The exercise:
Tell me a story that has something to do with: a bridge.
I needed a rest after yesterday's physical work, so today turned into paperwork day. I filled out our application form for the Penticton farmers market and worked on our farm blog. Hopefully I'll be able to get that to the point that we can include it on the business cards we're planning on creating.
Exciting times... if only the weather would cooperate by giving us a little more sun.
Mine:
Beneath the only bridge in town
Lives Craig, the homicidal hobo clown.
He de-legs donkeys just for fun,
Then tests out his jokes on them when he's done.
Certainly it's a heinous crime,
But his routine kills them every time.
6 comments:
Blogger did it again, but luckily I'd copied and saved the post this time. Am I the only person having these problems posting to your blog now?
At last, more word of the farm blog! It's only been... a year, I think, since you last talked about it :)
Craig sounds like fun! Let's hope he's makes a reappearance here now and then.
A bridge
"A is for Auntie," said Mummy, pointing to her sister who was walking ahead of them. Her toddler son giggled and tried to point as well.
"B is for Bridge," she continued, lowering her finger to indicate the bridge across the carp pond. Auntie, unaware that Mummy had stopped was just stepping on to it.
"C is for Carp," and Mummy's finger moved again, pointing now at the surface of the water.
"D is the grade Auntie is getting for attention to detail."
Her son looked up at her, his eyes wide. He didn't understand what she'd said, but he recognized the change in the tone of her voice. Auntie was at the middle of the bridge and just realising she was alone.
"E is for Explosives," and Mummy's finger moved again, now pointing out the dynamite strapped to the bridge supports.
"F is for f***'s sake," and Auntie, in the distance, appeared to say the words simultaneously with Mummy as she saw where they'd stopped.
"And G is for Gone--" if Mummy said anything else it was drowned out in the explosion that ripped the bridge apart.
A Bridge
I stood at a crossroads,
Not knowing where to go,
One way would lead me,
To find myself and grow,
While the other way would give me,
Fearless courage to say no.
A choice to make I likened,
To crossing a burning bridge,
Once crossed it is destined,
to never wallow in regret.
Marc that poem kicks ASS! Very cool Clown
Greg Very cool story my man. I loved the twist it was nice and the acrostic poem.
Here's some poetic scratch:
A Bridge
My mind is a bridge from here to outer space
My body is a bridge from here to any place
My heart is a bridge from here to her bright face
I mind my bridges by dreaming deep of love and light
My body quivers when changing wrong to right
A Bridge
Scared steps brought us slowly to the bridge.
I watched my feet,
glancing at the distant span ahead.
It was the last part of the journey.
We had accomplished the impossible and now
infinity
Greg - Blogger obviously thinks your writing is delicious. I can hardly blame it.
Murder by alphabet. Nicely done. Though it's hard not to feel sorry for the kid.
Watermark - very nicely done. I liked how you worked the prompt into that.
Aaron - haha, thank you :)
Love those first three lines. The first two in particular.
We were packed tightly against each other. Our fears and confusion rose chaotically into the wind. There was no where to go. At each end of the bridge were armed soldiers. The river below was ice cold and too shallow to allow us to plunge in. We continued whispering and calling out for friends or family. Some were down on their knees praying to God for mercy. Then we heard the first gun shot. It was answered by several more. Whispers rose to screams and chaos turned to panic. More of us were falling to our knees, our stomachs. There would be no escape, no mercy. We plunged, one by one, into our own deep river of blood.
Heather - chilling. Beautifully conveyed.
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