On Sunday, 14 June 2015, I launched my Project 365.
You can see all the images as they are posted, each day, to the mobile | mono | square album on my flickr account.
You can also browse all of my weekly updates ,which are posted each Sunday, here .
so tell me who I see
– brilliant disguise, bruce springsteen
Poetry 101 Rehab continues and now has its own page in addition to the regular weekly prompt.
just an empty impression
in the bed where you used to be
– empty sky, springsteen
this post is for those with an empty place at their table
those with an empty sky
and yet, this bloody world turns, the sun will rise
tomorrow
and today
well, I guess
today, we will bloody well just do
what we have
to
do,
again
for wordpress weekly photo challenge – gathering
Farewell has a sweet sound of reluctance. Good-by is short and final, a word with teeth sharp to bite through the string that ties past to the future.
― John Steinbeck, The Winter of Our Discontent
This is my final post in the WordPress Writing 101: Poetry course hosted by WordPress editor Ben Huberman. You can see each of the poems I penned for the course here and, if you have the stomach for more, you can also read my poems from Writing 201: Poetry. I recommend these courses to you without reservation. Ben and his colleagues, and those who participate, create a stimulating environment in which to learn and share. Find out more at the WordPress Blogging U page.
Thank you to all those on the course who dropped by to read my attempts at poetry, and do feel free to join Poetry 101 Rehab each Monday.
Finally, today’s prompt comes from my friend, Lucile de Godoy who is Brazilian/Dutch and lives in Amsterdam, from where she shares her views through words and photos. You can find Lucile on her blog, Bridging Lacunas, and in the Photo Rehab blogging community, as well as on Twitter @luciledegodoy, Instagram, and Flickr.
Have a great weekend!
How can I say it better then Steinbeck?
Especially when living in Molenbeek?
When I say farewell.
I mean well.
So, Goodbye.
Not,
‘bye.
wordpress writing 101 | poetry | farewell | prompt by lucile de godoy
Do you need, desire or crave a new challenge? Are you open to sharing your dark side? Then read on.
Do you have a dark side?
Or, think you may have one. Or indeed worry that you might have one. Or, for that matter, worry that you don’t and would like one? If so, join me here each week for dark | side | thursday.
Over a period of 52 weeks, I am writing a story. A dark story that will unfold as the weeks pass. Each Thursday, at 13:00 UTC, I will post a new chapter. Each chapter will be exactly 500 words long, and will be accompanied by a photograph. You can catch up on the story so far by clicking here on dark | side | thursday
Share your dark side?
I invite you to join me either by writing your own dark story, week by week, or, if that is too much, by dropping by, now and then, perhaps when the mood suits you or, perhaps, when it doesn’t, and by sharing a photograph, poem or a suitably dark piece of prose. To cross over to dark | side | thursday create your post, tag it dark side thursday and link to it by clicking on the dark | side | thursday badge below, where you can also find all the contributions so far. Or you can simply share your link in the comments section of my weekly post. And, should the mood take you, you can add the badge to your post.
dark | side | thursday | thirtyone
He placed the painting face down on the desk. Slowly, and with care.
He could not bear to see that triangular face gazing back at him. Not any more. A child’s rough depiction of a demon, or worse, some desperate child’s scribbled self portrait, a glimpse into a reality he could not countenance.
Either way, it was too much. Now.
The pain in his arm was worse. Tendrils of fire snaking along the inside of his arm towards his shoulder. His head was pounding, his chest tight and aching.
He turned and stood, shards of the shattered glass, pointing to his earlier rage, sliced into the soft underside of his bare soles as he did so. Opened a cabinet, grabbed an open packet, pulled out one of the shiny foil trays inside and clumsily, his finger shaking, pushed out one of the small white tablets, dry gulped it down, his throat dilating in disgusted disapproval. He staggered to the sink, turned the tap, leaned over, his head beneath the spluttering siphon, and allowed the water, water he normally refused to drink, to drain into his throat. He squeezed out two more of the waiting white pills, swallowed both. Sat down at the desk, his clammy forehead hard pressed on the smooth laminated wooden surface.
His eyes closed. He felt his limbs begin to separate, finger tips and toes began to tingle, sensation fading, fast. A tightening tunnel threatened to envelop him, swallow him, digest, dismember, dissemble him. The antithesis of birth. Dark thoughts gurgled through his fragmenting mind.
He drifted. Into deepening darkness. The last sound he could hear, the insistent whirling of the fan inside his Mac. How pointless all that seemed now. Then the fan faded as the last lingering light abruptly left.
The strident screech of the ululating siren shattered his shutdown consciousness.
Cracks appearing on the surface of a long forsaken frozen lake.
As those cracks enlarged, forked and multiplied, so his mind grasped for the edge, anything on which to hold.
