May Writing Sprint 1: Prompts

May Writing Sprint 1: Prompts

May’s first two-hour writing sprint comes by the way of five words:

Artillery. Blame. Run. Bake. Abolition.

A quote from Shirley Jackson’s Photo The Haunting of Hill House and a photo by wu yi on Unsplash.

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Post in the comments, on your blog and link back here or over at Mel Cusick-Jones‘s site or the Twitter thread.

Best of luck and enjoy the Bank Holiday.

April Writing Sprint 4: Prompts

April Writing Sprint 4: Prompts

For the final time in April, we have a series of writing prompts. Last week saw myself and Mel Cusick-Jones turn to poetry.

This week’s rules are the same: two-hour limit, use the words, image and quote as inspiration. Extra kudos for using all five words in your piece. Post your efforts or a link to them in the comments here, Aside From Writing or on the Twitter thread.

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Best of luck.

Writing Sprint Poetry: Grandfather’s Hand

Writing Sprint Poetry: Grandfather’s Hand

This week’s writing sprint’s prompts were five words, an image, and a quote.

The words were: Pretend; Friends; Different; Agent; Hands.

The image and quote inspiration:

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The Walt Whitman reference tempted me into poetry waters. Be warned, there are two P’s I struggle with on a regular basis: piano and poetry. Luckily, I have a teacher to help me on the keys so I understand the rules (sometimes) and can play something close to a tune.

As for poetry, I haven’t got a clue. To prove the point here’s this week’s effort (I apologise in advance to any poetry purists).

Grandfather’s Hand

An unfinished sky,
A brick without dust,
A grandfather’s task,
The last tailored must.

The shatter of glass,
Uncompromising thirst,
Pre-ordained hope,
A step to the worst.

All blinded by blood,
Bonded by their hate,
Hoping halves are whole,
The strong segregate.

Seen with pretend youth,
Older than their age,
River to waterfall,
Love that becomes rage.

Moving over seas,
Touching clouds trapped above,
Agent of circumstance,
Perceived as a dove.

With no obvious stop,
The bird has to land,
Spreading broken wings,
It takes a last stand.

After this moment,
Good can become true,
More shattered glass, sparkles,
Grandfather’s chosen few.

With rounding complete,
Friends fade to the past,
As light becomes shadow,
The hope needs to last.

It hangs different,
Each day is a stride,
Disbelief mistaken,
For Grandfather’s pride.