Prompt Advent Calendar - Day 9

So today was going to be something different but I had an idea in the car - taking something macro and refocussing on the minute micro details, like a ship in a bottle. This kind of got away from me a little bit but I like what I write which is rare:

Where We Were

And here - the creeping ivy veil climbing the eggshell walls to cling to the thatch, cat-like gripping the edge of a table. The roof, sweeping down in a fringe to just above the single pane windows. A well-beaten path treads through a garden teeming with colour; a dream of spring. There, birdsong, a tune we danced to. Beyond, perhaps, is a lake. Somewhere to dive and disappear and be reborn as we break through the glass surface and breathe the new air. Swimming close enough to feel the coolness of your skin. The trees, pine needles shedding about their knotted roots watch over us as we move together - swans in a mating dance. Here, in our moment of paradise - the longing to return. To here. To each other’s arms; birds calling out half of the same song and hoping to hear its echo.

Prompt Advent Calendar - Day 8

Day 8 - Narcissus

Today, you are tasked with writing a short piece featuring the birth flower of December - the Narcissus. You can choose any form you like but I would like you to try and keep the word count below 100.

Pearls

Fingers course through bullrushes of hair. Skin against skin; frisson of us. Lost among the reeds of our bodies as you scatter white petals - pathway leading back to your lips. Trace your name into my collar with your tongue; be rain enough to let flowers grow between us. Which is to say; to know your name is to know God.

Prompt Advent Calendar - Day 6

One of my favourite types of prompts. Write in any form but you must include the following words: Icicle, Crest, Shimmer, Condensation, Murmur.

 

In Which Things Break

I, wanderer in murmured tones, I, picture

on crest of another boy’s heart - cherished memory
yellowing in the middle distance of time, I 

shimmering fool’s gold bright in the icicle 

blue of his eye. And still, we break ourselves to
the sound of an exhalation as lips sew themselves 

together - the condensation of what could have

been, wiped from the fragile shards of glass 

in which he held himself. Outgrown now, shedding 

this; I, buried in a shoebox, I, name that sours
in the major key, I, whisper. Half-remembered.

Prompt Advent Calendar - Day 5

Today's prompt was to write a short piece (500 words or less) about a kiss under the mistletoe.

Arrival

And your lips tasted like Christmas. Stood at the door, winter wind blowing you into the warmth of these arms. The cool touch of your hands melting against my cheeks as you hold my face delicately; a wine glass only you can drink from.

You pull the sprig from your pocket - pearlescent berries glowing in the soft yellow of hallway light. I trace the curvature of your lips as you smile, holding the branch above you. And your lips tasted like Christmas.

Prompt Advent Calendar - Day 4

I apologise for not posting yesterday. I was quite ill through Friday night and the early part of Saturday so I couldn't face doing any writing.

For anyone interested, the prompt was simply to write a Tritina. 

Today, however, was a favourite of mine. I use this one every time I can - to read Charles Simic’s "Church of Insomnia" and then attempt writing your own Church.

Church of Austerity

Each parishioner's breath fogs on the frigid air. The organ pipes are frozen up, a maintenance sign gathers dust as it hangs like a cross. The preacher opens his holy book; a stack of past due notices and collected reciepts. The pews stark white and bare - bereft of comfort.

"It's all for the greater good" he says with a cruel smile.

Prompt Advent Calendar - Day 2

 Day 2 - Rispetsnow

Now, welcome to a Winter Writing Challenge. It is time to contend with a form I discovered in October and have become rather taken with - the Rispetto. It is an eight line form, consisting of two stanzas with 11 syllables in each line and ABABCCDD rhyme scheme. I often forgo the rhyme so feel free to do the same. Oh and try to centre the piece around snow!

Somehow, I even managed to obey the rhyme structure this time around.

Longing

They are hanging mistletoe in every hall,

Scents of cinnamon, ginger, nutmeg and pine.

I stand waiting, watching the early snowfall;

Eager to feel the silk of your lips on mine.

And stood, looking out at a similar sky; 

You whisper my name like a lullaby.

Staring at pregnant clouds, lingering to see 

the snow descend and feel closer to me.

Prompt Advent Calendar - Day 1

Hello and welcome to another month of writing prompts that will take us all the way up until the new year! Hopefully, some of these will encourage and inspire you to write and I would love to see what you come up with.

December always starts off on a fairly solemn note. And I want us all to honour that in some way. December 1st is World AIDS Day and I want you to write in honour of those who have fought it, who have researched it, who have died from it. However you feel is best to write about it. There are no restrictions on form.

Remembrance

And here you used to sing. And here you used to dance.

In this old hidden backroom, crouched low beneath the bridge 

and calling out as sanctuary to each wanderer, each nomad 

soul with split lip with guilt with longing with black eye with 

pink blush with curiosity with running legs that haven’t stopped 

moving yet since the doors swung shut behind them.

And here you used to love. And here you used to breathe.

The one place in your padlocked world that the keys were given 

freely and you could fill your lungs - to inhale the music of other bodies 

and breathe out your own song. To heal yourself in the arms of another 

boy like you. To smoke and drink and laugh and fuck in dark corners 

and become the beat of music become a dance floor.

And here, we now tie ribbons. And here, we now lay flowers.

In this mausoleum of this club where only ghosts can hear the pulse 

of speakers and feel flash of disco lights. A man with thinning hair and

eyes filled of innocence long broken clears his throat to sing:

“There’s a grief that can’t be spoken, there’s a pain goes on and on”

I look see your outline in the corner, listening to his lament.

Because here you used to sing. And here you used to dance.