He was pinned down. He knew that. If little else. His mind was grisly grey swirling slurry, his limbs heavy and immobile, his mouth dry and foul tasting. He felt bitter bile rising in his throat. Panic. His head aching and burning. His lips spewing foam as his head shook from side to side.
The sirens continued to clear the road ahead. He was flat on his back. Blue and red spinning lights, flashed and flickered, insane, fake, circus lightning. He tried to lift his left arm, it was heavy, his fingers, dim, long forgotten, body parts he could barely feel, let alone move. No longer his. No longer his parts. His left arm locked down tight. His other arm, and his legs, the same.
As the red and blue lights continued to splat and sizzle, as the sirens soared and screamed, the fissure in his mind ruptured.
She placed her cool hand on his burning forehead.
Turning her head, she smiled, and laughed.
The portal to dark | side | thursday opened on the twenty first day of may in the year twenty hundred and fifteen and will remain open for fifty two weeks.
thirtyone | fiftytwo
There was a young man named Cam O’Flage
Went swimming one day, down at the plage
He drank so much booze
He left on a cruise
And changed his name, to Master Farage
wordpress writing 101 | poetry | camouflage | prompt by Jacqueline Oby-Ikocha
cause we need a little controversy
’cause it feels so empty
– lyrics from without me, eminem
This is my response to the prompt for Day Eight of the WordPress Writing 101 Poetry course. And, as the prompt is, err, amazingly, my very own prompt, I’m interrupting your enjoyment (momentarily) so that I can thank Ben Huberman for inviting me to contribute today, even though there are so many better qualified poets out there. By which I mean, those of you who can actually, you know, write, uh, poetry. You know who you are.
More to the point, thank you to all who have taken the trouble to find your way to my post!
< gratuitous plug >
The photo, by the way, was shot by me in the dark interior of the BIGZ building in Belgrade. If you’d like to find out more, or failing that, see what I saw, feel free to visit belgradestreets and check out bigz graffiti or all that jazz or even broken, and then book a flight to Belgrade, and then, why not pop into a bookstore and take a look at my book! 😉
< / gratuitous plug >
And hey, if you need more Poetry when this is all over, why not make a note to join Poetry 101 Rehab every Monday?
< graffiti >
in your face
it’s my freakin’ space
my only
place
< / graffiti >
so out of order
blood splattered border
couldn’t be (more) bored(er)
< graffiti >
i don’t freakin’
care
how you fare or (even)
if you
care
< / graffiti >
it’s my
way
to
get
< / even >
writing 101 | poetry | eight | seconds | prompt by me (in’em) 😉
and when we reach that point, all we can do is quietly accept the fact
― haruki murakami, kafka on the shore
monsieur B. de’Velo
last seen, in a moment of passion
missing in action
most likely, inaction
no longer, in fashion
monsieur B. de’Velo
if you have seen him, or
are otherwise
cognisant of, his
(dis)position
reply, on a postcard
your cheque’s in
the post
your reward, in
heaven
just like
monsieur B. de’Velo
writing 101 poetry | seven | beloved | prompt by Vijaya Sundaram
“the most idiotically useless phrase in a beginner’s French textbook”
– Life Magazine, 1958
Poetry 101 Rehab was initially created for those who missed the creative writing challenge of the Writing 201 Poetry course run by the Daily Post.
How does it work?
Feel free to answer the prompt, twist it or ignore it; write a poem of your own or share a poem by another author. Write about your inspiration, your creative process or other poetry related thoughts, but this is in no way obligatory. Nothing is obligatory in this challenge. The idea is to get together, talk poetry and enjoy.
How can you take part?
Anyone can take part, anytime you want. Publish your poetry post and add a link to it by clicking on the Poetry 101 Rehab badge below or share your link in a comment. Use the tag Poetry 101 Rehab, so we can find each other in the Reader.
I will be your host, and I’m here to reply to your comments, read your poetry, like and comment. While this post is the starting point for this week’s challenge, do visit fellow poets in the link-up and chat to them on their blogs!
The prompt for this week is FALLACY.
it’s self evident to me
(and my little
pet flea)
that
the world is flat
as flat as the mat
on which
sat (Schrodinger’s)
cat
as flat as la plume
de ma tante
on which
(i imagine), she
(repeatedly)
sat
as flat as the gnat
swatted dead
with just
one swipe
of my hat
some say it is round
but what
do they know
they’ll all come
around
soon enough
to my
way of thinking
or i’ll eat my hat
so that’s
that
This week’s prompt is also my rambling, and (unusually) whimsical, response to the prompt for Day 6 of the WordPress Writing 101 Poetry .
What will your take on the keyword FALLACY be?
Write about it in a poetry post and share your link in the comments section of this post and / or by clicking on the Poetry 101 Badge above.
writing 101 poetry | six | fallacy | prompt by jason preu
andy townend 