Tag Archives: writing prompts

Coalesce

Don’t give up – don’t give in.

Eyes discover you bloated- vomiting up your own sin.

Brain chess- pawn after pawn is taken unjustly,

Black equality doesn’t matter – cognition will conquer what it desires lustily.

Ivory conquests – impure from the acidic bile.

Caffeine alert – simulate all senses –   the target is common -the biggest bargain ransom.

Flogging a dead horse to a blind, muted soul –  cognitive dissonance –

child sings ‘Out comes the sunshine’  in the disguise of a bloomed blossom.

Wasted life.

Wasted wife.

Wasted mother .

Wasted father.

Wasted land.

Travesty lurks spoof like

 We know it is there

 Feet kicking, hiding behind the sofa, giggling childlike thinks it’s invisible.

Unchain my heart.   Hostel bed sores – shine a light on our plight – save us from This saw hand, marked fallible.

Man-made – pharmaceutical drug lords inject a lethal dose of synthetic Gamma wave stationary by product.

Profiteering – collateral damage – no name – no existence mere condensation trickling down a viaduct.

Fight for your life- for your consciousness .

Throwdown the tools of self-destruction

 only ashes to see here

Phoenix bird eloped with the Dodo bird in Act two.

Aristophanes’s – Greek tragicomedy – bawdiness.

 One character stumbles along a plot that emerged in the opening scene of the frenzied laughter (offstage)

Tame that harlot shrew.

Glasses askew – brightness dulled by 1960 tranquilised   blue smurf salesmen.

What do we know of consequences?

When we seemingly have found an answer to a long-held problem of delirium tremor flashbacks from war apocalypse rehabilitation stint-

Take 911!

Hurry or we will need another corporate shaman.

Worry not – reverse psychology.

Worry a lot – trust in the depth of raising questions in philosophy.

I write with no answers,

intelligible at times.

Wondering how to get back to a well-educated mind

who knew how to rationalize.

splitting images

 There goes a notorious caricature of her former self –  ignoring traffic lights and all her accumulated speeding fines.

Slow-release.

Hat trick

Card trick

Fear of bats

Watch the finest disappearing act,

coalesce.

slash/virgule poem

I light this vigil/ candles given to me by an individual/ a name I cannot give thee/ heart and mind forgive me. 

and/or…

If I said his name is Slash/ he’s indecisively crass/more renowned as a light brush stroke/ his Latin name leaves a remarkable impression in repressed folk.

perhaps/ not… 

It worries me that Axl hasn’t made up his mind/ more guns than roses-sublime/ A promiscuous murmur/ hidden in visual fervour.

confess/ snitch …..

Naming something can either increase/ diminish power/ I’m thinking psycho -you know –  the scene in the shower? /If I had to reveal his true name is Virgule/ why does that visually conjure up an image in my mind of a gargoyle?

For the meaning of the word ‘Virgule’ scroll down.

This was so hard to do. I think I may have broken 100 rules and made up my own. Hey ho!   

 

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Definitions for virgule

  1. a short oblique stroke (/) between two words indicating that whichever is appropriate may be chosen to complete the sense of the text in which they occur: The defendant and his/her attorney must appear in court.

Citations for virgule

It can be used, of course to indicate the choices, one or more, that may “properly” fill the blank space that follows. But the virgule need not be strictly identified with a particular or exclusive binary. It can be argued that the virgule is the poststructuralist punctuation par excellence (although a strong case can be made for the hyphen), in that is can be deployed to suggest the endlessness of binariness, a serial proliferation of constrastives in horizontally endless adjacencies …Virgil Lokke, “The Naming of the Virgule in the Linguistic/Extralinguistic Binary,” After the Future: Postmodern Times and Places, edited by Gary Shapiro, 1990

The path was cleared for the substitution of the verbalizable ”or” by the unspeakable ”/” in the legalistic term ”and/or,” which would be hard to say as ”and or or.” Now we are afflicted by the promiscuous use of virgules.William Safire, “On Language,” New York Times, May 24, 1981

Virgule entered English from French, where it means “comma, little rod.” It ultimately derives from the Latin virgula meaning “rod.”

