Forging ahead with fictional endeavours: ~ Write a life on a page and hurry not to its grave; abhor not the coming age, for eternal is the next page. ~ Read what you will, I hope you will enjoy reading as much as I do writing.

Posts tagged ‘Art’

Poetry

Rush ahead, pride unyielding,

into darkness unforgiving

stumbling , reeling

path unseen

unknown.

 

Walls rough, winding.

Wide. Narrow. Wide.

Collapsing. Confining.

 

Dust, debris, decay.

Hubris,

peels, strips,

falls away.

Fear overwhelming.

 

Deepest fear,

darkest light.

Flicker hope

burning bright.

Humbled.

 

Aids sole price:

Supplication.

 

So I’ve had this sitting in a notebook for a little while. It’s been rewritten a few times. I’m still feeling that it could be improved.  But I’ve gotten to the point where I’m just adding instead of improving.

In other news I’m starting a placement for Social Work.  My father’s response: It would be better if they were paying you.  I had to hold back a palm face right there. I’m marked on the placement. I get credits towards my degree AND work experience in my new career area.  So What if I’m living on benefits – having a full-time job guarantee when out the window with brain surgery.  I’ll be lucky if i can manage 6 hours a day 5 days a week for 18 weeks. Let alone take on a full-time job.

 

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Trickster: Friday Fictioneers

Little bit of Flash Fiction inspired by photo promt provided by Rochelle for Friday Fictioneers. For other Friday Fictioneers fics please head over to her blog and click on the blue frog under photo prompt to see other links. I was going to try and embed the code here but I’m too tired to remember my account details without resetting them.

 

Time.

Chime. Chime. Chime.

Engines spark; sputters, rumbles, and roars.

Stately procession purrs along tarmac.

Dusty relics? Vintage? Classics?

Terms don’t matter to onlookers; admiring invention, progress and change.

Unwittingly worshipping time.

At the head of the procession – Chronos: slurping in belief.

Wily Bastard – Surviving the fall of the pantheons.

Should have known the Old Man had a trick up his sleeves.

Loki smirked. It had been soo very long since he had greeted another god. How could he not say ‘Hello?’

The Trickster dealt wild cards, the pranksters in the parade.

Loki skipped, chaos where he tread.

Look: Poetry!

Change

Dash through the tempest

Ride the hurricane

Life entwined with chaos

Order down the drain

 

Chancing Fate

Born to Prophecy.

Brushed by Fates.

Burdened, Blinkered,

Bridling Destiny.

Birthing chance.

Blood boiling.

Battle rage.

Fate and Chance

Flirtatious smirks.

Snatching, Clawing,

Stretching, snapping.

Shredding golden threads.

Freedom,

Choices,

Time.

Chance and Fate,

Turn a page.

Tussle? Tango?

Only they know.

 

 

I’m on school holidays!!!! Wooo!  As of the 25th I submitted my last assessment piece for summer ‘se’mester. On the 29th I start ‘se’mester 1 for 2016.  No real break and they really should give up and call them trimesters.  I haven’t posted anything creative this year, so this is me blowing of steam and killing a second bird with the same stone.  I wonder what these two little pieces of poetry same about my state of mind at them moment. 😀

Off to either write or too start scheduling releases of old news articles. Dunno which yet! 🙂

Pet Project

charlie4

Coat from the back.

Now for something a little less fiction and a little more crafty – a handmade Dog Coat from re-used materials.  Charlie was so well behaved during the production of this even though she was afraid on the material.  She also did not know how to take me measuring her.  Poor dog.  Made me feel as though I was picking on her. 🙂

It has been a busy few weeks for me so I decided to switch to a slightly less headache-y project to give my brain a break.  I designed, and fashioned this little coat from an old mattress protector.  Just had to figure out how to operate the sewing machine. No Problem.  Not like I’ve used one recently or anything.

The finished project is a bit rough and only looks good at a distance but should keep her warm at night. The old girl used to sleep in the garage but because she kept waking us up at 3 in the morning needing a toilet break we started leaving the garage door open. So, of course, she must now sleep upstairs on the exposed porch.

