Friday Fictioneers – Imprisoned?

Every week, Rochelle Wisoff-Fields (thank you, Rochelle!) hosts a flash fiction challenge, to write a complete story, based on a photoprompt, with a beginning, middle and end, in 100 words or less. Post it on your blog, and include the Photoprompt and Inlinkz on your page. Link your story URL. Then the fun starts as you read other peoples’ stories and comment on them!

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PHOTO PROMPT © J HARDY CARROLL

Imprisoned?

Stirred by the early-morning chill in the air, Neil wandered to the far end of the garden. In the biodome, amaryllis flowers seared crimson in the winter sunshine.

“I don’t think I’ll work on my poetry today, Mother. I’ll walk to Grantchester, and have a pub lunch.”

“It’s cold, dear. You’ll have to wrap up warm. I’ll make you a cup of tea before you go.”

“Thank you, I’d enjoy that.”

Absent-mindedly, Neil wandered indoors, sat down at his desk and picked up his pen.

His mother’s care imprisoned him, but, like the biodome, sheltered him so he could bloom.

InLinkz – click here to join in!

Waking up in June

Although most of what I post on Autumn Leaves is my own, original work, just occasionally I read something exceptional and want to share it. This poem is by Karen Rawson, and in my opinion it’s outstanding. It will be one of my ‘go to’ poems if I need cheering up, because it’s just bursting with joy!

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PHOTO PROMPT © J Hardy Carroll

Waking up in June

Hey Koolaid, get your summer on
Morning dew, I don’t back down.
School’s out, summer!
Playground, dayground, butterfly garden
I can swing so high the chain goes slack
Squealing on the breath-catch dizzy-down.

Ready or not, here I come!
Barefoot and coppertoned, hear my rally:
I’ve got a pool pass, wanna see it?
Olly olly oxen free
Jarfull of night and firefly
I don’t see no streetlights;
I can stay out late ya know

Twenty-five cents buys a fresh box of crayons
Didja wanna know a secret?
Look inside:

I’ve got a million colors.

98 words

This has been an edition of Friday Fictioneers, hosted by the talented Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. This week’s photo courtesy J. Hardy Carroll. To read more stories inspired by the prompt, click here.

A tidbit for you….I am actually in this picture…

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My box

This Thursday’s guest poem is by Hope Owen-Gadd, my grand-daughter. It’s here because it’s the new poem that I’ve enjoyed most this week. Hope is 8 years old. I wish I could put such vivid images into my writing!

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I will put in my box
The ping of a drumstick hitting a super cymbal,
A jewel of fire forest from the darkest caves,
The wool from a new born baby lamb.

I will put in my box
The gentle twinkling of a fairy’s wonderous wand,
A mouth-watering cherry pie freshly baked,
A spark from a shooting star.

I will put in my box
A bubblegum tree and a cat with wings
A parrot teaching a class,
And a teacher in the rain forest.

My box is constructed from the fossils of ammonites,
Shells, and sand, and sapphires,
With a crystal flower on the lid and love in the corners.
Its hinges are the scales of fish.

I shall hike in my box
On snow-covered rocky mountains,
Then stare into the ice cold eyes of a yeti
And rid my heart of fear.

In the moment – Storm at Sea

Sailors in a storm have no choice other than to live in the moment. A brief lapse of attention brings disaster. Most of the time, we don’t need mindfulness to survive. But it is good to practise mindfulness in our daily life; it will always take us towards a place of emotional calm; and one day, when life’s difficulties batter us, it may make all the difference.

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The small boat flees before the wind

As the storm wrestles the ocean into a swell,

Throwing it through darkness across leagues.

Like a puma, a wave advances silently,

Gathers speed,

And flings itself with a roar upon its prey.

The sailors steer direct towards each wave,

Accept the fury and the peril,

Use the water’s strength to lift them clear.

The voice of the murderous surf deafens them.

It bellows of southern tempests where the ocean rears into cliffs

As solid and more perilous than a rock face.

It shouts of the calving of glaciers into the sea,

The surge of the sea when a million tons of ice plunge into it.

It whispers of Krakatoa, and breathes the name of Atlantis.

The small boat reaches harbour.

Behind the breakwater

Vessels great and small

Are safe.

In the moment – a favourite place

When we are ‘in the moment’, we do not worry about what happened in the past, nor dream about what we would like to happen in the future. Instead, we allow ourselves to cherish the experience as it happens. Being in the open air in a beautiful place can help. This poem describes sitting on Dartmoor in summer. Do you have a favourite place?

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The sun is hot on my hair and bare arms.

The granite on which I sit is cool,

Hard, rough and smooth, round and edged.

The turf smells of tea, stewed in the pot.

The sheep smell sharp.

They tear noisily at the grass,

While the song of the skylark is ever fainter and sweeter

As it climbs beyond hearing.

 

 

This moment is perfect

I wrote this poem when I was reminded by fellow blogger Aayush that a moment, once experienced, cannot be changed. It is in that sense, timeless. We can, if we choose, see it as giving some purpose and significance to our own experience. It made a good starting point for a poem about the love I have been privileged to share in my life.

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As we cling to each other in the darkness

I feel with your body and you with mine.

This moment is perfect.

There are no regrets, no hopes, no strivings.

We have accomplished a small part

Of the purpose of the cosmos.

 

We planned a route; we hoped;

And yet we stumbled here by chance.

The stars will splinter and part us,

Confining this perfection we have wrought

To this one instant.

I feel with your body, and you with mine.

This moment is perfect.