Experimenting With Creative Writing
I sat beside a charming stream,
On the trunk of a fallen tree.
A perfect place to peacefully
Reconsider my latest dream.
I admired the water gleam,
Watching courageous ripples ride,
Toward the rocks, and then collide,
Meandering around the bends.
It taught me changes are not ends,
So I can drift, no need to glide.
In response to Ronovan Writes Décima Poetry Challenge Prompt No. 7 found here
Stars glow with pride.
Radiating dots of brilliance
Across the acrylic sky.
Like splatters of white gloss
On a matt black surface.
I seek to discover patterns,
Telling tales of fortune.
We lie beneath the galaxy,
And pray the lights
Guide us to a convincing fantasy.
Image credit: pixabay.com
Inspired by Molly White’s response to the prompt: Constellation found here
When I consider my dream career,
I sink into a huge black hole.
My ideas are as abundant as saffron.
I find no certainty in my soul.
I lack the bravery of a lion heart,
I can’t do public speaking.
I’ll never have a saxophone solo,
As I’m not attention seeking.
All I know is I want to feel valued,
Like the elephant’s ivory.
I will set myself a goal:
By spring, I’ll know who I want to be.
In response to the Paint Chip Poetry Prompt #22 found here
Every morning, Eleanor would ride the bus to the beach. Something about the narrow aisle, uncomfortable chairs, and window seat would act as a social catalyst.
She would always use the journey as an opportunity to make connections with the other passengers. She would delve into their past, ask them questions about who they are, and where their ambitions would take them. She would always remember to ask for their birthday.
When she arrived at the beach, she would scribble everything down, under the headings of star signs. She would try to find matches, and make links… Where there weren’t any.
It took years to gather enough information to realise that everyone is unique, and all those years of chasing after her own horoscope had only led to loneliness.
Eleanor did not dwell on this for too long. Instead, she developed a whole new system to match people, and by the end of the week, she had set up her own dating site. She could make some strong conclusions about lifestyle choices, complimenting personality traits, and love.
Her most successful match was her own. Eleanor managed to find her own love story within the pages of her website. As soon as he appeared on the list, she knew their paths would cross and connect.
When things are not going to plan, be flexible. Adapt.
Her hands tremble as she traces the spiralling ridges of my fingertips with her delicate fingers. I try to catch her eye but she is avoidant. I pull my hand away and she stares into the space where my palm had been.
“What is it?” I ask, hesitantly.
She gathers herself together, wiping her hands on her robes. She clears her throat, but continues to avoid my gaze.
It then became imminently clear that my palms did not narrate tales of good fortune. No, that look was unequivocal. Only tragedy; a succession of disappointing events lay ahead, steeped in loss, fear, and grief.
It was too late to consider whether there is any truth hidden behind the creases on your hands. Continuing to walk the same paths with the same attitude became a risk. It was from this day that I carried gratitude with me wherever I went.
Gratitude reminds me that beneath the pressure of life lives a dormant element of peace. She had failed to find resilience at my fingertips.
An old post, rejigged for MindLoveMisery’s Fortune Teller Prompt found here
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