We

We – me the puppet and you the string.

Whose tune are we dancing to?

Whose failures are we rectifying?

Whose success are we recreating?

Whose dreams are we carrying?

Whose ideology are we fighting for?

Whose wishes are we fulfilling?

Whose prejudice are we guarding?

Whose life are we trying to live?

 

When this act is over

and we are stored safely in a box

Who will take the stage and tell our story?

Of you and me – We.

We – me the puppet and you the string.

— end —

 

 

This 87 word poem/prose  was written for the 100 word photo challenge. More details about this challenge can be found at: https://rochellewisofffields.wordpress.com/2016/06/15/17-june-2016/

PHOTO PROMPT ©Copyright -John Nixon

Click on the Froggy below for other amazing takes on the same prompt by fellow “Friday Fictioneers.”

Amorphous Anchors

Like the slap of waves on rocky shores, grief never stops it’s assault.  Like a phantom limb  sensed by habit-worn nerves, grief senses the departed.

“I can feel Dad’s presence”, “Mom’s looking down”…we soothe ourselves. But some days we know it’s a lie  and  a sense of irrevocable loss opens up …a vacuum.

In that vacuum rushes in that formless, colourless, odourless thing  – called love or it’s sad synonym grief- for if there was no love would there be grief?  The heart moves on …like the slap of waves on a rocky shore.

 

salt and water

anchoring life

to earth

— end —

This 100 word Haibun – a prose and poetry combination –  was written for the 100 word photo challenge. More details about this challenge can be found at:  https://rochellewisofffields.wordpress.com/2016/05/25/27-may-2016/

PHOTO PROMPT © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

Click on the Froggy below for other amazing takes on the same prompt by fellow “Friday Fictioneers.”

Through Darkness…

 

 

earthworms tunnel- through

darkness -salt diamonds shimmer

wind ripples through light

Alternate ending line:

earthworms tunnel- through

darkness -salt diamonds shimmer

wind’s touch ,light’s ripples

 

—end—

Which ending do you like?

This 17 syllable Haiku  was written for the 100 word photo challenge. More details about this challenge can be found at:

https://rochellewisofffields.wordpress.com/2016/05/04/6-may-2016/

PHOTO PROMPT © CEAYR

Click on the Froggy below for other amazing takes on the same prompt by fellow “Friday Fictioneers.”

Too late

The distant clouds promise, “I’ll soon be there”.

But I need them now to form a tear.

Like a heart contrite,

too late to set things right.

I know it will pour…

like an ocean with no shore.

But I need them now to form a tear.

For there is no time, I fear.

 

—end—

This less than 60 word poem  was written in response to a 100 word photo-prompt based challenge conducted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. Picture courtesy of Erin Leary : PHOTO PROMPT © Erin Leary

Click the froggy below for other amazing takes on the same prompt by fellow Friday Fictioneers.

What if?

 

What will happen if that cloud,

shaped like that woman there ,never speaking loud,

decides to just take it -all the pain?…

decides to never lash back on a windowpane?

 

What will happen if that cloud,

shaped like that woman there, well-endowed,

decides to turn into a nest for birds?..

decides to turn into a pup, whose gender is a curse word?

 

What will happen if that cloud,

shaped like that woman there ,head bowed,

decides to forgo all it’s power?…

decides to hold on to it’s laden darkness forever?

 

— end —

Author’s note: Sometimes when I stand over the kitchen sink for the millionth time, I wonder about ,” what will happen if the clouds….”

Other times I wonder:

What will happen if I

decide to not do the dishes?  🙂

—

The definition of well-endowed in this context is: having a lot of something that people admire or want like intelligence.

—

This less than 100 word poem  was written in response to a 100 word photo challenge  posted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields each week. PHOTO PROMPT ©  Rochelle Wisoff-Fields.

Click on the ‘blue frog’  below to read other amazing takes on the same photo prompt:

 

Memory lane

Searching through the narrow tunnels of gray

a memory arises, like a sliver of light piercing fog,

pushing aside the dark and dank:

gentle breezes,hair on tip-toe

deluge of drizzles, dizzily moist

fragrant earth, musky breath

flutter of butterflies, buttery fingers

velvety moss, finger-tip sparklers

benevolent sunshine, lukewarm inferno

Ah! the might of a stolen kiss!

