A word prompt to get your creativity flowing this weekend. How you use the prompt is up to you. Write a piece of flash fiction, a poem, a chapter for your novel…anything you like. Or take the challenge below – there are no prizes – it’s not a competition but rather a fun writing exercise. If you want to share what you come up with, please leave a link to it in the comments at Sammi’s #WWP.
Today, Grace at dVerse asks us to “Meet the Bar” with regards to setting. So I began with that age old phrase, “once upon a time” and discovered that it seemed to be a setting unto itself, one that the speaker and the listener partake of evocatively, symbiotically. Or so I indulge myself in believing.
Once, the old woman/man/animal/tree/rock began, in the ages when spring set in for a millennium water gushed from every nook and cranny of underground wells and the vaulted heavens opened she/he/it paused there was an orchard where a blind child played the rains dancing like fingertips, skimming her face leaving braille-like tales of love and longing the old woman/man/animal/tree/rock sighed, upon the upturned eyes that could not see, the nose, the chin the water savoring their quill-like strokes the papyrus face now a harbinger of things to come so that the blank eyes took on diamond sharpness – here a tear fell, or was it a leaf, or a stir of dust – her breath like the sifting wind among the chaff her words a beat out of time so that the foolish laughed but the earth claimed her as a shepherd’s star one still night in the ages when spring set in for a time.
Is it possible from this rank earth for such flowers to grow? Yet here they are, positing their glory for the world to see A speculative assumption uncertain of its predication That out of this sodden ground, mulched by weather The boggy stink of which permeates the air Blooms would appear from unseen dimensions To cluster in diamond silk, emitting starry transactions Their thrusting ebullience beyond science, even wonder Simple testimony of leaf, stalk and flower, to primum movens* Of power ingrained elementally to be, just be And being, yearn hungrily for the Light that clothes it.
*primum movens (Latin): Aristotelian term for the “unmoved mover”
Flower of the Day, for Cee Neuner's FOTD, January 21, 2021 Writing prompt: Paula Light's Thursday Inspo 92 theme "flowers"
Holding tightly to her mother’s hand, the little girl looked upon the figure in the casket. “Did Appappan* really die preaching?” she whispered. Her mother nodded. “He always said he would.” Behind them hundreds had gathered to pay their respects. Later, the girl sat in her granddad’s study, thumbing through his notes, tracing the leather cracks on his Bible. A favorite hymn bubbled up from within her. She started to sing, feeling as if a choir of angels were joining her. That night she announced, “I want to die singing, Mummy, like Appappan died preaching!” Many years later, she did.
Time rebounds in dabs of paint Watery sun soaks through space Sensations blur Colors seep Diminishing lines Reflections slur Your hands, your face Gaze untendered Unbristled, still A warm attention Encompassing all Formidable will Probing memory Dark sublime Time rebounds in dabs of paint.
When I left her yesterday the black was in her hair the gold was in her eyes and she spoke of fathers and unmourned sons but now she freezes the air like a stray from bygone forests and primordial paths looking at me like a traveler she’d warned before of hazardous roads and one in particular where red foxes appear to startle the unwary from perilous paths and slipping slopes of memory but for the shibboleth: Mother? You’re safe.
I somehow missed posting on this prompt from Sarah of dVerse who chose quotes from a book for us to use as poem titles.
"She said if a red fox had crossed somewhere, that area was safe" was the one I chose.
Click on Mr. Linky for more.
Image credit: https://www.pexels.com/photo/mother-and-daughter-on-grass-1683975/
What can I say? The creative juices, they were a’flowin! So depending on whether you like verse or story or naught, read either or neither, with many thanks to our Friday Fictioneer hostess, Rochelle, who has kept us as a band of brothers and sisters in service to the muse the outgoing year through. Happy New Year and blessings to all! ❤️