DICTIONARY.COM

 

The Virgule

The virgule, often called the “slant bar” by computer users, has four specific uses in punctuation.

A virgule separates parts of an extended date.

Example: The 1994/95 basketball season.

Washington was born in February 1731/32.

A virgule represents the word per in measurements:

Example: 186,000 mi./sec. (miles per second)

A virgule stands for the word or in the expression and/or. (Though not considered standard, it sometimes stands for the word or in other expressions also.)

A virgule separates lines of poetry that are quoted in run-on fashion in the text. (For readability, avoid this with more than four lines.)

Example: Ann continued,”And up and down the people go,/ Gazing where the lilies blow/ Round an island there below,/ The island of Shalott.”

ENGLISH.PLUS.COM

 

 

 

It’s complicated.

Will you?

Will I?

Yes, wouldn’t you..?

Wouldn’t I?

What I mean to say is….Will you? Please ……

What are you doing?

Erm…… Doing?

Yes… Down there. I tower over you enough when you aren’t half bent and crooked…

Half bent? What is that supposed to mean?

Half bent! You have that look… that thing those people -how do you say it?- Oh, I don’t know airy and breezy…

Is this a joke? Are you really enjoying this?

I would ask you the same question. Last time I checked you were not the person I see before me…

And what person is that? 

Not this – it’s so ………….so ………… unnatural. For you, I mean.

Well, I know I’ve never been conservative but unnatural?

Rather liberal I would say. 

Ma Cherie, Will you? 

Will, I what? 

Will you come down to my level of thinking?

Are you sure you are not possessed?

I think you have confused me with some character. I’m not quite sure what it is you imply…

Look!  I will come down to your level and tarnish my finery, on one condition…

Anything. of course!

Ask me the question again ?

The..  Which one ?

Oh the heavens, this will never wash out -the first one !

Oh, of course. Will you ?

I will….

You will – this is just marvellous!

if ….

If what? I beseech thee.

If I say I will: will you promise to remain the Gayest fiance there was ever born?

Gayest? Have you lost you….. I am a full-blooded Alpha. Is this a joke?

No. 

No. Just No.

If I say I will -will you continue to be the Gayest man I have ever seen?

Well, my love. Don’t mind if I get up off my knees- I need to think about this.

I said yes, I  will!

You are mocking me.

No. I love to see the way you look at me – T’is the gayest I have seen you yet.

Dear Lord! 

Will you? , it is just Darling.

I think ,ma Cherie . I think I need to, uh, communicate a little better..

If you say you will, you may kiss me.

If I may say….. K- cos I  b like MindFuck. gotta chillax with my bros in a mo, my answer is  mb.  C u laterz! lols.

(Doesn’t it suck that we us text lingo instead of proper language these days)

 

Your Friday prompt for Stream of Consciousness Saturday is: “mb.” Find a word that has those two letters in it, in that order, and base your post on it. Have fun!

LINDA G.

Fowl poetry

The land of filth cost me more than a life

It cost me a dime

it cost me what stands in front of me nigh

neigh

long withdrawn

foal play

write, write

clap your hands and throw a few bass shapes

Enter the City of funk

the soul has set two tears back for Sunday night’s carafe of wine.

 

Foal don’t play if can’t shake that ass.

Truth bloom

a strewth sleuth of truths

Twice told

Only one to  realize

They lied to is

yourself.

Grappled thoughts hazed out of  all sincerity

Twice them gamblers cast away all integrity

A dire dice reveals fear & loathing tosser going for a price

Lost to waging another wank with nirvana.

Times now?

Perhaps thrice.

Witness these winners

Outlining unspoken words

ratified a squeaky line of cheese

Exiled

A meta-more selfish imitable of an  Ovidian

Kafkas.

Sniffing  bloody bursts of  betrayal

A mass

Carcass cordoned off by pissing yellow tape.

