress weekly writing challenge, you must write a fifty-word story. Not five thousand, not five hundred, but precisely fifty words.
My heart beats, expectation, I see you, you move towards me and my knees melt, you are so beautiful, all I ever dreamt of, my world now complete. In my arms we are but one, our first night, a life ever after. Holding hands we move on. Skipping a step.
Dated 1903, great grandparents
Leaving the country
One-time graziers.
Aging they moved to the coast
Lived in my house.
A mystery as inscribed on the plaque
Why were the people grateful
In presenting this to them?
A job for discovery.
Not much is known about them
They cared for a grandson
Had four daughters
No family name carried on from them.
Their grave is nearby,
A lasting monument
They must have had money.
Their daughters built houses after their deaths.
Today the clock resides in my lounge room,
Thankfully it doesn’t work.
It chimes every fifteen minutes
I recall it as a child
Chiming in the middle of the night.
But it stands as a reminder
Of family long gone
But of significance, it can’t have been cheap.
My mother had it restored,
Each evening we turned the key
Kept the pendulum swinging
The chimes chiming.
I like having it,
One day I’ll unearth its origins.
http://dversepoets.com/2014/04/08/poetics-looking-for-treasure/
I wanted to ask, inquire, request?
But the block, barriers you’d erected
Are not easily negotiated.
They said you are difficult
Remote, distant, are compliments
Mysterious and enigmatic are givens.
I am questioning my pursuit of you
Am I desperate, needy, stupid?
I fear I am locked into you.
Speaking to you, was such an effort
Your eyes betrayed your curiosity
My words bouncing off you.
Beneath your removed exterior
As beautiful as it is, yet impenetrable
There lies a generous and kind soul.
I know as I have seen you in action
Your response to disaster, you put in
When you thought no one was noticing.
Its at people you have issues
For people no problem, you’re saintlike
But to me you are closed, shut down.
I am determined to stay with you
I see you for the good person you are
An asset, even if you can’t see it.
So maintain your guard, your key hidden
I will continue my vigil, outside looking in
For patience is a virtue.
Written for: http://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2014/04/08/photo-challenge-3-hidden-door/
I am standing on the cusp of a new beginning many said I was foolish to pursue. That what I wanted was way beyond my expectations, way beyond the station of a person such as I.
It is true many seasons have passed where I have happily hibernated away from the world, safe in my small corner of the globe.
But today as I look across the lavender fields all aglow in violet waving gently as the breeze meanders its way across these vast expanses on this warm sunny day in April, I know my desire to act has arrived.
I have not made this journey lightly. Months of thought and preparation have gone into this day. Despite the scare mongers and worry arts, who from the safety of their own social consciousness, felt obliged to caution me my action and in so doing destroy my dream. My resolve however has been made all the more stronger.
I will undertake this journey, now, today, no longer caught up in the cocoon of my own fear and hesitation, but ready to bust forth, my inner beauty released, my external fortitude focused on my prize.
resolution made
a step into the unknown
chrysalis reborn
Written for: http://haibunthinking.wordpress.com/2014/04/08/haibun-thinking-week-12-april-8th-2014/
I am used to rejection
People tune out to me.
Ignore me.
Not wanting to be around me.
Disparate from childhood
Bookworm
Isolated
Happy in my world.
Different is not easy
Reaching out impossible
Withdrawal is safer
The world is a scary place.
Hesitant of others,
Wary of intention
Content on the edge
Those words ever present.
Imagine my shock at hearing you say
You care; you take me as I am,
You engage with my words
You listen to my opinions.
I half expect you to yell at me
Be angry as my sense of humour
Not everyone gets
Nor reacts like you.
You are opening my mind
A new world of acceptance
Dare I say love? Compassion?
You mean so much to me.
Dear Ms Samuels,
They said we were way past it that it was a childish fantasy to ever consider love at our age. Whatever flickers there might have been had been well and truly quashed by the passing of time and way too may bad experiences.
But from day one when you flashed that winsome smile at me, and said we have a few things in common and maybe we should consider working together and create a piece or two that may show our latent talent for writing. For you are never too old they say.
I think that first larval type piece where we tried each other out and I marvelled at your silken words that seemed to flow so easily from your pen and soon enthralled me with the carnivalesque nature of the process that followed. Those initial words, which blossomed into a writing team, we never in a million years thought possible.