I think I’m going to start doing more sewing projects.  It has helped my head relax from all the reading I’ve had to do since uni started last week. I also had the local RSPCA Adoption phone, so a stress relief device was needed.  I’ll save my writing for when I need to get my brain in gear for study. 🙂

The white rose

Another trip into a morbid mind. But when I saw this photo prompt provided by Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers (original source of image is Pixibay.com) I couldn’t get past all the… red!

redgown

Graceful twirls caught the eye; leaping, pirouetting across the ice. Sweet fragrances further to further entice. Ruby leotard, coral blush, and a sweet conceit of tone to bring trophies home.

Upon her doorstep a scarlet Rose.

Sweet scent, finger prick.

Coppery taste of blood.

Unwary.

Taken into the dark.

Amongst Geraniums, Cardinals, in still repose.

Raven hair,

crimson lips,

sanguine streaks on pale…

lifeless…

skin…

Upon the glass the Dark Prince bestows

a single white Rose.

A bit a poetry.

Riples meet; coverge.
Tides turn,
Seasons shift,
Dawn greets dusk.

Spider’s web of paths,
Trecherous,
Uncertain.

Of certainties
Change,
Need,
Pain,
And death
are but a few.

Precious commidies
Love,
Trust,
Courage,
Faith,
Perserverance,
And Happiness,
Must be take by the Hand.

Live now,
Yesterday’s etheral prescence whispers
Tomorrow may be a broken promise.

Inspiration mechanics

fishyA fish

A deep sea mission
A leviathan
A sapient species born of water
A coral sea expedition
A reef exploration
A thriller with piranhas

But sometimes
A fish is a fish.

It’s been a quiet few weeks from me, I know.  Usually it’s 5-8 posts a week based on various prompts I’ve seen but I’ve felt somewhat uninspired lately.  I took that feeling a produced a poem.  Where there’s a will there’s a way.  I think it’s time to cut back on postage so I don’t burn myself out this way.

Watching

cat

So much for a day off!  It somehow evolved into a week. Anyway, this one is for Visdare; I think it shows that a week only made me a little rusty.  I’m going to have to think about getting a posting schedule going – with post scheduled in advanced so I can take weeks off but keep this thing active.

“Is the cave safe?” The woman asked as she shushed her child; her spear aimed into the dark opening. Their leader nudged the pile of bones with his leather boot.

“Old scat and aged bones. Cave smells of dirt. Safe enough for the night.” The tribes-people nodded, and made camp; weary and starved from the winter trek south. Soon enough she perched by a small fire watching their meagre hunt roast while the others searched for more in the cold-stripped landscape. The nomads remained unaware of the ancient being watching from the dark. Only the mother felt the prickling of her neck, stealing suspicious glances into the cave. When she spotted the eyes reflecting firelight an unspoken agreement was forged: Safety for the child.

Vanish: Get’s out even pride.

tie

This one inspired by the photo prompt from Picture It and Write.  I was trying a completely different character from usual – self-absorbed, narcissist with a fixation on clothes I could never comprehend.  Not sure how well I’ve done. It’s weird what fundamentals you find are basic to your own character while writing others.

Conway liked clothes. The sensation of fabrics, the fit of perfectly tailored outfits; the enhancement of his image through careful selection. Conway had a look for every occasion and for each a selection of fashionable attire. Today he wore a suit that reflected the themes of his sister’s, Candice, nuptials. Conway straightened his tie examining a job well done; given the dull attire he was forced to work with. He fancied himself the perfect Venus fly trap; Candice’s wedding wouldn’t be too boring. Then his older sister, Constance, messaged him.

Constance: Ex bailed. Need u 2 watch kids 4 ceremony.

Conway: No. Get mum 2.

Constance: u r only 1 not in ceremony. B gud uncle 4 once!

Conway: Not gud with kids.

Constance: keep them aliv + out of trouble

Conway’s personal hell broke loose the moment he entered the church. Co-opted into childrearing, he was at a loss to deal with a devious three year old while a baby left drool and spit-up over everything in range. By the end of the evening he ended up covered in conspicuous and offensive stains that not even the most skill dry-cleaner could remove.

Ordinary ties

ordinary

A short poem for Visdare.

One little elephant

Ran while his clan

Died.

Instinct sought safety,

New home,

And family ties.

Rare human kindness.

Years without fear.

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