Not a John Doe – Fate confirms

But your own star crossed lover.

Two tall tale tellers serve hyperbole on the gossip scene —

Two punks who ain’t true to punk for the right reasons.

Caricatures emulate the shadow of these

Proud louts.

Halve these egoistical errors-

Blunted knives

These Terrorists

clothed in night sheets — stark nude

Wanton to retire for a brief interlude

A lie

down.

Sleuth blooms an alternative truth.

Hooked on Floating points & this video is autumnal in the mood.  #goatbahs

 

Blood makes noise

I had nothing prepared to blog about in my mind. Again – I thought. No inspiration to type anything.

I’m finding out my inspiration comes from reading your posts!

So thank you.

Today I want to thank Annette @ Annettes place  – post on childhood scars and her using the daily prompt. 

Her child hood scars remind me of my own scars.

One scar I have is huge – it almost wraps all the way around my upper wrist -it is 2-3 cm wide.  Indented, It reminds me of a dried up river.

The cause?

Domestic violence.

Before I continue…

Domestic abuse & Toxic relationships

Rape -NO means NO.

I’m going to state the obvious here.

Domestic violence is a relationship fucks about with your mental health, whether you love the person or not.

 

Toxic relationships have usually tipped me over into using shitty coping mechanisms like drinking too much, taking drugs, overdosing and not managing my medication or my eating disorder and Bipolar.

So back to the blood river scar.

One night- no

Another night of heavy drinking and arguing, I found me in a house -not mine- that looked like a slaughterhouse. all dirty browns. There was a rusty scent of blood impossible to ignore.

Every time I inhaled, the scent would drip down the back of my throat like a  tap -I could taste it too.

I  had mixed copious amounts of alcohol with my medication and all I remember is trying to push my ex away with my left hand ( I am left-handed) , he grabbed my arm and I struggled back.

BLACKOUT

 

 An image.

An arm.

 

 a massive shard of re-enforced window glass- barbered-   poking out of my right arm.

 

Another image.

the back of my exes legs and back running up the stairs.

PANIC 

BLOOD

DRINK

VODKA

WHERE IS THE ORANGE JUICE?

WHERE IS THE GLASS?

WHERE IS MY EX?

BLOOD 

DRIP

BLOOD 

DRIP

BLOOD 

DRIP

BLOOD 

DRIP

PANIC 

PANIC

An arm coated thick with blood. I wear it like an accessory

Blood makes noise.

I hear screaming.

Mine.

Ex reappears and tries to grab me.

I try to run away.

PANIC 

BLOOD

DRIP

I NEED TO GET OUT OF HERE.

Why is my ex naked? 

In the middle of the street?

Rolling on the floor with me- trying to muffle my screams with his hand. Trying to stop me from running away...

BLOOD

MIND FUCKERY at its best.

“Look what you have done…” ex says.

6 hours later – location:  hospital.

The doctor asks to speak with me in private. My ex doesn’t want to leave my side.

I don’t say anythingquack quack! quack quack! quack quack!   the word on a loop…

 

“What happened?”  he wants to know.

“We don’t know. We were drinking. I can’t remember. It was an accident.” my ex speaks for us.

My head bows down,it almost appears as if I am nodding. I can’t quite remember.

What I do remember feels like I have made it up, it is so detached from my mind and emotions. It is about as close to me as Pluto or Saturn.

3 days in hospital my ex never left my side.

Not even to go home to wash or brush his teeth.

I wasn’t alone- my mother was with us too.

I was high on morphine for the pain.

Why didn’t they operate sooner? 

Did they want to monitor me? 

The situation? 

Us? 

three days later…  I’m being wheeled on the hospital bed- away from the stale, coughing ward…

“countback with me from 10,” says the anaesthetist.

10 , 9 ,8 ……

BLACKOUT

 

“1”. my eyes burst open. I gasp a breath. It is  like I’ve been living in a home made  sac filled with  half shallow water and half air .

 Disorientated.

What happened?

