Wednesday December 15th, 2010

The exercise:

Today we go to: the river.

Living room is finished, starting on the first bedroom tomorrow. Might even finish it, if working in and around the closet isn't too much of a pain.


Rushing water brushes
His dangling toes,
While his mind swirls with thoughts
That only he knows.

The sun kisses his brow
In farewell today,
Before the river takes
His soul far away.


Greg said...

That's quite a sad, sweet poem today! I like it, there's a soft rhythm to it like the water of the river.

The river
"Don't say it."
"I wasn't going to."
"Yes, you were. You've been saying it ever since you thought of it. It's getting on my nerves."
"No it's not, the wetsuit is getting on your nerves."
"Well... yes, that too." Pestilence tugged at the tight black neoprene suit, which refused to move or unwrinkle. "How on earth do people wear these for pleasure?"
"I think it's the activities they do while wearing them that are pleasurable," said Famine. He looked Pestilence up and down. "I think you're all in there. Here's your respirator."
"I still think you should be doing this. The chemicals polluting the river are killing the fish, that's got to be causing a famine for something."
"Yeah, but they're killing them slowly, so you get to go first," said Famine. "I'll go down there later when they've all had time to cough their gills up, or whatever fish do."
Pestilence snarled, and bit down on the respirator. Famine nodded, and pushed him sharply in the chest, knocking him over backwards and into the water.
"Can you hear me?" he said into the radio mike. An incoherent spluttering came back from raging Pestilence.

Watermark said...

Marc: Well done, that was a lovely poem! I love the first line :)

Greg: That was a fun piece to read :) I like the punchy dialogue.

Here's mine:

A bright moon shines,
over a waterway that defines
a city’s character –
caught, in silent enrapture.
The Nile sits still, beneath a surface reflecting,
the city’s lights enchanting,
palms on its banks, mesmerising
senses, so it delights.

Zhongming said...

Marc - that's beautiful but I can feel the sadness too :)

Greg - I like the straight-forward conversation between them :)

Watermark - great to see you again! And that's a lovely poem :)


The river

I sat by the river and watch the the waves during dawn after the sunset. For the first time I feel deep affinity with the nature. It cools my head and makes me calm. The feeling of great bliss slowly enhance till I'm almost asleep. Then I saw my reflection in my dreams. I thought to myself "is that really me?" It feels like I don't exist yet for some reason I do. Somewhere in my conscious is telling me otherwise. I know it's trying to hallucinate and then take control but It's just too bad because I don't buy it. When I was awake, my vision were much more vibrant and my mind feels empty. It feels like the river have just consume my thoughts.

Heather said...

Marc- Wonderful little poem. I enjoyed it quite a bit!

Greg- I intend to go back and read what you've written the last couple of weeks. I've missed your characters.

Watermark- A truly lovely image, your poem.

Zhongming- Such an interesting take on the prompt. Very thought provoking.

Quietly she stood at the edge of the wide and snaking water. It had been years since she had been there. Her eyes moved from the river and followed the bark of the tall oak, once a tiny sapling she had planted, up into the night sky. The moon appeared to be trapped amongst its boughs. The late night winter air settled into the curves of her face. Taking a deep breath, she looked back down at the river. Two steps, she thought, and I will have reached the point of no return. A deep breath filled her lungs with a crisp hope and she shuffled another step closer. Snow fell over her shoes half burying her feet.

Cautiously, she stretched her other foot forward and tested the surface of the water. It was solid. The river had been lulled asleep by Father Winter. With a brief prayer, she began moving slowly across the river. Each step flooded her with memories. Ice skating, sleigh rides, hot chocolate and marshmallows. Caroling, long knit scarves, snowmen, and camp fires. So the river isn't asleep. It's simply transformed. Reaching the other bank, she carefully stepped off the ice. The expanse of the water no longer seemed as threatening. Smiling from the better sense of self she had gained by this newest adventure, she prepared herself to face the woods.

Samantha said...

Marc, I love the softness of your poem. It's so tender and gentle.

Greg, I've missed your wit! Your characters are very fun.

Watermark, that's lovely. It paints the scene perfectly.

Zhongming, that's a very interesting take on the prompt. I like it; it has a great transcendentalist vibe.

Heather, it's beautiful. I love the reflection.


Orange light bathes the river as the sun drops below the trees. I’m at the junction of a small, quiet stream and a larger river. It is at this junction that I rest, weary from the day’s hike. I watch as the lazy brook drifts towards its mouth, reluctant to leave the comfort of its familiar banks. It draws back, pooling just short of the rushing waters of the river. Above, a tree has fallen, spanning the width of the stream. Nut in hand, a squirrel sits on the tree, examining me. I have interrupted his haven. After a moment of investigation, he deems me harmless and continues to eat. I relax, accepted, and drift to sleep in the warmth of the setting sun.

summerfield said...

Beatha always wondered what life was like in that small village across the river. Every night she watched them dance and sing by the bonfire, old and young people. Ever since she arrived here, they had been that way and she had always dreamed of going there.

She asked Maghnus one day if they can go there. Maghnus had never been there himself. He told her that the gods will curse anyone who dared cross that river and set foot on that part of the land; that even if you survived the raging waters those people will kill you.

"They never liked us, Beatha. They never did," he had told her. He told her about Fiona and Siadhal, two foolish lovers, who long ago escaped and crossed the river. "When they reached the other side before they could leave the water, something strange pulled Fiona underneath and when she surfaced, the current carried her far away and Siadhal could not do anything. As soon as Siadhal stepped on their land, the people took him away. And we never saw him again, not even to dance or sing by the bonfire. A few weeks after, they put that pole with the human skull. Do you see that, Beatha? We all believe that was Siadhal. They killed him."

But Beatha had made up her mind. Tonight, she would go there, if only to meet the young man who always smiled at her whenever she watched them from the balcony of Maghnus' mansion. She would cross that river even if it would mean her death.

Marc said...

Greg - ah, I love those guys. '... from raging Pestilence' is a great line.

Watermark - thanks! What a wonderfully serene scene you've conveyed with yours.

Zhongming - beautifully meditative.

Heather - thank you! So many great lines in yours today. In particular the bit about the moon being caught in the branches and the river being lulled to sleep.

Samantha - good to see you writing again! A very peaceful scene. I could picture it perfectly.

Summerfield - oh, that just begs to be continued! I want to know what happens when/if she makes it to the other side.