All posts tagged: daily prompt


There is something ritual about it, the morning stock-take of new imperfections sleep softened but dawning in the mirror’s first take cut.   Some can be teased or tweased slipped beneath another skin, of crafted contours, folded to hide the everyday not found anywhere but reality.   The tally builds like glass bottles, one hundred hanging on a wall but if one should fall there shall be ninety-nine and a smile to hide its absence.   When there are none left to shatter you will see the shell crack, hollow and so deathly dark even the light whimpers, wanes and withers into something cold.       Daily Post: Ceremony


Despite the warning signs I pressed myself against your skin, let the acid burn away my fingerprints until only teeth were left to identify the body by.   You were poison and venom, though it’s unclear how the first dose was administered. If you closed your mouth around my throat or if I sank my fangs into you.   What doesn’t kill you can make you stronger. Or shift the basis of your DNA until the mutations become the building block of something new and half done.   When I recognized us for the first time I didn’t know my own face. Something that toxic could never be real. Daily Prompt: Toxic

When The Words Fall Out

The words are out before I can catch them, dropped like stones in a pond they create waves the second they land and sink too deep for me to fish them out. I cannot return them to my mouth where they should have stayed, where my teeth should have acted like prison bars, keeping the rabble locked away out of sight and out of mind, so you wouldn’t see the mess I’ve been sweeping beneath the carpet every time you come to visit. Like every loud and sudden noise, they inspire silence in their wake. A look of confusion as you reach for them. You turn them over in the light only to find you can’t identify what it is I’ve let slip of. Instead you dust off your hands so the stones turn to petals and crumble. It is almost like I never said them at all. Daily Prompt: Messy  


Have you tried turning it off and back on again? I know you’re not a computer, this isn’t an issue of overloading or not enough space on the hard-drive but really most things can benefit from a little reboot from time to time. But perhaps it’s a connection issue? We could give the cable a good wiggle, turn it over a strong blow to clear the dust, see if it fits in better that way up? Daily Post – Restart


When I woke it was with me, curled around my shoulders like a scarf both there and not, tickling the hairs on the back of my neck as I shuffled around the kitchen to brew the tea and start breakfast, crockery clinking between my hands while it whispered around me. Seeing the shadow across the door brought relief. The same as when someone balances a plate too far beyond the edge of a counter but you can’t do anything except watch it waver half way between safe and broken. When it finally hits the ground shattering into bright, white slithers that dance across the tiles into every corner the chord snaps and you can breath again. It’s the waiting that drains you until there’s nothing left to give. Daily Prompt: Premonition  This is the fourth poem I’ve posted today here on writing and works, I’ve been trying to write more poetry and I’ve found the more I write the easier it gets. It’s also helping me improve my poetry so if you’ve got the time …


When swallows gather in groups it’s called a mummeration. As one they ripple in waves turning the sky to ocean their tiny dark bodies pointillism. Fleck of black on blue morphing into a single rush of soaring bodies scooping themselves into glorious arcs and spirals. When they are gone the sky is empty and alone. Clouds litter like styrofoam cups abandoned when the crowds leaves to stumble home. All is left is the wait for seasons to change. Daily Prompt: Congregate  


When your teeth bit down I broke in two, splitting down the middle like kindling the halves peeling open to reveal the flakes of me crumbling to charcoal dust in your mouth. Water couldn’t swill the taste of me out and spitting only left streaks drawn down your chin, watery grey lines smeared across skin and stains on a handkerchief that wouldn’t wash out. There was no mettle to me instead I buckled beneath your heat, melted and warped into puddles of slag you left behind dotting the pavement as loose coins might have fallen face down, ashamed. Bronze is beaten until burnished but I was not bronze. Perhaps it was best you left me behind. Daily Prompt: Assay


There are days where parakeets won’t stop squawking, monkeys are rattling cage bars like tambourines, chatter and laughter from hyenas is overflowing, elephants have expanded from trumpets to brass bands, pythons pay xylophone across giraffe necks, riverdance is hammered out by gazelle, hippos have taken up a baseline that’s rattling my bones while lions sing tenor like a welsh church choir and all at once sound becomes this physical thing battering me in submission. This zoo inside my head doesn’t know silence, it doesn’t even know quiet or tempered or hushed, all it knows is the racket threatening my eardrums from the inside. The one that won’t stop despite my screaming despite my pleading. It doesn’t understand that all I want is for it to stop. Written For The Daily Prompt: Zoo

Strangers With Familiar Faces

I’m short because of my grandfather but I forget more than I remember that it’s him I’ve taken after. To me he was a shadow painted into family portraits. Only half real in any memory I still have of him and I together. But that’s the danger of not knowing anything about a person besides the fact they’re sick. You have to wait for photos after the funeral once the sorting has begun. Then you find the questions that you should have asked burning behind your mouth without the person you want the most anywhere to be found.   Today’s daily prompt Grainy reminded me of this old photo of my Grandfather and his friend from when they toured around France on their bikes. My uncle had it restored after it was rediscovered a little while after my Grandfather passed away. It was one of the first stories I heard that made me realise I’d never asked him about his youth or even his life before I was born.  

Beautiful Fragments

On Tuesday I punched my fist into the nettles at the bottom of our garden. My whole arm lit up with fire, and I screamed through clenched teeth determined to see if the poison would do anything beyond hurt. See, I’m an expert at cradling wounds out of sight. My pockets are full of scars my handbag crammed with bruises and you can hear the piece inside me rattle if you shake hard enough. I’ve been broken so long the edges are too worn to fit back together again. Instead I collected them like sea glass in jars along the windowsills, and when the sun rises they shimmer in every colour you can imagine. They are still beautiful to look at. Written For The Daily Prompt: Prickle