I look down at the art work the surgeon has done.

No more blood .

re stuffed  re patched, re covered ,

by a micro surgic  hand.

Discharged.

Back to the carnival freak show.

I enter his home – a massacre.

Dry blood everywhere.

Smell.

Bleach.

Sound.

Scrubbing brushes.

Stubborn blood. 

If only it could  serve as a reminder of what actually happened that night.

“I don’t remember” the ex says.

How can he and I not know?

Every time I look at my scar I am reminded of the chaos that was my life for 4 years.

This scar says –

mutilation.

despair.

secrets.

emotions numbed.

detachment.

silence.

silence-1.jpg

This scar reminds me to NEVER be silent in the name of so called love or a sense of loyalty to one who  claimed to   love me so much he would do anything to keep me.

http://www.vevo.com/watch/suzanne-vega/blood-makes-noise/USIV20300313

When I left him, I did not take his threats seriously.

 What he did next gave serious  competition  with the scar I see .

That everyone can see.

Toxic relationships result in severe loss – sometimes that means your life.

Think  carefully about what and who your life may include.

I was re born again on the 06/05/2015.

The day the court ordered social services out of my life.

The day that my ex turned his back on me,  is they day I realised I had been  holding my breath for years.

I had forgotten how to breath.  I might have been dead- a wanderer.

06/05/2015 -I remembered not only how to breathe  again but why.

Life -not just my own but that who is of me.

Life is precious

Life is my responsibility

resumption_by_jorgeremmy-d3drxy2.png

Dead Dong Ringer

Time stands still

Waiting for my child

To pick her up from her school.

Locked out

I’m no fool

Schools not meant to be cool.

Just another institution

Similar to a prison.

My constitution was made to rebel

For a cause

Less

Waiting around on top.

Never thought I’d glimpse a shadow of my former self -over the hill.

Curse these minutes.

Frozen into a state of blissful ignorance.

Wrapped up into a stationary kit.

Sigh

Sudden bowel movements

I feel ill.

Bad humour lost to a desolate sky.

Simmer into another ghetto outfit

Sparse Sunshine shimmer flecks

Until my skin unravels into motion.

For this moment

I’m not a suicide kid

Instead, I’m knocked out

By a dead dong ringer

Them there eyes

Catch sight of her eyes.

How they glimmer!

* inspired by the school run & national poetry day  & Life

 I’m genuinely happy to be alive. Not because life is perfect today but because I’m happy, humble and honest.

  • Write to recover

  • Create to recover

  • Communicate to recover

  • Connect to recover

  • Collaborate to recover.

Daisy chains a stream of consciousness

* It is only fear that stops you writing authentically. If most people don’t get my writing I wipe my head in relief. I’d rather have one genuine response of ‘I get this’ than likes. I feel a bit like the old Daisy. I write for me. When I write for myself I am being authentic.

You do that thing the others do.

Throw a google-eyed look away

Well, am I stark raving mad?

Gnarly Serf on a wavelength similar

to loyal Harvey the dog of Sam.

One eye hung out precariously

Electrodes attached to its head.

Tortured by experiments

Wronged species deserve rites

two

Left-handed Nuns appear unGodly.

Impregnated 9 months later delivers a postpartum already dressed up in blue. Momentarily stunned by nausea pangs

Delivered momentarily still

Birth devoid of cries then a shout out hits my ears

He’s not breathing

Inarticulate mid sucking on gas and air queer eye of this realm I pray for skin contact

You worry about your own soul shell feed

I can’t mimic the A team

A letter murmuration in full Flight

Fight solo traversing oceans

awash with

Contemporary pirates chaffed from over self-masturbation.

See men wink &weep over Oates that taste so so…..

Self-destruction ejaculates an abundant pressure of love.

Images of enjoyment flicked out a nebulous cornea.

Scattered

Failure caught wind of future events impossible to foretell a farewell

That would be hell.

