Monday Morning Writing Prompt–Get Inside the Artist

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I just finished reading a novel about Ernest Hemingway’s first wife–Hadley–entitled The Paris Wife. A part of the experience was that it allowed me to creep inside the author’s disturbed psyche and feel something of what he must have felt.

For this week’s writing prompt, I challenge you to select a well-known artist or literary figure and try to assume their persona. Read up a bit on their personal life and world view, if you need to, then write a poem or short fiction from their point of view and/or in their voice.

Take Hemingway, for example. You could write something that sounds like what he would write OR you could articulate an emotion that you might ascribe to him–perhaps his insecurity at the beginning of his career, the guilt he felt when he was unfaithful, the deep depression that preceded his suicide.

Choose someone you think you can understand or with whom you can identify. Or an author/artist whose work is familiar to you.

Hope this one is fun for you.

Old Folks at Play–Response to Monday Morning Writing Prompt

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Old Folks at Play

“It’s been a while,” he said.

“Yep.”

“Are you sure you want to do this?”

“Don’t make me stop to think about it; I’ll find a reason not to.” I sat on the huge boulder along side the river and unlaced my tennis shoes. The rock was cold and hard, reminding me I was no longer young. My butt wouldn’t tolerate more than a couple of minutes of this.

“Remember when we used to sit here for hours, Chuck. Reading or dozing while we waited for the trout to bite?”

“Never did catch anything worth eating. C’mon, let’s do it.”

He reached for my hand, snuggled it securely in his calloused grip. Warmth and a sense of confidence settled in my old bones.

This is crazy. My rational self tossed out images: broken bones, snagged fish hooks, arthritic pain.

The rocks leading to the shore were rough. Grass and fox tails pricked my bare skin. Chuck tightened his grasp and I guessed he was toying with second thoughts too.

The first step into the Truckee startled  and I shrieked. Snow melt from the Sierra rushed over my feet then up the calves of my legs. The smooth stones soon gave way to muck that squished between my toes. A fish slithered against my ankles, its scales tickling my bare skin. I struggled to keep my footing.

Chuck turned to me and slipped his arms around my waist. I remembered how it used to be and then he pulled me to himself and blew softly into my ear.

“You’re not really thinking of…”

His mouth closed over mine to silence my doubts.

Two hours later, I helped him fold the blanket we’d spread out on the river bank. In my memory, I could still feel the crunching leaves beneath my body and the weight of my husband on top of me. Those little aches and pains that had been our constant companions for a good part of the last decade remained forgotten.

“You’re gorgeous, Agnes,” Chuck whispered.

I felt my pulse bounding in my head and caressed Chuck’s stubbly cheek. “Don’t let anyone tell us we’re too old, sweet stuff.”

That was when I noticed a gaggle of teenage boys, watching from a clump of bushes.

My response to the prompt for MMWP to write a poem or flash fiction that included texture. Check out other submissions at: https://liv2write2day.wordpress.com/2011/05/15/monday-morning-writing-prompt-texture/

Revelation–Poetry Potluck’s Theme of Art, Music and Poetry

D. Slotto 4/2011

Image by ozgurmulazimoglu via Flickr

D. Slotto 4/2011

Submitted to Poetry Potluck: http://jinglepoetry.blogspot.com/ and

Monday Morning Writing Prompt: https://liv2write2day.wordpress.com/2011/04/24/monday-morning-writing-prompt-dream-symbolism/

Revelation

Last night as I slept
the Artist came and dabbed Oleander’s
green with brilliant buds of pink
then feathered white across
a chosen hummingbird.

Last night as I slept
the Violinist played, sweeping
his bow across the fronds of palms.
Music hummed in branches of Crepe Myrtle,
sprinkling her blossoms all across the Earth.

Last night as I slept
the Poet tossed his words into the water,
ripples bore their beauty
all across the world so sere,
so desperate for salvation.

This morning I awoke
to colors of joy,
to sounds of grace,
to possibilities of peace.

This week the Oleanders blossomed overnight, the winds howled, and a striking albino hummingbird has graced us with his presence. Happy Easter to all.

Monday Morning Writing Prompt

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This past week, Big Tent Poetry had us write a list poem. I chose to write a list of words I’ve never (that I can recall) used in a poem. They are fine words and I’ve been challenged to use them all in a wordle. That would be quite a feat–there are 26 of them, one from each letter of the alphabet, but…

For today’s prompt, I’d like you to choose one (or more if it suits you) of these word to use it the title or theme of a poem. To see the words, you can link up to the poem at https://liv2write2day.wordpress.com/2010/12/31/words-ive-never-used-in-a-poem/

Here’s my effort:

Jam

A Haiku

Sticky fingers—jam

(cherry). Now lick your lips, dear,

then you can kiss me.

