You can count them on one hand, those ones that mean the most care the most put up with the most. You can gather acquaintance like confetti, but there are always gaps between fingers where people fall through and when the wind sweeps by it will leave you with empty palms. Those ones who cling on, who can be counted on one hand are the ones who’ll scale mountains, dig beneath oceans, trek over desert and parachute in over enemy territory. All for the sake of standing in the background to push you forwards, when the spotlight seems too bright.
Remember when I said I don’t really like Haikus but I’m going to try and write one every day anyway? Well they seem to be growing on me. We have stopped speaking. It’s difficult to say why and you won’t explain.
Conrad taught us to distrust our own minds. Caught up in the spin of some imaginary turmoil; he forgot that the rest of us were placed within his reach, waiting for some reassurance that this was not how it ended. Confirmation was never his strong point. Convinced we were the enemy, it became locked doors and unanswered phone calls. Coleen visited once a week only to find the casseroles she baked still cling-filmed at the back of the refrigerator. Considering it was twenty years before the funeral summons; I didn’t expect to cry when we carried him into the church. (Prompt: Each line must begin with ‘C’)
This week Eccentric Chai set a fantastic writing challenge. Think of someone you know, take their age and use it as a word limit for a piece of writing about them. I’ve written a couple so far but I think I may have a go at writing a few more since I really am enjoying this prompt. Antonia We do insanity well. Eccentricity is an art-form we long since mastered and balanced out against each other’s minds. You I’m waiting for a fragment of me to stick in your throat and choke us. I’ve never had commitment to catch me. Alice We forged our friendship in distance and demoted time to change only appearance and leave connections as they were.
You are as easy to read as my mother’s little green book the day it came out of the washing machine one solid pile of gunk. We dried it out shelved above the rayburn but the pages never held together again and the cover was lost to detergent suds and bin bags. Is that what you expect, when contemplating outcomes for maybe just once letting someone see a little more than this shell you’ve carved to replicate what people think is you?
There was a trick to whistling with a blade of grass; a trick that Stephen could manage but for some reason whenever Mary tried, it was damps hands and shredded foliage instead of whistles. “Don’t worry,” he told her, cleaning off her hands with his sleeve before snatching up more grass by the roots, “I will teach you.” He showed her how to angle the blade against her lips, to blow over the blade and send sharp slices of sound flying across the fields between his house and hers. “When I marry, everyone in the audience will have to whistle as I walk down the aisle; everyone except for you.” she said. “I won’t have to whistle,” he whispered, leaning in close, “because when I grow up I’m going to be the one marrying you.” Prompt taken from: Five Sentence Fiction
I have settled on a title for my first collection of poetry! *cue fanfare* Since this is my first attempt at writing a series of poems specifically to publish as a book and not as individual pieces on my blog, I decided that I should try and honour that significance in the title. So; my first collection of poetry is going to be called ‘This Young Adult’. I’m taking a few of the poems from my blog and redrafting them for the book, but there will be some new pieces in there as well. Some of the older poems such as Persephone are probably going to look like new poems by the time I’m done with them so I don’t suppose they will really count as the same poem in the end. I’m planning on having ‘This Young Adult’ ready for purchase by the 1st of July. This may seem like a short time frame, but I’ve been working towards the collection for a while so I should be able to manage. A lot of …
“Here.” I said, throwing the dustpan and brush in my friend’s general direction. She caught them with a stunned expression, holding them away from her as if they had somehow turned into a poisonous snake that was threatening to bite her. “What am I supposed to do with these?” she asked, looking at me with that face. Clearly she thought I’d lost it again. I say again, I don’t mean to sound like I ‘lose it’ often! I’m just a little eccentric, not insane, just eccentric. However, my personality is a completely different explanation for a completely different story and not one I will ever take the time to go into. So back to the dustpan and brush. “What am I supposed to do with these?” she asked, looking at me with that face. “You use there to sweep up mess.” I told her, drawing out my words and painting on a smile. Sulkily she mouthed the words back at me while bobbing her head from side to side. “I know their purpose.” she scowled. …