NaPoWriMo: Filling the space

Almost didn’t try this one. Writing a day backwards sounded like too much of a strange thing to do, rather like the Martin Amis novel, Time’s Arrow that I really did not like at all. However, I picked a less distressing subject and I think it works okay. The day starts at the last line, and to get the chronology of events, the poem has to be read from finish to start.

768px-Tabby_kitten_playing_with_lure

Kitten pouncing on his shadow,

Setting new paw prints in the old,

I watch you, Sunbeam,

Bring some joy back to this empty house.

Find a small soul in a cage,

Take the sunshine, set it free,

Time to take the memories and add some more.

Time to start again and fill the space,

Daylight falling on an empty bed,

Too much loneliness to bear.

Poetry challenge: Golden dart of happiness

The five words of the Secret Keeper’s Monday word prompt are

| REACH | SHOT | INTENSE | FLAW | SPRING |

A powerful bunch of words to play with. Follow the link to add your poem to the entries.

The painting is actually called The Ninth Wave so I had to use it.

1024px-Aivazovsky,_Ivan_-_The_Ninth_Wave

Nine waves crash upon the strand,

In my ears the surf’s roar,

But still I cannot follow.

A shot at happiness darts bright,

Swift arrow flight,

Golden light,

Beyond the breakers towering.

Hands reach out to seize the wandering gull,

Circling, circling above the sea,

Deep and dark as my hopes.

White wings soar beyond the line,

And I am left behind,

In the intense, immense blue of the empty air,

Wondering will this flawed spring ever grow

To the bright summer of my dreams.

 

Microfiction: Georgette

A less than 200 word story for Sacha Black’s weekly writing prompt.

She is everywhere in the house, Georgette. Not surprising since she lived here for ninety-seven years. There’s a photo of her on the wall, as well as her parents and husband. No children though. She lived here alone with the two cows until her nephew persuaded her to move to a flat where he could keep an eye on her. There’s a smell of sprightly old lady and cats. Her chair by the stove has a ball of knitting wool shoved down the side. The messages about groceries and visits stuck on the wall by the phone still shout out that life goes on.

In the garden, her bulbs are coming up. In the cowshed, the hay bales smell fresh and spring-like. There is no feeling of emptiness or sadness, but expectancy. What is the house waiting for?

Us.

She has left a trail, determined and defiant, as if she has just gone down to the shop to buy a packet of coffee.

We’ll take good care of your house, Georgette.

I make a promise to visit her in her new flat, show her how life has forged another link, and take her the first narcissi.

Somewhere

Painting by Betzy Akersloop-Berg
Noordzeestrand_van_Betzy_Akersloot
Nothing lasts forever,
The roses fall, and in the winter blackbirds die.
All things with a beginning have an end,
Even sweetness fades when comes the bitter cold.
Bare branches crack and bow beneath the weight
Of fallen snow and flocks of starvling birds,
Whose thoughts of southern flight they left too late,
Huddled now black plumes among the brittle boughs.
Eternity’s for dreams and those who dream,
Beyond the end, too far for me to see,
In the distant blue where gulls and grey seals go,
Somewhere there’s a place for you and me.

She looks into his heart’s depths

Lesser_Ury_Märkischer_See_am_Abend

To look through your eyes,

Down through the shifting clouds of green,

To find the bright unchanging centre,

Beating with the heart’s steady pulse.

To touch the warm waves that flow,

Dolphin-leaping from that deep sea,

Delve into the storeroom of your richest treasures

And see in the silver water mirror

A reflection of my smiling face.