a random photo
I’d been hanging on the ceiling
Not an easy task
Then I’d dropped down
And set to work.
I’d drawn a picture
Then I began to write
My handwriting was very squiggly
And I even wrote in the margin.
Culture? What’s culture?
Well, there’s pressure in my head
But that’s not a problem
You see, I’m actually an influencer.
~~~~~~
Val‘s Scavenger Hunt – 13th prompt
Write a free verse poem that incorporates the words: culture, ceiling, margin, pressure, influence.
The red-headed writer (aka la Raconteuse) had been munching her snap, crackle and pop for breakfast, she ate rather quickly, then dumped her bowl in the sink, and stuffed the box into the cupboard; ‘it’s going to be busy,’ she grinned to herself.
She had several messages to do, and then she hurried down the six floors holding her usual big bag, she opened the main door and felt the cold breeze outside, but at least it wasn’t wet, as she made her way to the Six-Sentence-Café-and-Bistro.
Even as she walked through the streets, she could hardly miss all this nonsense around, almost every house had at least one pumpkin or ghost on their stoops; she’d even craned her head right up to see what looked like a couple of witches on the roof with their broomsticks.
It was still pretty early as she entered the lovely Café, and what a great atmosphere it was; she could tell that Mimi had a big hand in making the place look really rather spooky; there’re pumpkins galore, little glowing lights around the walls and even tiny bats on the tables.
La Raconteuse removed her big bag and her coat, shoving them into the back of the bar, while looking around to find something useful to do – polishing perhaps, as she grabbed the first thing she found.
A moment later Tom appeared from the kitchen, ‘trick or treat,’ he grinned; ‘oh, by the way there’s a new guest arrived,’ he pointed, ‘it’s Reena.’
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
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Di of Pensitivity 101 – Wednesday’s Three Things Challenge: SNAP, CRACKLE, POP
Denise Farley of GirlieOnTheEdge
Sunday’s Six Sentence Story Word Prompt: TRICK
More #SixSentenceStories
Just a mushroom?
No, it’s definitely more than that.
It’s beautiful.
It’s crimson, golden, even russet.
Come on, let’s get closer.
They knelt down carefully.
We shouldn’t disturb it.
Well, not just yet.
It’s a beauty.
It certainly is.
Okay, let’s pick it.
Now!
~~~~~~~~~
Image credit: Benjamin Lehman @Unsplash
This image shows a golden cap mushroom growing in a forest floor.
Written in response to Sadje‘s What Do You See #312 photo prompt.
Plus, hooray! Congratulations, it’s four years for WDYS. Well done, dear Sadje!
Photo Prompt © David Stewart
It was lashing down that fall, as she stared outside, willing for something to happen. She’d switched on her tv, and sat down on her dilapidated couch. She’d watched some of the news, but nothing had really grabbed her. She’d switched it off.
She’d picked up a trashy novel from her coffee table, as several magazines drifted down to the floor. Another chapter finished, she sighed and put it down. Surely she could do something better than this?
She went into her kitchen, and brewed some coffee. She mused as she poured, then walked back.
Could she be a writer?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Thanks to Rochelle for hosting Friday Fictioneers
Genre: Historical Faction
Word Count: 100
my little friend
Dawn is up, and already little creatures are on the move
Geckos and lizards are warming up, and skittering near to the rim
Young squirrels hurry down the huge palm tree and up again
The sky is tinged with pink and turquoise, doves are courting merrily
Male weaver birds are busy making many nests, looking hopeful
Dawn is up, and already little creatures are on the move
Pond skaters glide across the water, striding with purpose
A dragonfly flies fast, then hovers, seeking for a mate
Geckos and lizards are warming up, and skittering near to the rim
Bright butterflies with glorious rainbow colours dance with glee
And pretty flowers wave to the bees asking them to pollinate them
Young squirrels hurry down the huge palm tree and up again
~~~~~
Val‘s Scavenger Hunt – 5th prompt
Write a Cascade poem using a season of your choice.
Picking it up from last week with Clark… this is the SSC&B
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The red-headed writer (aka la Raconteuse) had been miles away as she thought what had been occurring, partly since she had drunk too much coffee and eaten some nice pastries (both delicious) since the Bartender and Mimi had brought both to the Manager’s Office, but also she’d been mulling since it seemed that she might get away with talking about that certain note.
Fine and dandy, she grinned to herself as she watched Tom taking everything from the Manager’s Office and to the kitchen; he muttered to Mini, explaining that he would make a large spice cake for afternoon tea.
La Raconteuse returned to watch as the tall, thin man had a quick conversation with several people including Ms Strome and her uncle; it seemed that they were going back to the main part of the Bistro, as if some particular boot was on the other foot, as one might say, as la Raconteuse arched one eye up, although the tall, thin man was definitely staying, sprawling in the great new chair.
