she walked silently slowly measuring each step then she stops and thinks
she gently walks again listening in the cloisters, is there someone there?
she turns around quickly holding her notebook and pen, but no-one is there
it’s so difficult when you’re a writer
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Image credit:Nickola Johnny Mirkovic @ Unsplash
For the visually challenged reader, this image shows an arched veranda, where multiple pillars support a high vaulted ceiling. The sun is casting shadows on the wall behind the veranda. At the end of it is a fancy door.
The red-headed writer, aka the Raconteuse, had a plan – she was on WhatsApp with Jenne, Denise and Mimi, telling them that she was still a little magic left in her journey around the world; we’ll meet tomorrow, and don’t worry about the different time zones, I’ll handle it.
Now they were sitting in a beautiful wine garden in the château in Franschhoek, right by the vineyards where they are bringing back the harvest – you see, it was autumn in the southern hemisphere. In a little while two waiters brought wine, juice and delicious food; then they rested – it was so peaceful and calm, and they must have drifted into slumber for a while.
Later, they woke up and it was almost dark; they walked along the Huguenots Monument and further, now it was rather steep, rugged and remote; they laid down on the sweet fynbos, and there it is, the Harvest Moon, huge yellow and magnificent – but that was all they could remember.
Did we dream it – all of us – in different places? But no, on the table, each one has a small silver box and inside it has a little locket; WhatsApp pings, it’s the Raconteuse, you know, it’s going to be useful one day, she said.
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Posted for The Unicorn Challenge, a magical challenge hosted by Jenne Gray and C E Ayr, where they provide a photo and we, in turn, provide up to 250 words.
The red-headed writer, aka the Raconteuse, hurries along the narrow street, looking up and down and around, checking to see what is unchanged: here’s the Bagel’n’Cake place (closed at this time, of course), and here are the two warehouses, rather dingy, on either side.
She’s almost there… and here it is: The Café and Bistro, she holds her hands up, but there’s no one there; she’s deflated, she dropped her head and her feet felt like lead.
She notices something at the top of the steps, it was a still-smouldering cigar butt on the ground – it must be him, the Gatekeeper, who else could it be?
She hurries down to the three steps by the double-doors, peering in the gloom in the long bar and high seats, and across the way to the food pass behind the doors; she could almost see what should be happening – the Bartender with the wine and whisky, and Mimi in the kitchen, and Tom as well.
Then she turns around, going back up, scanning around; there’s something about the back of The Café and Bistro, she races around the building, heaving her big bag, she peeps in the basement, now she’s making headway; she can hear music, in her mind’s eye, she listens, isn’t it Mark Knopfler playing ‘Sultans of Swing’ and wearing his headband?
The Raconteuse grins and she can see the Manager, smiling back and waving; he cranks up the volume and plays, ‘Ace of Spades’.
growing up on distant continents without a common tongue lives so seemingly different rich north, poor south experiences diametrically opposed
and yet
sharing corresponding smiles weeping mutual sorrows our hearts are touched by the same love and loss
because, in the end we are all sisters under the skin
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This week’s image is in honor of international women’s day, celebrated on March 8th. This image shows a diverse group of five women holding a placard on which the word “ WOMEN” is written in bold letters. In the background you can see other people holding different placards too.
I wrote my poem back in 2020. It was also International Women’s Day too. I wanted to remind us that wherever we may be in the world, we have a bond of common experience. I’ve found it when travelling in parts of rural Greece and Spain and, when I moved to South Africa and met women from more diverse cultures and with very different life experiences, this connection came even more sharply into focus for me.
Another reason is for my lovely friend, Michnavs – Poetry by Mich. Here’s her powerful and beautiful book: After Rain Skies by Michelle Ayon Navajas. My review is here too.
The red-headed writer, aka the Raconteuse, was sitting in the black taxi; the cabbie didn’t speak much, and she was happy with that, all he had said was the traffic was busy and where he would take her to the south in the city.
After a moment, she begun to rummage in her enormous bag, noticing her new bold, short and spiky hair in her little mirror; she dug down with her nail clippers, pens and pencils, than finally she found her lucky silver cigarette lighter (the non-functioning prop); she held it tightly, breathing slowly.
The sun was going down, huge and orange-red, over the tall buildings. The taxi swung a right and another left to the park; it was Friday – almost the weekend – so many memories, she thought, smiling.
She was almost there, right in the downtown district; the cabbie slowed down and stopped. The Raconteuse waved a handful of notes and gently slamming the door; then she walked around the narrow road, looking up as it beckoned.
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Denise Farley of Girlie On The Edge’s Sunday’s Six Sentence Story Word Prompt: NAIL
the darkness is midnight the moon is misty and all the stars are hiding
the man stands staring in the distance his feet are poised should he stay or should he go?
a moment later the stars are back again the moon is radiant
his soul brings hope he straightens his hat it’s time to go
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Image credit: Darksouls 1 @ Pixabay
For the visually challenged reader, this image shows a monochrome photo of a man wearing a suit and a hat, standing at the edge of a small stone bridge. The man is facing away from us. There is a full moon visible in the background and some trees. The whole scene is surrounded by fog.
I didn’t expect that, but what a happy coincidence – two things happened at the same time (well, almost); just like ‘kill two birds with one stone’ (not literally, of course), but now I have ‘Six Sentence Stories’ and ‘The Unicorn Challenge’, how fun!
So, anyway, look at the photo – three musicians, all fine players, performing.
I remember the wonderful song ‘Pass the Dutchie’ (1982), written by three songwriters: Jackie Mittoo, Fitzroy ‘Bunny’ Simpson and Lloyd ‘Judge’ Ferguson from Kingston. It talks about the Dutch oven, a type of cooking pot, in Jamaica, and how very delicious it is. Even more interesting, the Jamaican slang is from a pot holding marijuana, although we would never use it (ehem).
So, enjoy the music!
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Posted for The Unicorn Challenge, a magical challenge hosted by Jenne Gray and C E Ayr, where they provide a photo and we, in turn, provide up to 250 words.
I can see footprints but there is only me here trudging in the snow
a moment later and now there are two people that’s so much better
let’s walk together and do you know who it is? it’s Piglet and Pooh!
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Image credit:Moostapper@Pixabay For the visually challenged reader, this image showsa deep blue sky and mountains in the distance. The ground is covered by snow and a single track of footprints is seen headed towards the mountains.
The red-headed writer, aka the Raconteuse, had realise that she had been wandering for months, maybe for years.
But what had happened? she remembered seeing a large ship and she had been shivering on the beach; she was dripping and all she could think was that she couldn’t write because the pen and paper were too wet.
Things became very strange – she was striding over mountains and across lakes, moving around so many places, she looked over oceans – was it the big, beautiful bridge, San Francisco? – and then she moved farther and farther away.
She hovered over the clouds and she felt her heart beat singing with joy; her mind, her spirit and even her soul, brimming over with glee. She thought that she had been to the stars as far as the milky way and back again.
But now she was back properly; the Raconteuse walk across the street, then hailed a cab, whistling loudly, ‘taxi!’
She stared at the bridge looking at the train getting closer she walked along the metal grid as the train was almost here, as it closed the gap she grabbed the ledge, holding on hoping, wishing.
The water was deep below blazing in the wide river shimmering in the sun.
The last thing she said was ‘free my mind’ and she flung herself and fell down down gone.
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Image credit: Suefeldberg For the visually challenged reader, this image shows a wall graffiti painted on a metallic side of bridge; FREE YOUR MIND.
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