Thursday April 7th, 2011

The exercise:

Let's see what you can do with: returning.

Inspired by our visit to the accountant this afternoon, because we both will be getting a nice tax return this year. Kat is getting more, but I'm doing a fine job of pretending not to be jealous.

Mine:

After all these years,

You keep coming back;

But still you never

Bother to unpack.

You pass right on through,

Like a hungry ghost;

Always on the move,

A ship seeking coast.

Our words spark a flame,

Soon bridges are burned;

Then you're gone again,

With no lessons learned.

Wednesday April 6th, 2011

The exercise:

Let's go with: whispers.

This morning I finally managed to attend the local writer's group meeting and I'm glad I did. They meet twice a month but things have been so crazy since we moved here I hadn't found time (or energy) to go.

It was nice to share my writing with others, face-to-face, and to hear their words as well. I've missed that.

Mine:

The whispers are growing louder, more difficult to ignore. But I have to concentrate on what I can control, and these people do not belong in that category. Let them mutter amongst themselves. I have work to do.

"Mr. Snider?" The words are accompanied by a tap on my shoulder. And another one. I guess I can't ignore them any longer.

"Yes?" I don't bother looking back. Both to prove a point and so that I don't lose my focus.

"Will this take much longer?" What kind of question is that? Do I look like I'm taking my sweet time?

"I'm going as fast as I can."

"Yes, of course." A brief pause. I almost convince myself that's the end of it. "It's just that the flood waters are above waist level now, and some of the mothers are getting worried."

"Do you think telling me that will help me to remember the combination on this door?" I spin the knob to the right and pull on the door handle. It doesn't budge. "Dang, I was sure that was it. This concussion is really messing with my memory."

"We're doomed, Mr. Snider, aren't we?"

"Less talking, more swimming." Jeez, some people. No appreciation of what's going on right in front of them.

Tuesday April 5th, 2011

The exercise:

Two haiku about: the witch.

I don't know why. Thankfully, I don't need to.

The sun was out this morning so I spent part of it pruning plum trees. It showed its face less often in the afternoon, but we still got some yard work done.

Now my muscles are sore and tired. Perhaps I'll call it an early night.

Mine:

Her cackle is fine,

but she's not much of a witch -

her broom's in the shop.

*     *     *

Green skin, foul cooking,

but he just thinks she's a witch.

His poor stepmother!

Monday April 4th, 2011

The exercise:

Let's write about: growth.

Because I was excited to see our garlic peeking out of the garden soil this afternoon. We had a very cold snap in November and had been worried it had killed off the garlic we'd planted. Very relieved to discover that's not the case.

Mine:

The man stared at his reflection in the still lake and frowned. He remained in his crouch, lost in thought, until rain drops began their assault on the water, distorting the image.

With a grunt he raised himself to his full height, leaning heavily on his cane. He looked around the park, saw mothers and daughters running for cover and cars, shook his head. What did they have to worry about?

It wasn't like they had hair growing out of every damned orifice.

With a soft sigh, he began the long walk back to his room in the hospital, wondering if the nurse would be willing to trim his nose hair.

Sunday April 3rd, 2011

The exercise:

Let us write something which takes place in: the classroom.

After doing some work in the yard this morning, Kat and I taught our second art, music, and yoga class this afternoon. We'd tried to start up a weekly series earlier in the year but there wasn't enough interest, so we're trying a monthly class. We had five students today and I think it went very well.

And I actually got paid to teach. So. Strange.

Mine:

"All right, who would like to go next?" Mrs. Brown asked as she surveyed her classroom from behind her desk. She took a long sip of 'coffee' to eradicate the memory of the last presentation - Michael's dad had droned on about accounting for what felt like five days - and waited for a volunteer. She was in no rush to continue.

"My dad will!" Simon called from the back of the room. "Won't you, dad?"

"If I must," Henri replied, heaving himself to his feet and lighting a cigarette.

"I'll have to ask you not to -" Mrs. Brown began as he made his way to the front but he didn't let her finish.

"While my job is far more interesting than that last windbag's," he said, blowing smoke out his nostrils, "I promise not to go over time." A slight pause, then a cheeky wink. "I'd hate to make us late for our date."

"Mister -"

"Please, call me Henri. Although by my watch," he actually glanced at his wrist for full effect, "you'll be calling me Big Daddy in less than two hours."

"I have never been so -"

"Of course you haven't. But try to keep your skirt on just a little longer - there are children present." Another wink, then he turned to face his son's classmates and their parents. He pulled out his cell phone and held it up for all to see. "So. Who wants to watch me fire my secretary?"

Saturday April 2nd, 2011

The exercise:

A four line poem about: deception.

Reading a very good book at the moment that features a whole lot of that. I still have no idea what's going on. Kinda makes it hard to put it down.

Mine:

With a cocky smile,

You led me astray;

But my vision's cleared,

Now you're gonna pay.

Friday April 1st, 2011

The exercise:

Welcome to April! Write four lines of prose about: the prank.

I don't, nor have I or will I ever, do April Fools' Day. And, thankfully, neither do my friends. It all seems rather pointless to me.

So in that spirit, Kat and I spent the day buying plants for the front yard and finally seeing the tax accountant. It felt good to hand that stuff off and now we shall wait and hope for some money back.

Mine:

"Oh, hi Mrs. Decker," Jerome said as he pushed his screen door open.

"Mr. Cauley," she replied, the slight smile on her lips failing to reach her eyes. "While you were babysitting him, did you tell my son that I was giving him up for adoption so that I could go live on Mars?"

"Well... yes, but it was the only way I could get Bobby to stop asking me when you'd be back."