Eloquence raped of its plumage

Abreast Birds hearts juking at 160 bpm

The final crash coursing bloody soundbites around the ministry of meow-em’s mouth veins

Shed tears for our once feathered friends.

Ravens versus magpies

A sign glitters all is not well

Clear sight lights up a mass derelict graveyard.

Those blinded peacocks.

How they spent their lives chasing cataracts from the omniscient Third eye.

No remorse

What have I done?

Pushed away those doves, drowned out the screaming stars.

Irksome elements are the dwarfed remainders of a mind

bent against its will.

Teething the Tension

Widen the gaps in this pension cut

Tender.

Rise

this morn, big mouth

Gums gunned down left in a flap,

When is my end?

The highest peak.

A gaze overlooks

A future uncertain.

Stuck in reverse

Cold cuts down play -sessions.

Seek out fabricated odifications

Hide happiness with a common dividend.

We believe the 365 tales told

Thoughts toss flip

Look what ‘s up

Ahead,

step after step on stealth mines muddled.

For today I love you…

Enough,torture by anguish.

Sundowners gravity compel an early Eve to blush at seeing Adams

apple tree deceived

down

fall

a pair of knees tainted by grass painted in slithering silence.

Limber climber defy the mass cavity awaiting

Underground Unwanted guardian angels willingly discredit the Grim reaper

even

When the odds favour that one’s number is up.

Down?

Hope in one gulp.

Grim glass-eye stares longingly at well-beings thirst quenched.

Leaked buckets reveal the fluidity of

love.

Forget about recriminations.

Don’t carry an organ donor card

To part from the complexities of life

momentarily contemplate the features of creatures born

Free.

Will,

They graciously mutate into mere mortals as time calls it a day?

Surrender to terminal Life

Know Death can’t kill

Those already Buried under by their own ills.

Twice bitten abecedarian poem

A twice bitten man shy tortured in an encounter with his tye.

Every seen a crystallized heart shatter?

Ricochet fresh flesh of four chambers?

 

Stained bloody by his past lover’s hand

Sodden & trodden by a call to “man up”

 

Pump up depleted testosterone to counteract the shame.

Even though a trampled heart was not his own doing.

Grievously body harm. It was a gift given

 

Not by a temptress nor a malicious entity by nature.

 

Ergo two hearts vowed to be one soul

Living as a unit. Love of life was their goal.

Loneliness to combat. Fated to be mortal.

 

Revealed their sealed vows together in front of a chosen crowd

Dramatic entrance. One heart faltered .

Death was invited to observe the day

Yesterday’s reminder of the shell of who once was.

Death reminded all that life is fleeting. Unpredictable.

 

Everyone but maybe one didn’t grasp the significance

Empty on reality. Thankful for ‘mothers little helpers’

Songs of blue accentuated the highs.

 

Hopeful for love to remain true.

Ever hope to love truly but wonder whether you do?

 

Obviously caught up in the fervour and knowing the right thing to do.

Obviously ignoring common sense. Abandoned security for a chance leap declared impulsive.

 

Ended up in heart surgery. One shattered by betrayal.

Left the other with paper scissors & words to shake a corpse into resurrection.

Note to self I’ll continue this when I feel less tired

Less restricted. I won’t be some other possession.

Day 19 prompt from napowrimo.

Today, I’d like to challenge you to write an abecedarian poem – a poem in which the word choice follows the words/order of the alphabet. You could write a very strict abecedarian poem, in which there are twenty-six words in alphabetical order, or you could write one in which each line begins with a word that follows the order of the alphabet. This is a prompt that lends itself well to a certain playfulness.

Random generation of Procrastination

  1. Collect your  RANDOM WORD HERE 

News

Makes this tale mangy from substance abuse.

It rips at the soul-

 Makes censorship an ideal way to protect society

from the ugly truth.

Weak humans

Covering up their tracks.

 

Idle loneliness

makes for an abode

 Senses  summoned in to serve

 body possession

resembles

a genre of  the common trap.

 

Jedi modification

trance.

silence

or

Depeche  mode

Crazy contravenes with inner child’s freshly painted creche.

