Letting it go . . .
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You are worthy of your own love . . .
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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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What would YOU do?
You’re standing in line at the 7-11, there are three people in front of you. The woman at the register is making a purchase, behind her, a little girl and her mother.
The little girl has a hot cocoa in one hand and a package of gummy worms in the other – she sneezes. The projectile 
lands directly on the booty of the woman in front of her.
Mom’s face turns a bright shade of red. She is clearly conflicted . . .
What does she do? What should she do?
Casually reach out a remove the boogie? Say, “Pardon me, Ma’am, but there is a booger on your butt? Accidentally bump into her backside and hope the snotty nose waste falls off?
Clearly momma was mortified and hadn’t a clue what to do. What she did, was take her daughters hand and say, “I think I’ll get a cocoa too.” And retreated to the other side of the store, leaving me to deal with the tail end of her dilemma.
What did I do? I told the woman she had a booger on her butt. Her face turned a bright shade of red and she looked at me like I was crazy.
I made it clear the already drying nose missle wasn’t mine and threw the kid and her creator under the snot train.
I’m curious, what would you have done?
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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 11) Playing With Words
DAY 11
Prompt ~ Playing With Words
* * *
For day 11, I chose the alternative prompt, playing with words. It offered me the opportunity to play with one of my favorite writing apps, WordPalette. I suppose it’s much like magnetic poetry, you have words to choose from, to do with them as you please, and sometimes it turns out pretty cool, other times, not so much.
This one is a little in-between, but it says something.
Shadows and light,
superimposed humanity.
Ghosts of the past,
no longer living,
not completely dead,
their voices scattered,
fractured, waiting to be heard.
Memories and madness
trapped beyond the veil,
interrupted existence,
desperate with regret,
seeking to save souls,
looking down upon the living,
they see walking dead.
If they would hear,
if they would listen,
it might not be too late,
they are drowning
in their own noise
in the cacophony
they create,
trapped inside a bubble
they’re not willing to break.
The dead now know,
know too well,
too late,
they see the living
scream without being heard,
shouting to the deaf,
meaningless sounds,
the protests, the discord,
the right and the wrong,
nothing more than a soundtrack
to fill voids the noise can never fill.
If only they would
welcome silence,
they would hear
the echoes of the past
pleading from the nothingness
of what awaits
the beating hearts below,
listen to us,
hear our plea,
find a way to peace,
find a different way to be.
The day is coming,
the winds of change
are raging,
and soon the rains will fall,
hang on tightly to each other,
your differences won’t matter
when the waves come crashing down,
and they’ll come crashing down on all.
Previous Challenge Posts ~
#OctPoWriMo 2017
Day 1 – How Did You Get here?
Day 2 – We Write Because We Must
Day 3 – Cherita Poem – Metal
Day 4 – Where Does Poetry Hide?
Day 5 – Bête Noire – Now I Understand
Day 6 – Don’t Forget to Breathe
Day 7 – The Lines We Cannot See
Day 8 – What do you know, and how do you know it?
Day 9 – Twisted Wonderland
Day 10 – Choose Them With Care
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#OctPoWriMo (day 10) Choose Them With Care
DAY 10
Prompt ~ Power
The Power of Words
Day 10 has been a blur . . . I’d much to do, and much I did. I cleaned, I wrote, I shopped, I wrote a little more, but not a poem, so I traveled back in time, to not too long ago, and picked a poem about power from the archives.
Words wield an awesome power – choose them with care.
“Sticks and stones may break my bones,
but words can never hurt me.”
Oh, my precious soul,
but they can
and they do.
Words cut.
Words sting.
They echo
in hearts and minds.
Those sticks and stones
may bruise you, yes,
but bruises fade.
Scars of the flesh can heal.
Broken bones renew.
Words though,
sharp enough to etch
a mark upon the heart
fester and grow,
inflicting pain
long after
they are spoken.
Words become weapons
when wielded
without care.
But hope, too,
resides within them.
Words can heal,
mend what others
have broken.
Used as a shield, deflecting
spoken daggers aimed
at the heart.
Words, the right words,
can fell foes
and lift the fallen.
Choose them, precious soul,
choose them with
thoughtful intention.
Command them
with honor,
respect the power
they hold
and you will
find strength
within them.
Choose them wisely,
precious soul,
and use them
for your good . . .
CrC
Previous Challenge Posts ~
The Qwiet Muse 