The Gatekeeper had been surveying the room, listening to what had been said, but then he walked back to the mantelpiece, and turned his back, looking at that mirror.
La Raconteuse joined him: ‘don’t you remember what was there before?’ – ‘sorry, I don’t,’ – ‘but look, you can even see where it was, it was more than a yard and a half longer… you really don’t remember?’
La Raconteuse smiled, ‘that was a painting, I wonder where it went?’
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
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Di of Pensitivity 101 – Wednesday’s Three Things Challenge: FOOT, YARD, MILE
Denise Farley of GirlieOnTheEdge
Sunday’s Six Sentence Story Word Prompt: SPICE
More #SixSentenceStories
a
hostage?
no, don’t be silly!
this is a stage (almost)
she was wearing her glad rags
as she skipped the light fandango
it
was only
a very tiny flat
not a hotel, nor a hostel
it was all her own… just for the summer
and she’ll bathe before running across the Rialto Bridge
~~~
Image credit: Karsten Winegeart @Unsplash
This image shows a Summer morning, at Rialto Bridge, Venice, Metropolitan City of Venice, Italy. We can see a young lady/ woman standing on the pier, looking back.
Written in response to Sadje‘s What Do You See #311 photo prompt.
Plus, Di of Pensitivity 101 – Monday’s Three Things Challenge: HOTEL, HOSTEL, HOSTAGE
Photo Prompt © Lisa Fox
‘We can easily climb that big old tree.’
‘Definitely.’
The two boys dropped their bikes.
They both stared at it, then trotted around.
‘Gosh, it’s so tall, we can hardly see the top.’ ‘No probs though.’
‘Which side shall we try?’
‘Tell you what, I’ll go on the bendy one, and you can go on the straight one.’
The two of them jumped up, and began to climb.
The first one went more quickly on the bendy one, while the straight one was rather slower.
But then they almost met at the top.
‘Well, that proves something,’ as they giggled.|
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P.S. If you haven’t seen me saying something on your post, I believe it’s gone to spam. I won’t just leave a ‘like’.
Thanks to Rochelle for hosting Friday Fictioneers
Genre: Historical Fiction
Word Count: 100
photo credit: Liverpool Echo
Dear Santa,
How are you?
Hope you are doing well
I bet you have already done most of your work
for this year
although there are many problems
around the world.
By the way, how is Mrs. Christmas?
She’s such a wonderful woman!
Oh, the reindeers and all those helpers,
also well – all good?
But now I have a little problem
and a little plea…
You see, the naughty spam
has been such a pain lately.
It’s all very well to just pop a ‘like’
but I really like to have a little conversation.
I very much like to post back
from anyone around the world
especially on WordPress.
So, Dear Santa
sorry about making a bit of a rant
but I’m sure you will be able to help.
You can have a little look to see what the problem is
and after that we will all talk again
and, of course, we will be ready to write
our poems for Santa’s post!
~~~~~
Val‘s Scavenger Hunt – 7th prompt
Write an Epistle Poem to Santa. The Epistle Poem is written as a letter. It can be a direct address, intimate or formal. The form is flexible – from free verse to rhyming couplets to a sonnet. The audience can be internal or external. The Epistle Poem is often used for moral, political or religious discourse.
P.S. This is all true, and if you haven’t seen me saying something on your post, that has been the problem on spam, I believe.
‘Well this is a bit of a pickle,’ muttered the red-headed writer (aka la Raconteuse) as she squeeze between Mimi and Tom on the chaise-longue; a moment later they all needed to stand up, rearrange the pretty throw, since the chaise-longue had had better days, and was rather coarse to sit on it without it’s throw.
It seemed there was going to be some kind of announcement, although no-one seemed particularly interested to move any kind of motion; there was some hint between Ms Strome’s and… what was his name..? – la Raconteuse closed her eyes, trying to remember his name, as she cursed herself.
She opened her eyes, ‘it’s not helping,’ while Tom grinned back at her – ‘you know what I am going to say,’ – ‘hmm, what?’ – ‘at least it’s bigger on the inside than on the outside… you know, like Doctor Who,’ as Tom giggled; la Raconteuse rolled her eyes.
She looked across the room where the Gatekeeper was standing with one elbow on the mantelpiece; she caught his eye, making a quick gesture – nothing more required since they had known each other for long enough.
Moving on, whilst crossing her legs and clasping her knuckles, she looked up to the tall, thin man who was perched on the handsome desk; he glanced around the room as everyone turned to him and stopped talking.
La Raconteuse thought to herself, there would be several options, she was sure, but what course might she take? – and what would he utter?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Di of Pensitivity 101 – Wednesday’s Three Things Challenge: COURSE, COARSE, CURSE
Denise Farley of GirlieOnTheEdge
Sunday’s Six Sentence Story Word Prompt: NEED
More #SixSentenceStories
luna's on line 