Catching Up with WordCrafters Prompts!

WORD*CRAFTER*PROMPT

~Comparison & Contrast

Write about anything that strikes your fancy. It could be "Hot & Cold", "Beauty & Ugly", "Night & Day", or "Heaven & Hell" for a few examples. If this leaves you feeling empty inside, then you could let the image below fulfill your writing purpose....he he he see what I did there!!

“The Soul of a Mustang” by Victoria Ivanova

Nonsense

Ring a contrast where the shadows fall

Only light will show them tall,

The spirits dim behind them.

Jockey bright and horse in marble

Run a race along the wall

Only the sun will drive them.

WORD*CRAFTER*PROMPT

~Birth: It can be the birht of a child, or birth of a thought, or a birth of anything that hits your muse. If you are not hip on that then here is an image as well (photo by Tom Chambers & the last image posted at Magpie Tales).

Glass Flower by Tom Chambers

We fed the Wild on blown glass chips in our good soup bowl,

Frozen tears of melted sand, a beach that used to be,

Now ground, contemplative, into a delicacy.

We daren't watch the magic feast, only wait and listen;

They eat with careful scrapes and clops, then stop.

Upon our woven tablecloth is not one sharp drop.

We fed the Wild on blow glass dreams

On flowers that didn't smell but seemed

And they left our minds licked clean

Where once had been a meadow green.

Comments

Once Upon a Future Past

Sharing with The Sunday Muse #204 . It's too far in the afternoon, I thought but evening ran behind me dragons, demons, and the sleeping world; afraid to turn, to wake me. Power needs its horror stories, its ghosts. It's too far in the afternoon, I thought but evening followed close; a fantasy of goodness, where the gold is always covering bones. Power needs its fairy tales, its witches. It's too far in the afternoon, I thought but evening treads my hem, like an army from the dragon's teeth and all the lies therein. -- Chrissa

On Bad Days

Sharing with The Sunday Muse #186 . Sorry. Probably best to skip this one. On bad days I argue with the void: it is empty; I call it full of nothing made pathological; therefore it obsesses to possess mass, to be something arguing with the universe but shouting in the mirror black as starlit backdrop, as stars that fall deeper and deeper into time until they drag everything into the void and are empty, wrung out of needing to have an argument and then we look at each other, deep in the black fallen forever of our gaze. I wasn't going to post this week. But that probably doesn't matter...because here is a post. This has been a weird week and, in the midst of much more important things, my NaNo project just [temporarily] self-destructed. There will be a return to that project and I'm already sharpening the knives for it. Just need to let a little off-topic anger abate so that everyone doesn't get flamethrowers and a crazy 80's soundtrack. AAAAAAAAEEEEEIIIIIIIIIII!...

Fearsome by Survival

Sharing today with T he Sunday Muse #189 , where Shay is hosting. Come and read and share a piece! On a web-white, wool-quiet morning I found the girl our stories gave us The one who survived She wore the meadow, carded and sewn Long since burned for field Still, she knew me Her stories named me fierce, feral She might have feared The one who devours Neither of us spoke, patient at morning Breath, warmth, silence Innocent of power We know the stories kill us both We know that we become Fearsome by survival Hello and welcome. It's 67 degrees outside this morning and a warm December weekend might seem like the kind of thing that would prevent me from following through on a plan to hibernate with a good book for the rest of the weekend...but it's the doomscrolling that's run down the charge on my phone that's preventing me from doing that. Also, I may have developed an intolerance to long stretches of quiet during the past year and a half. Anyway. Looking forward to r...

A Weed on The Curb

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