As Sure as His Eyes Were Blue: A Poem #Monday’sMuse #Romance #Poetry

The warmth of his hand against hers warmed her far deeper than the coffee she held, and it was totally unexpected.

The blessed bliss, the memory of their first kiss, was instantly resurrected.

How touch and hold and glimpses from his eyes could turn the tide with truth, a truth so deep, of love so sweet, and as sure as his eyes were blue.

She dared not move, nor even breath, though the need pressed against her lungs.

The smile he gave was what she’d craved assuring her new things had begun.

THE END

*Creativity is a funny thing. This began as a short and wove its way into poetry. These are my results for Monday’s Muse June 19th, 2017

~Dream. Imagine. Believe. Do. CONQUER!

The Right Time: Writing Prompt 1 Results

Writing Prompt: “3rds” Song: The Right Time, by Warren Barfield (Click the song title to read lyrics and hear the song.) Album:“Red Bird” 3rd line in 3rd verse of 3rd song: “We were barely getting by” Note: From my view, I have chosen to count the chorus as a verse. To view the original Prompt & Rules, click HERE.

The Right Time

“We were barely getting by. Carlos liked to believe that everything was just fine, but me, I knew better. Seven days straight drinking cold water and wearing underclothes that were so filthy they could stand up straight on their own was not fine.

“Life’s too short to be gripping all the time.” Carlos managed to throw that line at me every time I looked like I was going to wage a complaint. In all honesty, there wasn’t anything that Carlos could do that he wasn’t already doing to make things any better. We had a roof over our heads, really it was a tent he had managed to pinch from some local store a few months back. He hated stealing, but he hated being cold more than that.

More than just being dirty, finding our stomachs growling louder than any conversation we could seem to have, what seemed to bother me the most was his optimism. I suppose one of us had to be the optimist. One of us had a whole long life to live and the other…well the other of us was on precious borrowed time, time that should never be spent with complaints, no matter how much clay gets caught underneath your fingernails.

Apart from the stealing, we did other things that weren’t always on the shining side of the law. All of it was harmless. Just two kids out pocking a joke or two with no cares in the world besides seeking a good laugh and make believing we were a pair of lost boys on Neverland.

That was mostly true.

There wasn’t much to care about besides living in that moment. At least I let Carlos believe that I believed that. That is what friends are for, to laugh with, cry with, and run away with when it seems there is no hope.

Homes for the un-adoptables. What is it that makes a kid unwanted, unable to be placed? What does being unadoptable even mean? Did it mean that Carlos and I, and a slew of others, were broken, mistakes, unfit for love?

Carlos somehow managed to not think so. He said it meant we were born free. It meant we were created without confines and made to live in the dreams that others would never get to live.

I had always been the realist, not so much a pessimist, but a guy willing to look at the facts and call a spade a spade. We weren’t wanted because we were too old. Thirteen isn’t cute and cuddly. Carlos said if age had anything to do with it then what made us not cute when we were babies in the system?

I kept the hard truth to myself. One of us wasn’t wanted because of sickness and a quick expiration date on life. Parents didn’t want that. They wanted to be grandparents. That meant their kid had to grow up. If they wanted to watch the beginning and end of a life in less than twenty years they would get a puppy, not a thirteen-year-old old boy.

That is why we ran away. That is why I ran away and I am so glad that I did because if I hadn’t done so, ten years ago, I would have never gotten to see Carlos reach the height of his life. I would have never come out of my shell and anger. I would have never been able to tell his grandmother, seven months after he passed, what a great kid he was. I would have never been adopted by her and become the man I am today if it wasn’t for Carlos.

THE END.

I really enjoyed writing this and seeing how the story unfolded around that first line, “We were barely getting by.” I felt like I was taking a risk, hitting on a subject that is so sensitive to many, being an “unwanted” child, lost in the system. I hope I was able to bring the short tale full circle and create a tale that is uniquely its own apart from the song that lent its inspiration.  Thanks for reading, and I will be posting my BONUS round next week!

~Dream. Imagine. Believe. Do. CONQUER!

“3rds”: Creative Writing Prompt #AmWriting #Story #CreativeWritingPrompt

There is nothing like a good writing prompt to help get your muse muscling along. I, for one, enjoy those with a time limit as well as quirky rules to follow.

This one is called “Thirds.”

TIME LIMIT: 20min (This is from the moment you put your pen to the pad or start typing…and yes, we are under an honor system here.)

DESCRIPTION: Music is a big part of our inspiration. We all listen to music. But how much does music shape the art that we go forth to create? Are we conscious of its effects on us, and if so (if you weren’t before) how can we take this knowledge and harness this inspiration to create something fresh and authentic and on purpose?

RULES:

  1. Choose the album that you are currently listening to or listening to the most, and select the 3rd track on the album.
  2. Play the track over 3 times.
  3. Get a hold of the lyrics, go to the 3rd stanza/verse and then select the 3rd line. (If your song does not have such stanza’s then just grab the 3rd line in the verse)
  4. Weave a story or poem of your own around this 3rd verse and see what you come up with within 20min.
  5. Remember to include the Track you are working from via Youtube to your post if possible. If not, just add the title of the song and the band etc.

BONUS ROUND:

*Instead of using music, use a book or poem that you are reading. Select the 3rd chapter and the 3rd line, and weave a story/poem around that line, making it your own.