 

 

Dynamo

Isn’t as mighty

 Paired up with a jogger,

 a fit bit,

and a

radiant glow.

 

Three strikes.

When did time get so slow?

this temple-

Armour of organs in free harmonic flow.

one

Sincerely thinks.

Yes.

It is wise to know.

Faithfully your

beat  sets up another trap for

The inner mouse.

 

Eventually,

it will come out.

lose control.

 

No.

Leave.

Go!

 Big Ben caught in the designated zepherous zone.

 Failed  to save uncapped pressure

 Builds up into a deafening detonation.

Unintentional.

The inner logic was damage limitation.

 

The government ordered trench coats

  In full sight.

Tainted

 unprotected,

pollution seeps out from a  piercing moan.

 

Bridal mess   Sleuths about

 in slippers.

 Track tips far too early.

Nevertheless

behind.

 

Hands cover sight.

Mind convinced its temporary.

Blindspot.

Nevertheless

It’s all right.

Habits washed in  deficient  light

 credit token-

a  gesture.

kinder

More compassionate.

Guilt?

perhaps…

 

The decision fully saddled.

Vows  riddled

Wholly broken.

The course is  hardened terrain

Rumours rustle  barren branches

 summer shamed of its remaining leaves.

 

Scarlett

Stops

Shaded

Strangers

Point fingers in one direction.

 

Signpost makes a statement!

all-inclusive meals

Beyond

The border of Insanity.

Handstand

then

 the cartwheels-the body released from  tension

 Moment  of clarity

woe, for  the gifted

gasping on

thorn scented roses

Stoney  carves out

The centurion tone.

Inflicts an incident.

 

A beat.

A blockage.

A seizure.

 

 Arithmetic arrests Maroon’s motion.

Apprehended by fear.

Not one morsel intervenes.

homebound

Iris catches sight

 A distasteful  Discovery.

Host

bloody

broody

burnt the ceremonial toast.

 

Finally

Alone

A legitimate  excuse

 eyes wide open

 shed

Timely tears.

 

 

Alone with my phone #nationalpoetryday2018

In the twilight of my mind

I arise from my slumber.

A perfect piece of calm envelopes my sacred space.

It intertwines with my beating heart.

A knock at the door.

The man from two doors down-

Inebriated,

Staggering,

Incoherent.

He mutters about galloping away from his latest nightmare.

My child –

Her peace disrupted by a primitive, feral sound.

I breathe,

Desperate to inhale pure oxygen.

Disruption causes me to

Choke on my anger.

I’m forced to close the door, only because I’m fair.

A warning odour of familiar carbon monoxide threatens to extinguish all hope.

The scales tip

Unbalanced.

I fear I’m falling to the ground.

A piercing tone emanates from my mobile phone.

The one who I hold dear in my arms can’t get out of her abyss,

Again

Alone with my lonileness.

I think of my cat.

Force tablets down her throat.

She pukes up bile.

I weep wearily .

She needs to cough up fur balls not green mucus.

Get better my loves: My world.

I peer out my windowed prison

I look above.

There goes a bird

Wings spread soaring above.

It reminds me of the phoenix

I reach for another kleenex.

Blow the ashes from my grey matter .

Alone.

Alone.

I reach for my phone.

Its time for the school run.

My child needs to leave home.

One day she won’t look back to see me smile at her regal pose.

Another day in this world.

I see the real life heroes,

Walking to work,

Catching buses to fill the void from their hurt.

One thing is certain I’m not alone in my loneliness .

We are a collective of souls

Waiting.

Queuing up for a moment to peek a glimpse of Elysium.

I pick myself up off the floor.

A needle and thread catches my eye,

I stitch myself back together.

I open the door.

Times run out -it refuses to stand

Still

I feel a sense of the ghost of his Holiness.

Unrevised stream of consciousness .This needs a lot of work.

Inspired by reading a poem by, Kathryn Maris, called ‘School run’.

National poetry day 2018