after Kate Tempest
I’ve been looking at humanity
drowning in its vanity
trying to make a future
from diminishing capacity
sapping its vitality.
See it, take it, then come back
give it to the rich, leaving nothing
for the poor.
Yes, we’ve heard it all before.
Below the worn wooden stairs in a cupboard
Lays my past love, torn, alone and rotting.
Against a peeling wall, painted unloved eyes,
Deliver only stories of mould and childhood lies.
He sits forlorn in this broken home.
Below the worn wooden stairs in a cupboard,
Some of us were privileged enough to attend our leaders, Kevin Murphy’s, recent birthday bash, and what a lovely do it was too! (Excuse me if I just take a moment to thank Kevin’s wife, Diane, for providing us with such a scrumptious spread, it was amazing!) The event inspired this week’s prompt of
Of course, your piece doesn’t have to be about a birthday party, it can be about any ol’ sort, and I have to say I amazed myself with the number of options I came up with when I started thinking about it: Hen/stag parties; Christmas parties (office or otherwise!); party lines (I’m very old – I remember these!); partition walls; political parties (ooh very topical); oh and of course, shooting parties (just sayin’)! There are loads more too – who knew that ‘party’ was such a versatile word, and think of all the different settings you can give them.
As always it can be prose, poetry, flash fiction – anything you like.
Well, I’m off now to start writing, hope you do the same…. we’ll look forward to reading your work.
Every scar has a story.
Some scars are disfiguring, some may be unobtrusive, and some may be
hidden, but they all tell a story. There
are those scars that are perceived to enhance the wearer, but that is usually
because those observing them want to know the story.
Anyone who knows me will know that I have a scar that runs for about 3 inches down the left side of my face from the top of my cheekbone towards the corner of my mouth. My friends have often speculated about how I came to get this facial feature, but I have never told them the true story. My late wife knew the truth as she was there when I got it,
It’s half past nine on a Sunday morning.
Sitting on the steps beneath The Old
Market Cross, I’m waiting for you.
Little platoons of cars advance onto the
Pay and Display, squatting on the bleached
tarmac that was once a busy market square.
Here in Retford the rain this week has been pretty biblical with lots of flooding creating havoc locally. So this week, it seems appropriate to go with the prompt of
Use it any way you like – the obvious; flooded roads and fields, floods of tears, or the not so obvious; outpouring of words; flooded with relief… that sort of thing. I’m sure you can think up a few original and fun ways to use it! We look forward to reading your ideas.
Posted in Prompts
- Tagged Creative non-fiction, Creative writing, flood, flooding, poem, Poetry, prompt, retford writers group, short story, trigger, writing
May I tell you God, what happened to me?
For I swear, it is the truth,
about some of your followers,
who to me were so, uncouth.
Whilst sitting beside a gravestone,
rolling a cigarette,
I decided to talk, with you my Lord,
a day I won’t forget.
Relaxing there, outside the church,
one had the urge, to go inside,
in order to make my peace with you,
yes, just in case I died.
Now I’ve never been, a religious man,
it never was my need,
each day I’ve lived, hand to mouth,
you see, I have no time for greed. Continue reading