**I will post my results NEXT WEEK**

~Dream. Imagine. Believe. Do. CONQUER!

Monday’s Muse Writing Prompt: June 19th 2017 #Monday’sMuse #AmWriting #CreativeWriting

OPENING LINE (S): “The warmth of his hand against hers warmed her far deeper than the coffee she held, and it was totally unexpected.”

RULES: 

  • Using the above line and the picture provided, (Or a line of your own choosing) create a story (or even a poem) within up to 20 minutes.
  • Once you have finished your super awesome masterpiece, add a link in the comments section of THIS POST to your story for others to read, as well as a link on your page back to this original post for others to follow along and write with as well. In your “tags” section, add the tag “Monday’s Muse.”
  • To get the Above Image follow this LINK

If you do not have a blog of your own, leave me a comment and send me an email to icameforthesoup@gmail.com and I will post your lovely words here on my blog.

(PLEASE KEEP ENTRIES THAT NEED TO BE POSTED ON THIS SITE WITHIN A PG13 RANGE. THANK YOU)

My results will be posted by Friday.

~Dream. Imagine. Believe. Do. CONQUER!

Miss Madelyn Haze: Flash Fiction #Monday’sMuse #AmWriting #Suspense

She scribbled down the memory so quickly that her fingers began to cramp. It didn’t matter that the thought stretched across days of her day planner. It was the closest thing she could find.

Her recollection of years passed had become congealed and foggy the day of her accident. Flashes of herself, her true self, would come and go like strokes of lightning–there one minute and gone the next.

But this memory, these moments were clear, concise, solid. She could even remember the words of the conversation, no, argument, she was having with … a man? The timber of his voice modulated in and out of focus, the pitch twisting as if someone was messing with the sound system of her mind.

Still, she wrote down the memory and the conversation, word for word, until the cramps in her fingers spread into her forearm.

June, July, August, all of the days nearly eaten away by this specific moment. Besides the date and year on the calendar she was remembering, April, 2014, most of what she jotted down was useless. She might as well have been writing down a recipe for chicken soup it was so mundane.

She would have cried for the time she’d spent in that moment of recollection, chocked it up as a simple exercise, another stone of hope to throw at the glass tower of amnesia, had it not been for the last thing the person she argued with said.

They had called her Madelyn, Miss. Madelyn Haze.

She let out a shout of triumph and even did the cliche fist pump in the air. Her fingers squeezing so tightly against her pen she nearly snapped it in two.

This was a victory, but it only caused a greater level of fear, one that overshadowed the doubts and worry of not knowing who she was.

The person in the memory had not only called her by a name that was different than the one she’d been convinced was her own, but they had also called her ‘Miss,’ which meant she was not married, which left no explanation for the man in the other room who’d sworn that he’d been her husband for the last seven years.

THE BEGINNING…MAYBE

*Oh, I love when a writing prompt goes down a road like this. For me, this is like a delightful bread crumb, a trail that could lead to a great full-length novel. Only time and the completion of other projects will tell. These are my results for Monday’s Muse Writing Prompt June 12th, 2017.

~Dream. Imagine. Believe. Do. CONQUER!

Web of Flowers: Micro Fiction #Monday’sMuse #AmWriting #Drama

She rode her bike as far into the pasture as the tall plants would allow. Taking a breath, and putting up the kickstand, she let out a scream, praying that she’d gone far enough.

She’d gone far enough in other ways, said too much, allowed her heart to get entangled in webs that no spider would dare dance upon let alone spin. Now she was stuck, just as stuck as the tangle of wildflowers that clogged the spokes of her bicycle wheels.

Panting from the tension that stretched her chest, she knelt down and tore away plug after plug of busted flowers. The scent of their sap saturated her fingers promising to leave a faint reminder of where she’d been and what she’d done.

It would be no different than with the rest of her life; the scent of her actions, the evidence of her trying to pull herself free would always trace her existence.

THE END

*I know, you are probably wondering what is that she has done. The feelers of my mental muse are still seeking answers to that and may have actually found them. But on the other hand, I am not even sure the answer matters. These are my results for Monday’s Muse Writing Prompt June 5th, 2017. Follow the link to give it a try yourself!

~Dream. Imagine. Believe. Do. CONQUER!

Monday’s Muse Writing Prompt: June 5th 2017 #Monday’sMuse #CreativeWriting #AmWriting

OPENING LINE (S): “S/he rode his/her bike as far into the pasture as the tall plants would allow. Taking a breath, and putting up the kickstand, s/he let out a scream, praying that they’d gone far enough.”

RULES: 

  • Using the above line and the picture provided, (Or a line of your own choosing) create a story (or even a poem) within up to 20 minutes.
  • Once you have finished your super awesome masterpiece, add a link in the comments section of THIS POST to your story for others to read, as well as a link on your page back to this original post for others to follow along and write with as well. In your “tags” section, add the tag “Monday’s Muse.”
  • To get the Above Image follow this LINK

If you do not have a blog of your own, leave me a comment and send me an email to icameforthesoup@gmail.com and I will post your lovely words here on my blog.

(PLEASE KEEP ENTRIES THAT NEED TO BE POSTED ON THIS SITE WITHIN A PG13 RANGE. THANK YOU)

My results will be posted by Friday.

~Dream. Imagine. Believe. Do. CONQUER!