The Closet–Response to Monday Morning Writing Prompt

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The Closet

Overpowering perfume (rose)
lingers, crushes, blends with mold.
Hangers, scattered on the floor,
some padded with purple velour,
once held cashmere sweaters.

The door of the safe is ajar,
as it has been for years,
the combination hidden too well.
Heavy chains of gold entangle
with a strand of perfect pearls
and a locket that holds a black
and white tattered photo
of her youngest daughter
and a dent from a tiny tooth.

Shelves of shoeboxes overflow—
twenty years worth of receipts,
silent witnesses to money tossed
at frivolity. In my memory I hear
angry words hurled in defense
of wanton spending.

Bell bottoms cavort with
shoulder pads. Browns and beige,
no color. No prints. Just tepid tan and
one black knit suit.
I finger the smoothness
of silk and satin, the texture
of brocades and polyester.

In the far corner a cane leans
against a walker.
The week after she died I moved in.

I worked this poem in response Monday Morning Writing Prompt. While it is based on some aspects of actual closets, the rather dark nuances are a product of my imagination. I invented a lot in order to involve more senses. I hope to see some of your work, too. I welcome any critique/suggestions you may have.

Rediscovery-Jingle’s Poetry Potluck and One Shot Wednesday

Submitted to Jingle’s Poetry Potluck. The theme this week is dreams and visions. Check out the many poets at http://jinglepoetry.blogspot.com/

…and to One Shot Wednesday at http://oneshotpoetry.blogspot.com/

Rediscovery

Emerging from this fog
(induced by absinthe or perhaps unknowing?)
I fly in my balloon, the landing rough
in rockiest terrain.

Quixote I am not but savor
tastes of honey from the gentle smoothness
of earth’s ivory skin.

I deconstruct the faith
that, as a child gave cause for desperation,
pursue Elijah’s chariot, with fiery wings
to worlds oblivious of tragedy,

return like Sandalphon or Phoenix
brilliant in life’s kaleidoscopic dance
of raging color.

Withhold your judgment now, dear friend.
The day may come when, too, you will embrace
my vision, and welcome in the Logos.

Note: This poem was written using the prompt I posted on Monday. You may want to check it out. The random selection of words contributes a bit to the obscurity. I confess to adding words to this one for the sake of some cohesiveness. In the bible, the prophet Elijah was taken into heaven in a fiery chariot. It is said that he has returned to earth as the Archangel Sandalphon who is the overseer of the below direction (the earth). Logos is Greek for Word and is used in this context to refer to Jesus as the Word of God as you will read in the first chapter of the Gospel of John. Eventually I will, no doubt, revise this poem and lose of few of the arbitrary words. Should you decide to try this prompt, you would make me happy if you left a link in comments.

Monday Morning Writing Prompt–The Difference between Men and Women

Here’s a prompt that could be funny or, perhaps, dangerous. Write a poem or short fiction–maybe a scene including dialogue–that demonstrates a point of difference between men and women. Here’s my response–a short poem:

The Difference Between Men and Women

Anxiety for a friend
who’s facing death
hammers inside me,
demands release.
My husband says
“Stop talking about it
or you won’t sleep.”

Please link your work in comments!

Monday Morning Writing Prompt–Chat with an Author

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Here we are, the last week of September. To help you get the creative juices flowing this morning, I offer you this prompt:

You are conducting an author interview. Your first question is simple–“Why do you write?” Choose one of the following authors, use your imagination and construct a brief dialogue with them discussing this topic.

• Emily Dickinson
• Ernest Hemmingway
• Barbara Kingsolver
• Lee Child
• or someone of your choice

Post your dialogue and add the link in comments. Have a good week writing.

Monday Morning Writing Prompt–Let Your Imagination Rule!

I find that browsing other blogs sets my imagination in gear. Especially those in which the “About” page is extremely vague. My imagination loves to divine a back story based on the blogger’s post and a physical description if the avatar is something cutesy or a photo.

So for this week’s prompt, choose a blogger friend about whom you really know next to nothing and take it from there. Write a description, or a dialogue, or a short, short story about someone who arouses your curiosity. A poem could work as well. Please, DO NOT identify the other blogger.

Now, I guess I’ll browse some blogs and see where my creative muse takes me. Please leave your link or your story in the comment section. Have a good writing week.

Monday Morning Writing Prompt

Use a metaphor or description to portray fear. Here’s an example from my novel: “Winter is Past.”

In a corner of the dimly lit room, a tiny spider worked diligently, spinning an intricate web. I knew how it must feel to fall victim to its hunt, to become tangled in its snare. As each delicate filament wrapped around its victim, I felt a sense of suffocation, of helplessness.

Have fun with this–I would love for you to post your “discovery” in comments so that I can reference it for Wordsmith Wednesday which will cover metaphor.