Feeling were generated I thought long dead within me, I awaited your every email, where had you taken the story, how was I to follow in your lead. The back and forth of words and ideas and the ease of our communication led me to believe there was more to our correspondence than words on the page.
I can easily say your writing has influenced me and that today after all these years writing together where we can happily dilate on the skills each has passed to the other has served as a stimulus for others to try their hand at expression and teamwork.
But I think the one thing that has stood out for me, about which I am most proud, is the sonnet we composed at the end of our first year of writing. How we managed to lucidly encapsulate our style into those fourteen lines that today has stood the test of time is what I most marvel at. I have indeed been blessed by our partnership and I hope we have served as a beacon of hope for other writers of our vintage.
I believe our book launch will be next Tuesday at 11a.m. I will meet you in the Ritz Café, 10 a.m. usual seat, for a chat before attending the launch and hopefully signing a few volumes.
Yours affectionately,
Charles Woods
Writing Companion.
Written for: http://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2014/04/07/wordle-3/
Do you think you can manage?
I have to.
How long this will go on for?
Some said days, others weeks.
My dad lay in his bed,
Pneumonia adding to his suffering
His breathing laboured
Oxygen his saviour.
Each day I came.
Held his hand, talked the news
The world, sport, who won, who lost
The latest scandal, who died.
In reaching for my hand
Initially uncomfortable,
Roles reversed, he needs me,
To stay and comfort him.
Hour after hour, his discomfort palpable
He slips in the bed, lift, slide, struggle
Feed him his breakfast, lunch and tea
Slowly he eats what he can.
Home each evening, rest up,
Resolve to be back for breakfast
Another day, breath gasping
Fear in his eyes, he knows his end is near.
Day five, I fear what I’ll find
The strain is taking its toll
No one should suffer like this
But I know he needs me, I go.
He is showered, dressed, shaved
He looks his best all week,
I feed him breakfast,
He eats hungrily, as if expecting.
We sit; I hold his hand, our standard routine
He nods to having a bet on Saturday
A man arrives brings communion
Is he ready now?
My resolve is being tested
Trying to be brave, strong, supportive
He looks at me, struggles another breath
Grips my hand, I see a change.
My dad faded suddenly away
With grace he stopped living.
My satisfaction
I hung in there with him.
Written for: http://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2014/04/06/prompt-50-grim-determination/
You should not be doing that
Is that how we brought you up?
I am not interested in the norms of society
A world governed by fear
What will the neighbours say?
What will the priests think?
That play is not suitable
We thought you were better than that.
I wore my hair long
I went to other churches
I stayed out late, experimented
Read whatever was banned.
We don’t want you near that person
They are clearly not like us, unwashed as they are.
We moved in together
My mother was aghast
You should be married
But I didn’t care, we were in love.
It’s not natural to live that way
You’ve upset your mother being that way.
I made mistakes, blunders a plenty
Met plenty of wolves, gold diggers too
Penniless at times, destitute as well
No regrets, my problems, my solutions.
I think you’ve wasted your life
I hoped you’d amount too much more.
I know I am odd, different, unusual
But I’m happy and content
I’ve taken risks, blazed a new life
I am who I am.
Written for: http://13thfloorparadigm.wordpress.com/2014/04/06/all-in-a-word-3/
Clocks change
Clank, grind, push, shove.
Back an hour.
Oh no!
It means?
Ummmm, an hour late?
An hour early?
What was 3 is now 2.
But at least the sun is up
No more going to work in the dark
No more stumbling around.
Around the world we all adjust
Time marches on
We have to keep up
It slows for no man
Just numbers for measuring the day
Knowing when to get up,
Run round, sit down,
Eat and sleep.
We live at the mercy of time
We each have a finite amount.
How we use it, is what matters.
Oh what time is it?
A shadorma is composed of six non-rhyming lines (sestina or sextet) and the syllable pattern is 3-5-3-3-7-5.
Rocks
Ancient made grotto
Weeds
Broken
Yellow flowers highlighted
A lasting landmark.
Memory
A past tribute
Tears
Lost
Moments now long forgotten
I pause to recall.
Written for: http://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2014/04/05/bastets-shadorma-photo-prompt-2/
Morpethroad 