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Unfolding . . .
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Bleeding Ink . . .
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Living Poetry
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Making Amends . . .
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Twisted Wonderland – Alternate Ending For Dear Alice
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Carrot Ranch Flash Fiction Challenge – The Chair on the Porch
When the autumn winds blew, the old rocking chair came to life and creaked a ghostly sound, familiar and comforting.
Through the window she watched the weathered wooden armrest gently come into view and disappear again, like the ebb and flow of her memories.
When she closed her eyes, she’d imagine him sitting there with the Sunday paper on his lap, rocking to the rhythm of her beating heart.
She tolerated the still, summer days knowing the season would soon enough change and the winds would come, bringing with them, her fading memory of him.
Flash Fiction Challenge – Carrot Ranch Literary Community – 99 words, no more, no less.
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#OctPoWriMo (day 12) Beneath the Poet Tree
DAY 12
Prompt ~ Imagination Stands in the Road
My current WIP has moved into the drivers seat, and as I am just a passenger on this journey paved in ink, I must follow where it leads. So, again, I’m resurrecting old words that once stopped to play with me.
Not long ago, I typed poetry to a page, I’m not certain where my mistake was made, but it was auto corrected to poet tree. My original intent was lost, and something new began to bloom, the tale of The Poet Tree was born.
I’ll tell you
a tale
once shared
with me,
of a magical place
and the
Poet Tree,
where muses
dance in the
gentle breeze,
and butterflies fly
with gossamer wings.
It’s been told
a word
was planted,
and a tree began
to grow,
the trunk rose
high above,
the roots reached
far below.
Her branches lifted
toward the sky,
upon each leaf
a poem
was writ,
she shaded
wandering scribes,
who chose
that place
to sit.
Some say
the tree
called out,
to those it felt
would hear,
they sensed a
gentle pull
when they
dared to
venture near.
They say
the leaves
would whisper,
in softly spoken
rhyme,
with pure and
perfect recitation,
line by
lovely line.
They felt a
temperate presence,
like a ghost
from days
of old,
weaving words
around them,
so the story has
been told.
With unseen
inspiration,
their words
began to spill,
filling full
their parchment,
emptying
their quills.
Oh, how I long
to hear,
her softly
whispered plea,
to take
my place
and rest
and write
beneath the
Poet Tree.
With pen
in hand
and heart
agleam,
I’d script
the hopes
and thoughts
inside me.
Words would waltz
and words
would breathe,
her words
would sing,
they’d sing
to me.
And I
would
slumber
neath her branches,
and dream
a paper dream
© 2017 Crystal R. Cook
Previous Challenge Posts ~
Day 10 – Choose Them With Care
Day 11 – Playing With Words
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#OctPoWriMo (day 9 of 31) Twisted Wonderland
DAY 9
~ Alternative Prompt ~
Pull a book off your shelf and randomly open it up to any page. The first word or sentence you land on, write from there.
I chose Alice by Christina Henry.
~ Page 57 ~
“We have to go, Alice.”
Cheshire Cat is angry,
the caterpillar’s dead,
the flowers lost their voices,
and it seems you’ve lost your head.
The mushroom’s all been eaten,
the drink has been all drunk,
the rabbit hole is closing,
and time . . . time is almost up.
Tick, tock, tock, tick,
don’t jump over the candlestick,
poor rabbit already burned,
oh, it’s a nasty little trick.
Now, my dear, it’s time for tea,
beside the Hatter’s grave,
Dormouse is expecting us,
you know he hates to wait.
He might just dig him up (again)
he can’t stand to drink alone,
surely you don’t want to sit (again)
beside poor Hatter’s bones.
Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum,
have made some walrus stew,
we must hurry along, or we’ll be late,
and I’ll be blaming you.
I’ve been meaning to ask,
but keep remembering to forget,
where was it you were going,
when you and I first met?
No matter now, of course,
you’ll never find your way.
Ah, but it’s been fun,
too bad you couldn’t stay.
Just think of all you’ve done,
since curiosity killed your cat,
Did you get a taste for blood?
Is that why you came back?
Was it to pet the Jabberwocky?
Did you mean to set him free?
Now he’s loose, you silly goose,
he’s been feeding on the queen.
Were you expecting someone?
There’s a knocking all about.
Never mind, it’s only me,
come again to get you out.
Hello? It’s me, It’s Alice,
I’ve come to fetch myself again.
I know I must be in there,
though I’m not certain where I’ve been.
Time is of the essence,
the hourglass, it’s almost out of sand,
and me and Alice, as you know,
belong in Wonderland.
Again, my dear, the answer’s no,
she can’t come out to play,
not today and not the morrow,
. . . she’s still locked away.
Previous Challenge Posts ~
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#OctPoWriMo (Day 4 of 31) Where Does Poetry Hide?
DAY 4
(it’s day 8, I caught up, then fell behind, still writing)
Prompt – Where Does Poetry Hide in Your life?
Poetry is everywhere
* * *
It flows round me and within me, it’s in the air I breathe,
it’s in the shadows that I cast, and in my midnight dreams.
It’s in the tears I won’t let fall, and in the ones I have to weep,
it’s in the honest truths, I do not dare to speak.
It’s hiding in my weakness, it roars within my strength,
it’s in my greatest victories, and in my worst defeats.
It’s in my every heartbeat, it’s where my love resides,
it’s in battles I must fight, it’s where my doubt and faith collide.
It’s there when I lose hope, and when my hope’s renewed,
it tiptoes through my nightmares, it’s in my dreams come true.
It’s in my day to day, my yesterdays and tomorrows,
it’s in my pleasure and my pain, in my happiness and my sorrow.
It’s in my stops and starts, and in the breaking of my heart,
it’s with the thing I sometimes fear, may be hiding in the dark.
It’s part of all my ins and outs, and all my in-betweens,
it’s in everything I imagine, it’s in everything I’ve seen.
It’s in words which I have spoken, and those I’ve left unsaid,
it walks among the living, it whispers with the dead.
It lies beside the monsters, underneath my bed,
it’s everywhere I go, and it’s where I dare not tread.
It’s in what I’ve whispered, it’s in what I’ve spoke,
it’s in promises I’ve kept, and promises I’ve broke.
It’s in everything I do, in everything that shapes me,
it’s in the fabric I am made of, it’s in the things that break me.
It’s in what I’ve hidden, it’s in what I’ve found,
that’s where my poetry hides, that’s where my poetry abounds . . .
~ Previous Challenge Posts ~
#OctPoWriMo 2017
Day 1 – How Did You Get here?
Day 2 – We Write Because We Must
Day 3 – Cherita Poem – Metal
The Qwiet Muse 