—– end —-

This picture at first sight took me to a dark place but the light at the end of the tunnel led me  to the beginning of a tunnel: a hallway in my college, not very different from the picture in that it was long -dark-dank. At the end of that hallway ,during break, stood my boyfriend waiting for me, in front of the principals office…the best place to meet without generating  gossip.

I struggled to recreate that romantic moment in words..maybe because we wanted to steal kisses but actually didn’t …or maybe because the moment belongs to a different lifetime…or maybe it was a dream and this boyfriend was just a figment of my imagination.

My boyfriend and I lost touch on the day of my marriage…one minute he was there looking deep into my eyes, the next he was lost in the crowd. I have never seen him since…I suspect my husband is holding him captive in a dark underground tunnel..

I dedicate this poem to my one and only boyfriend on the occasion of his recent birthday.

——————–

This 56 word poem is written in response to the 100 word photo challenge  posted by Rochelle Wisoff-Field each week.

Click on the ‘blue frog’  below to read other amazing takes, that fellow Friday Fictioneers have, on the same photo prompt:

Visitors

© 2015, Barbara W. Beacham

The only residents remaining in the small town of Miners Hill are spirits.

The rest, all visitors ,blow in and out , not knowing their merits,

Like dry leaves drawing the wind’s signature,

they let greed be their ligature,

binding earth to their trash,

crying when one amongst them turns to ash.

The rest, all visitors , of no substance -just glitz, forgets

that the only residents remaining in the small town of Miners Hill are spirits.

————————————————————————————————————————-

The above poem was in response to ‘Monday’s finish the story’ flash fiction challenge. This unique flash fiction challenge  provides  a new photo each week, and the first sentence of a story. The challenge is to finish the story using 100-150 words, not including the sentence provided. Details are available in this link:

Mondays Finish the Story – May 25th, 2015

That’s an order!

The crew of the Angel Flame received orders to head out. Their captain gathered them and said:

There will be times when you feel

like a tiger swimming with sharks- way out of your element,

desperately wanting to come up for air – a torment.

There will be times when you have to

dive in and let yourself sink -into oblivion,

live beneath the surface, barely breathing- a mere pawn.

There will be times when your

screams don’t reach your ears – muffled by layers that cushions you,

weighed down by unreasonable demands – more than a few.

There will be times when you

won’t know which way is up – an unfathomable darkness,

 searching for light – tethered to an invisible  harness.

There will be times when you want to

paint the ocean pink –   fighting all the blues,

try to find your feet then and put on what life gave you -a perfect pair of shoes.

 

—————————————————————————————————————————–

The above story/poem was in response to ‘Monday’s finish the story’ flash fiction challenge. This unique flash fiction challenge  provides  a new photo each week, and the first sentence of a story. The challenge is to finish the story using 100-150 words, not including the sentence provided. Details are available in this link:

Mondays Finish the Story – May 18th, 2015

Word count: 141 excluding sentence provided and title.

Inside out! – A Poem

“I am a woman struggling to look younger”, all her muscles screamed.

“You are a girl struggling to be wiser”, she sagely whispered.

“I am a woman struggling to be full of care”, all her wrinkles mimed.

“You are a girl struggling to always dare”, she chimed.

“I am a woman struggling to uphold tradition”,  her posture dictated.

“You are a girl struggling to break convention”, she shrugged defiantly.

“I am a woman struggling to be a realist”, all her words reasoned.

“You are a girl struggling to remain an idealist”, she reminded firmly.

“I am a woman struggling to be a good mother”,  her actions blared.

“You are a girl struggling not to bother”, she nonchalantly whistled.

“I’m a but a shell “,  her mantle rattled.

“You are swell”, she smiled for that’s what mattered.

She turned away from her and skipped towards the stairs.

“Watch you step”, she told her self.

Photo courtesy: demotivation.us

The drop

I existed. Why? What am I part of?  I never knew.

I looked around me.

We all existed. Why? What are we part of? We never knew.

Some of us disappeared.

How? Where to? We never knew.

Until the day I met him.

His touch transformed me.

I lost my form. I rose.

I saw all that I could be. The possibilities were endless.

Snow, Ice, mist….

Anything but a drop of stagnant water in an abandoned fountain that I was ,all my life.

I dropped. That was my last memory.

I existed. Why?

I vaguely remembered something about possibilities.

——————————————————————————————————

The above 100 word Allegorical story/Poem is written in response to the 100 word photo challenge posted by Rochelle Wisoff-Field each week. Photo prompt  © Copyright – Rachel Bjerke.

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