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#PicoftheWeek; Silver Linings
ice clapped bells
silvery ringing
winterlude
Yikes! It’s been almost two months since I’ve put anything up for Maria Antonia‘s #picoftheweek photo challenge. But this photo from this morning might fit the bill for “Silver Lining” from her current bingo sheet.
Check out Maria’s #2022picoftheweek to see how you can participate in this fun prompt.
W3 Prompt #33; In with an atom
Wea’ve Written Weekly
I am trying the W3 prompt again this week from The Skeptic’s Kaddish. The Poet of the Week, and therefore our prompter, is the host himself, Ben Alexander, who would have us write a series of at least five “atom” tercets on the theme of “children” or “childhood”. An atom has at least one tercet (three line stanza); 5-7-5 letters per line; no punctuation; no capitalization (like haiku). Counting letters instead of words or syllables made this a frustrating challenging form.
Dream Seeds by D. Avery child of woods knows trees whisper to her hears animals speak seeks her star dream seeds gathers to sow feeds on words grows sings becomes a bird soars returns knows
#SixSentenceStories; Vault
The most recent word from Denise at GirlieontheEdge is “vault” to be used in six sentences exactly. This Six Sentence Story began here three weeks ago with Verge. I followed “On the Verge” with two 99-word stories (Walking the Line) and then again with another pair of 99-word stories the following week. (Balancing Acts) and then What’s Cooking last week. Go HERE to link up and see what the merry Sixters have written.
Vaulted Ceilings by D. Avery
Daddy and Katie didn’t go out dancing like he’d planned on, and his sister my aunt wasn’t able to stay with me like he’d also planned on, and so the three of us— me, Daddy and Katie— ended up walking along the river. When we all sat down where some benches were Daddy gave me his i-phone and I pretended to be distracted by games while they talked.
Katie apologized for not wanting to go dancing, said she wasn’t ready to go into a bar even for live music, and Daddy said he got that, said he was dealing with a gambling addiction and he thanked Katie for letting me come along with them because his sister was a workaholic, had her own issues, so couldn’t have stayed with me anyway and now he couldn’t have driven them to the Tavern either as his car had just sold, sooner than he’d planned on.
Katie said she didn’t mind, said she thought a walk by the river was way better than going into a loud crowded bar any day and she told Daddy it made good sense to sell his car so he could afford an apartment of his own within walking distance of the diner.
Then Daddy went on about that car, told her how that car had been his shed, closet, and living quarters; ‘It was beautiful,’ he exclaimed, ‘Door to door carpeting, vaulted ceiling, AC…’ but his voice was quieter when he admitted selling his means of escape was the biggest gamble he’d ever made but the stakes were high and the payout worth it.
As the sun set, I started a playlist from Daddy’s i-tunes and, as the stars came out in the vaulted summer sky, he and Katie danced after all.
d’Verse Quadrille #166; I like candy
Another Quadrille Monday has come and Mish is the publican at d’Verse , the pub for poets. She says: “Let’s sweeten up our quadrilles, shall we? Pop a bit of candy into your poem. Use it as a noun, verb or adjective. As always, the theme and style of your poem is open. Just remember your quadrille should be exactly 44 words, not including the title and include the word “candy” or a derivative of the word.” I’m not sure if mine is what she had in mind but it’s what came to me. Visit the pub to link in and to read more sweet candy poems.
Hand in the Jar by D. Avery
Candy is my working name
when I work, I make ends meet
some say I’m a little tart
but so many find me sweet
Some wonder how I
can do what it is I do
but never stop to wonder
at the other who
W3 Prompt #32
Wea’ve Written Weekly
This is a new prompt for me. It comes from The Skeptic’s Kaddish and is rather unique in that the prompt is handed off from one poet to another each week. Be sure to check it out. This week’s prompt is from Britta Benson whose only requirements are that the title of the poem be a date including day, month, year. The poem can be any length or style. I chose to use a shadorma as she did in her poem and thought six stanzas were a good match for the six lines required of a stanza in this form.
12/8/22 by D. Avery
she noted
the bread’s sell by date
decided
it was fine
he’d be home soon, school finished
hungry teenage boy
.
she noted
he was running late
decided
that was fine
homework in the library
or goofing with friends
.
she noted
it’d become quiet
no traffic
no school bus
then she heard sirens wailing
the knock at the door
.
she was led
by the policeman
whom she knew
past the bread
and wondered that it should last
well past its named date
.
then noted
nothing anymore
became deaf
became mute
became blinded by soul pain
lost herself in loss
.
was not fine
would never be fine
how could she
after this
unimaginable day
when she lost her son
#SixSentenceStories; Range
The word from Denise at GirlieontheEdge is “range” to be used in six sentences exactly. This Six Sentence Story began here two weeks ago with Verge. I followed “On the Verge” with two 99-word stories (Walking the Line) and then again with another pair of 99-word stories the following week. (Balancing Acts). I’m not sure I want to pursue this or the direction it takes here, but I do know this is all I have for SSS right now and am grateful to these characters for showing up to play.
