#Flashfiction Challenge for Carrot Ranch Literary Community #Poetry

November 14: Flash Fiction Challenge

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November 14, 2019, prompt: In 99 words (no more, no less), write a story using storm windows. It can be literal on a house, but also consider other portals, even spaceships or submarines. Can you make it into something new or build a story around something historical? Go where the prompt leads!

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In England we don’t have storm windows

We have triple double glazing

Which distorts the view outside something terrible

They’re only good for keeping out the cold and sound

Looking at the moon at night, you will see three

I can’t imagine needing them for the kind of winds

That sound like an angry animal

Trying to take the house brick by brick

Tornados, snowstorms the size of mountains

Whiting out the familiar, trapping families

In their homes, enforced imprisonment

By the local weather

I watch Chasing Tornados on TV

Wondering how it would feel to be up close…

©anitadawes

Crazy… #Poetry

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Image by Pixabay.com

 

 

Crazy

Do you suffer as I do?

With a melody in the back of your mind

With words you cannot find

Taking the 45 bus to Brixton

A middle-aged woman in the seat behind you

Humming the tune in your head

Do you ask her, only for her to say

She has no idea why it’s in her head

Days later you’re passing a building site

Where the tune is being whistled

by a burly bricklayer.

He too cannot answer your question

A child in the playground, skipping to your tune.

You end up standing in a record shop

Humming it for the assistant

He places an EP on the record player

It’s the tune from an advert,

no longer stuck in your head

The title of which was ‘Many Rivers to Cross.’

It almost drove me crazy

I wondered if we had all crossed the same river…

©anitadawes

 

Freedom… #Poetry

 

 

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Image by Pixabay.com

 

Freedom

Gipsy winds painted caravans

Horses that shine like shoe polish

A way of life that many frowns upon

others secretly wish they had

I am talking about true Romany pride

The open countryside they leave clean

like the homes they live in

to be caged by four walls

a death sentence

much the same as it was

for the American Indians.

I would love to go back to a time

when we take only what we need,

to run wild with the buffalo

and live free with nature.

Not just in small increments.

To chase that open road.

Alas, I can only dream…

aaaaa

From her Mind… #Poetry

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From her Mind

I have in my many years seen shit float

Heard it speak many languages

So the other day I was surprised

When my granddaughter asked

“Nana, if the moon takes light from the sun

Does she cry tears of gold?”

I was taken back by this for a moment

Unsure how to answer

“I believe the moon has shed tears of many colours

Over the millions of years, she has sailed across our sky.”

She seemed content with my answer.

Aged six, I wondered where her thoughts came from

She carried on with her painting

Later, I placed her small picture on my fridge

The full moon in a dark sky, below, the land

a strange quilt of many colours

A twisted kaleidoscope

As I looked at it, I wondered

What kind of adult she will become…?

©anitadawes

The Voice of Chaos… #Poetry

 

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Image from Pixabay.com

 

I am hell

Where I walk there is fire

The kind that burns within

Have you missed me?

My children of Earth

Have you lost inspiration?

During my absence

Are your desires diminished

By the void I left

Do you still worship gold?

Your flashy cars, beautiful women

Do you still twist the knife?

In your neighbours back

To gain an advantage

Do you long for my return

To carry you from the wilderness

Free you from the yoke of goodness

I fan the flame of desire

Of chaos, you need only to follow…

©anitadawes

Love remembered… #Poetry

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Image by Pixabay.com

Love remembered

Something familiar disturbs my sleep, my thoughts

Knowing is not enough to reveal all

It feels old, far away out of reach

Yet demanding, needing to be found

Understood, remembered

Music I don’t recognise steals part of my day

Strange scent assails the air, faint, almost recognisable

The way of passing someone wearing perfume

as if walking through a half-remembered fog

Leaving sticky fingers on my memory

Nails clawing the dark corners of my mind

Where the knowing hides

My dreams like the dark spaces

I remember him, but sunlight washes it away

All but his voice, my name whispered from his lips

Wait for me, I will return

This voice I know from the many lifetimes past

Why must love be lost like ships passing

Can destiny be tricked to let us love again…?

©anitadawes

#Writephoto ~ Glow

Thursday photo prompt: Glow #writephoto

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Meet me one last time to watch the sunrise

Before the blood of the Gods is taken

By the light of day

Their eyes blind to the beauty

Their own fury creates

They trust so little in love

Feuds erupt when it turns in on them

A beautiful maid becomes a reed

Another sent to Hades

Heroes born from forced labour

Where would we be without Hercules, Achilles

Helen and the many hearts she broke

So many stories born

where the sun breaks through

Where would we be without the dawn

And our imagination

I for one, would lose all inspiration

May the battle of the Gods

Continue creating…

©anitadawes

#writephoto