I do like this park, it’s peaceful and gladdening. I often sit here and look up at those great trees, where birds are all around there.
“Trees are poems that the earth writes upon the sky.”
Shall I write today? I have my notebook and pen, but it seems too hard; so I’ll just look up again and enjoy the lovely day.
— Khalil Gibran
Image credit:Shan Ali @ Pexels
In this image, we can see a park with wooden benches installed at regular intervals. There are tall green leafy trees all around, and the ground is covered with grass. A walking track is passing in front of the benches.
I walked around a pleasant park. I often go there. I love to stroll by trees, bushes and colourful flowers, the scent is always magnificent. There are bugs, bees and birds, so much to look at, and maybe take a few photos with my phone; but my favourite part is the beautiful pond where those not so coy carp, or rather those koi (like from Japan) would bubble up and ask for food – and I can.
Then often I would sit, or even lie down, to continue to watch them, and maybe have a daydream or two. And then I might pull out a notebook and a pen to write a little poem.
dream, dream and enjoy a delightful day in spring what could be better?
~~~
This week for #TankaTuesday, Yvette asked us to write a poem about a dream that came true or a dream that fell apart.
“Do you think I can do this?” “Why not?” “It’s a bit scary, and I’ve never used a mic.” “Never?” “Nope.” “Well, you can have a go. It’ll be fine. Trust me!”
“Hmm, I’m thinking about it. Let me look at all those wonderful books.”
“Ooh, I have got this… and this… and this as well.” “Look, we’re in this one together.” “It’s that anthology.” “Great book… all those poetry people.” “And almost all around the world.”
“Anyway, that was fun, but now I have to dash.” “So you aren’t going to do this?” “What shall I say? Later, perhaps?”
~~~
Thanks to Rochelle for hosting Friday Fictioneers Genre: The Truth and Nothing but the Truth Word Count: 100
The red-headed writer (aka la Raconteuse) was feeling rather off-kilter since that odd room, called Room 215, was still bugging her, she had notice that it said it was only for Proprietors on the door, but clearly she had seen other people inside, likeFrank, for example, so that didn’t seem correct.
La Raconteuse had dithered for a bit, wondering what she should do with that small card that she had got, it said, “Get out of jail, it’s free”, but in the end she managed to poke it under the door, maybe Moxie might decide to come into the hallway?
But little Moxie had been adamant to stay in those areas around the Room 215, and the last thing la Raconteuse heard was Moxie running with a little pink kite.
Heaving a small sigh, la Raconteuse held her big bag tightly as she had a last look at that door, but then she thought she should not go any further along the hallway to the back, but rather she should go to the Six-Sentence-Café-and-Bistro.
She was walking quite quickly now, but she stopped to see if the tall, thin man was around in the Manager’s Office, but no-one was there; but then she saw a young pretty woman who was about to go into the bathroom.
She had stopped just before opening the door, as she took one shoe off then rubbed her foot; she was wearing kitten heel shoes and it was clear that one of them pinched.
Everything about this young bird shouted ‘robin’ despite it lacks the distinctive adult colouring. – Crispina Kemp
~~~
I’m a young robin and I’m very proud indeed my plumage is great even though I am freckled both mum and dad said next spring I’ll be a red robin then
~~~
For Colleen Chesebro’s Tanka Tuesday invites us to write a bussokuseki. This form is like a tanka, but there is an extra seven syllable line at the end of the form. Choose your theme.
It’s not a prison now, but it was a kind of prison in the past.
I was only a kid, and I had been eavesdropping, but this time this was something more important. Dad and granddad had been talking quite quietly, but their voices became louder. I couldn’t understand what they said. It didn’t make sense to me.
I’d mostly forgotten about all of this, but something triggered in my head. And that’s why I’m waiting here. There’s a ledger, and I’m almost sure I will find her. She’s called Mary, and she was a fallen woman, my great aunt.
~~~
Thanks to Rochelle for hosting Friday Fictioneers Genre: Historical Fiction Word Count: 100
“Come on,” said the red-headed writer (aka la Raconteuse), “please can we go back to the Room 215,” as the two of them sat in the usual dumbwaiter, “it’s all very well for you, dear Moxie, but for me, it’s very cramped in here, and by the way, what’s the large red balloon doing in there as well?”
“Good question,” grinned Moxie, as she began to let down the rope, while glancing at the bright red balloon, “you know, I’ve no idea, but I expect we’ll find out, and soon,” as Moxie tied up the rope and opened the dumbwaiter.
So, la Raconteuse retrieved her big bag by the floor, and her smartphone and charger by the shelf next to the clockwork contraption, then looked around the Room 215, “excellent,” she said and smiled, “let’s open the door and make our way back to the Café and Bistro, I’m missing all my friends.”
“Not me though,” said Moxie, “I’m not able to leave those various rooms – you know, the almost sky up there, the red room and the blue room, and here, of course,” as she jumped to the floor by the four-foot bellhop, “I wouldn’t even dare to go out there.”
The four-foot bellhop then offered a note to la Raconteuse, as the bright red balloon hovered by him, as a couple of rather small animals, some kind of deer, also appeared.
“Mad, and mad,” muttered la Raconteuse, as she read the note: Get out of jail, it’s free.
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