Twitter Poem Test Run

Yesterday I tweeted a request for words, lines or names to use as inspiration for a piece of fiction, a poem or a micro-story. Tweets rained onto my TweetDeck… but only one related to mine ;) So, thanks to Gary Murning for playing!

Pernickety. British English, informal.
Worrying too much about small and unimportant things [= fussy]
(Longman dictionary of contemporary English)

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Sitting there,
staring at me.

Long crooked feet and arms,
stretching out like
he owns the place.

His hair is gray, a little,
mostly black.
Sitting there,
staring at me.

I could reach out and
make him go away,
disappear.

I’d have to touch him to do that, though.
And move.
It would attract attention.
Then everyone would see him:
Sitting there,
staring at me.

Maybe use the handbag?
Swing it casually,
hit him just hard enough so he
moves away.

No one would notice.
No. He might grab the handbag,
sit on it.

I will wait.

He might rub off my hem when I
get up and walk out of church with
the crowd.

Some other poor woman will
have to worry about him then.

Today, of all days.
At church, of all places.

Fluff.

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1:100:1000

She expected the world to turn upside down, at least tilt. She expected flowers to wilt and trees to shed their leaves. She expected time to halt, air to freeze, people to notice. She expected impact. Change.

Day 1.

She waited for the tears, the agony. She waited for the heartbreaking memories and the deep sense of emptiness. She waited for life to crash down on her.

Day 100.

And so,
under this curtain of
unbroken white and filtered blue,
I find, in
the corner of my eye,
an image or a shadow.
And I feel both relief
and another wash of sorrow.
We need to part ways
yet again.

Day 1000.

And so,
the curtain of white is
finally letting some light through, and
thinking of you doesn’t hurt
(as bad).
Your smile lingers
and reminds me of
how beautiful you were.
Are.
We don’t part ways anymore.

Light in its Natural Habitat

ABC poem.

Another day has begun,
brighter than the one before.
Cool breeze whispers on my window,
dew glitters on the grass.

Everything seems easier now.

Finally.

Giddy as a child, I
head for the woods.
In a day like this,
Jesus is in the trees…

Kidding, kidding!

Let us find peace amongst those branches,
moss-covered trunks and the little flowers.
No light is as fragile as
on the leaves and the
petals of those flowers.

Quiet and calm, but still bursting with life.
Riveting,
somehow.

Take this day as it comes, it will.
Under every sky is a
vulnerable flower and a
witty companion to take you to it.

X many mornings from now,
you will find yourself exploring the
zoological existence of light, in its natural habitat.

Go on.

Dragging her feet
making her way towards whatever she
has to face that day.

Eyes glazed and gray
hair tangled as if soaked and woven
everything is slow.

Maybe she cares
but now that she’s over the first hindrance
she doesn’t listen.

Hands in her pockets
as if digging for lost treasures in there
not that she’d find any.

Dragging her feet
postponing the soon-needed decision
because of that truth.

Wish I Could Get Lost

Dawn breaks,
white mist hides the
familiar shapes of houses, trees, mountains.

Kid awakes,
the air is damp and
chilly as I drop’em off to daycare for a while.

I crawl back into bed and
convince myself I have nothing better to do
but be comfortably hidden under sheets and covers.

For a couple of hours I’ll not be here, I’ll have no voice, no presence.

I’ll greet the day at noon.

My phone rings and I
can’t sleep with it screaming for me
like a desperate reminder of my whole life of responsibilities.

I guess I’ll be here after all.

Birthday

Here´s a little story for a contest over at Writer´s Round-About. Hey, If you don´t try you never succeed, and the prizes are yummy :)

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The door was open. Light streamed into the room like a waterfall, or so it looked from the sideways-on-bed, head-hanging-off-edge position I woke up in. I pulled myself up, cringed as my neck protested loudly with a crack and pain, and sighed heavily. There was noise in the kitchen. There were people in my house. There were kids in my house. The tiny kind, with diapers and sticky little hands and headache-building whining. Why were my sisters here, and why… Crap.

Suddenly the door wasn´t as much open as filled with faces. Horribly, uncomfortably happy and excited faces.

Happy birthday Lily! They announced like it was the best thing ever. Crap.

Crap crap crap. (How old am I again?)

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