Choice

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Sometimes its easy, sometimes its hard, but making the decision is key. There are a thousand tributaries rooted in every second, every moment presents an option to reshape the course of the river. This body of time has life and a mind of its own, it keeps coursing, swallowing the world in its fluid steps. Gracefully supple, undeniably powerful, you have to take care and take to it in the right way.

There is a song that plays in the air as it cuts a course.The sweet and sour notes of this able bodied wine, aged since time in memorial, winds a testing harmony, demanding action or provoking complacency. Branches will fall from family trees, the ground will give way, there will be rapids that will beg you to find the strength to find air when it leaves you. When you fall victim to the notion that you are merely a passenger, you turn you lips to sour curves when greeted by the dissonance in the melody of you maladjustments. These twisted features steal from your chance to take ownership and rescue your rhythm. Tread carefully, pause and tread water, find the strength to command you minds oars.

I was in the habit of watching her lead. Infected by everything inside her, I lost sight of sense while spending time in her tranquil torrents. Like anyone else, I had my senses, I had my character. Without faltering I proved myself the master of my own thoughts on many an occasion rich with with her clear waters. She paralyzed this truth, with rapids, blankets of wash that showered me, washing my hands clean of confidence stolen from worldly things. Naked, I felt nameless, the river left me with many questions. Who was I? Where was I headed.

I believe our words are heavy, so I heaved a statement into existence that yoked my sense of self to effort. The river will always run, its race is longer and truer than mine. I will dive in and run with it while my body is able, while my breath is in action I will work with the waves and hold up my end of the bargain and cut my own course. There are a thousand tributaries rooted in every second, every moment presents an option to reshape the course of the river. I will be ready when the rapids return, captain of my voyage.

 

Writing 201, Assignment 4: Concrete Poem

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Writing 201 has added a dash of heartache to the days feast of poetic prompts, devices and forms. Day Four has requested a Concrete poem, based on the prompt “Animal” utilising enjambment.

I wake up every morning excited to read the days assignment, I look forward to  toying with ideas for the piece in the spare moments the day provides. I found myself lost in panic today, every time I turned to planning my contribution mind froze. Fortunately all things come to an end, the panic ran its course. It faded away to a whispers and gifted me some peace of mind and a slither of time to fumble a piece into existence, a freewrite. Bravo to the folks at The Daily Post, today was truly a challenge. I had no idea how to share the image, I am not the most technologically competent person, so here is a screenshot of the finished product.Today I was truly tested! Enjoy

Concrete 2

 

 

 

 

 

Writing 201, Assignment 2: Limerick – Brooks

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Day 1 of writing 201 was the source of intrigue and excitement. Day two is finally here, and it brings with it a very familiar face, the limerick. Today’s assignment suggest a prompt and a device to implement. Based on today’s brief, I have to make use of alliteration, in a limerick to present a journey to you, the reader. Enjoy!

Beneath the brackens bosom, a babbling brook bleeds,

Running free from forests foot, finding flesh in fuller seas.

Fleeting, forgotten moments

Turn trickles to testing torrents,

Beneath bracken the brook begins, in tides of freedom it leads!

Writing 101 – Day Two: A View of the Park

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After summer had abandoned its lethargic rousing, it graced us with its sprightly sun and and warming embrace. It may have been a late arrival, but its fashionably late burst into fruition negated the dreary days of pitter-pattering minions of darkened nimbus. When these days came around I had my Eden to turn to, my sanctum of solace, the loom that wove all that I loved about summer into one tapestry of beauty, who could ask for more. I would head there with a book for the day,  go along with some friends, and other times I’d simply walk my thoughts through the park.

It was a good twenty minute walk to the park from where I stayed. A pretty straight forward route, dotted with a convenience stores. These  shops were perfectly situated to cater to my hunger for all manner of treats. When the heat was boastful and right, the obvious choice was a nice cold treat, the type that was affordable, sweet, cold and coloured my tongue a vast array of vivid reds, greens, blues and purples, the ever reliable ice lolly. A quick stop for supplies and off for the park, armed with a bag full of treats, my excitement would bubble in a crescendo of excitement as I grew closer and closer. A further two minutes from the shops, turn right, and there it was.

Even before I set foot into the park I could see the expanse of green grass, with accents of gold around the football goals, where excited feet rushed around as its gracious host fed there jovial canter, On the nearest edge of the grass was a small playground, the unmistakable creak of the swing set piercing through the children’s laughter. On days like these there was always children’s laughter filling the air, parents sat outside the enclosure as the children played, the stray parent or two joining the merriment. The joy was almost palpable, coursing through the place.

I always kicked my shoes off my feet when I got there. I wanted to feel the soft green right underneath me, warm and welcoming, I wanted every sense to dine on the feast of my Eden. As I walked past the tall row of trees that filed along the left hand side of the grass i could feel the crunch of leaves under the soles of my bare feet, I walk on as they whisper stories, stories of a lifetime in the canopy of their guardians. These trees stood along the edge like family, they all looked similar in one way or another, each with a uniqueness of character to them, the same resemblance that siblings bare. Under there outstretched leafy arms you could hide from the heat of the sun, if its kiss proved too passionate. The wind the rustled the leaves and tickled the skin was a temperamental one, sometimes it blew with a heated passion, other times it would tease the suns power off the skin,  cooled the beads of sweat from the brow and steadied the heat.

The shade of the trees made a perfect location for sitting down and enjoying a read or a nibble. It was always cool and  shaded, the sun would wink through the canopy every now and then , but the trees would keep me sheltered, unmoved as I reclined on its trunk, towering behind and over me, as though reading over my shoulder. The feather bodies that scurried through the leaves would accompany the summer in there joyful riffs. The scurrying squirals would dance along the branches, but they were all welcome company.

Further into the park,only a short daydreaming wonder from there green, was a large pond, alive with life. A span of tranquil libation for the travelling birds. From my observation, this pond was home to two gracious swans that nested on the nearest bank of this wavy watery mirror. A whole host of feathered folk danced in the pond, mallards and a complimentary cast of water fowl waded to and fro, bobbing there beaks into the water, occasionally a crafty bird or two would full submerge itself in the pond to emerge a few seconds later. A circus of motion on so many planes.

I would spend the best part of an afternoon there in that park. Reveling in the broad pallet of colours and sounds. The green and gold of the grass, the blue hue of the watery parquet, the pearly white feathers of the gracious swans with  those orange beaks, the colourful coats of the ducks and there entourage, the blue sky with wondering whites that sweep through it, that golden sun, that crackling brown skin of the trees and there bronzing leaves, the rusting aging goal post that persists to stay and make merry with the visitors. And the symphony, oh what a symphony that would play there.

Take me back to my Eden. I hope my sanctum will remember me and once again we can embrace one another. Maybe again I can let those blades of grass embrace my stride and share with me the excitements I’ve missed in our time apart. Let the leaves hug there branches, but please let a stray leaf or two, one of  those, eager to meet me leaves, come back down and lay with me again. Send me there so I can wave to the swans, ask them about there pond and those rowdy fowls, those acrobatic ducks in there wading and head bobbing.

That place will always live on in my memories, whenever my eyelashes cage close a blink I know i will see it again, my Eden.