What’s Cooking? by D. Avery
“You sure are at home on the range,” Bob remarked to Daddy.
“Hate to correct you, Boss, but this isn’t a range, it’s a griddle, and right beside it is a grill, and since Katie claims this is all a circus, I guess that makes me a grease monkey.”
“Not my circus, not my monkey,” Katie the waitress chimed, but she smiled as she said it. “Coming through,” she warned as she squeezed by Daddy carrying a stack of plates behind the counter, “Doing the diner dance.”
“Let’s go somewhere tonight where there’s more room for us to dance.”
Bob laughed, said he’d never seen Katie speechless before, said he hoped Daddy wasn’t cooking up trouble just when things were going so well.
d’Verse Prosery; In the tender…
Launched by D. Avery
I’d always loved boats. So when this guy Gray hired me to run his tender with him, ferrying people between their moored liveaboards and yachts to the docks, I was thrilled. I passed his test, I guess, talked with him about boats, showed him I could tie a couple useful knots, that was it.
Usually the most dangerous part of the job was sunburn, but there were days when the weather would turn fast, the placid harbor becoming windswept chop. On one such day, our craft plunging wildly, I suddenly was launched into the waves, no longer in the tender.
“Gray! I—”
“Swim!”
Undisturbed by my wailing and flailing, the storm raged on, and I was swallowed whole by the swells. I was sinking and would surely drown, but then Gray grabbed me and hoisted me aboard.
“You can’t swim?!”
Now he asks.
I puzzled together this 144 word story for d’Verse, the pub for poets, where Lisa is hosting today’s Prosery. The challenge is to write a piece of prose of no more than 144 words that incorporates the given set of words in exactly the order given, but may be broken up with punctuation. Today we are to use the line “In the tender gray, I swim undisturbed“, by Celia Dropkin, from, “In Sullivan County”.
#99Word Stories; “Not my circus, not my monkeys”
The November 28, 2022 story challenge from Charli Mills at Carrot Ranch is to: In 99 words (no more, no less), write a story using the saying, “not my monkeys, not my circus”. What is the situation that would spawn that aphorism? Have fun with setting and characters! Go where the prompt leads! Submit at Carrot Ranch by December 3, 2022.
Here is another pair of 99 word stories that continue the “Oh my” pair from last week that continued a Six Sentence Story, On the Verge. These flashes do not answer the question of who the woman is that is housing the father and daughter but is where this prompt led. Besides, I still don’t know.
Balancing Acts by D. Avery
In the casinos I always stayed close to Daddy and stayed out of his way, not interrupting or interfering with his work at the slot machines or roulette table. In the diner there wasn’t room for me behind the counter by the grill where he worked, plus daddy said it was dangerous. When the waitress came in and saw me sitting on a counter stool, she rolled her eyes. “Really?”
“Really,” the owner said.
The waitress tied her apron and sighed, “Not my circus. Not my monkeys.” Whatever that means.
“That’s right,” the owner said. “I run this zoo.”
XXX
It sure seemed like it was that waitress that ran the diner. She was everywhere at once, which made staying out of her way hard. Every time she walked around me or told me to move out of a regular’s spot she’d sigh. “Not my circus, not my monkeys.”
She was never still. If she wasn’t tending to customers or clearing tables she was rolling silverware in a napkin, just so. When she got busy with customers again, I stood on a bucket and rolled silverware, just like I’d seen her do.
“Clever monkey!”
I smiled back at her.
Carrot Ranch is undergoing technical difficulties so we can’t yet read the “Oh my” collection from last week. But there’s always the Ranch Yarns with Kid and Pal’s responses HERE. And you could always check out the Saddle up Saloon. Read Sherri Matthew’s article, For Queen and Country, or go to the Cowsino to try a fun writing prompt brought to you by Kid and Pal.
Story Stitching; #Fandango’sFlashbackFriday
I am taking Fandango up on the idea of reposting something from earlier times. I don’t have anything that was posted on November 25, but found this from the 24th, November 2018. Wow. That was eons ago. I miss Sue Vincent. She was wise, creative, and generous. I was honored to be a guest on her site. I remember this essay came about from conversations at her Daily Echo and from discussions at Carrot Ranch, a site that continues to inspire me. This read requires a couple of clicks, but that’s time travel these days.
Guest Author: D. Avery ~ Story Stitching
Fiction or non-fiction, we write into the truth. We feel the story and layer the details onto the page. We rework the scraps until they bloom — the quilter, the painter, the metal worker, the writer — we all work in scraps until we have captured the story that speaks our truth. – Charli Mills
Mountain Cove. Art Quilt by Barbara Williamson
When I was a kid most homes had a sewing machine with a pile of old clothes nearby. Any buttons were removed and saved as a precaution against future losses, the cloth cut and used as patches on our torn jeans. The rags might also be turned into braided rugs or become pieces of a quilt. My quilt was a memory keeper, with prints and material still recognizable and recalled from their former incarnations. Surely the quilter was an artist.
Where I come from most people have in…
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