I just seem to be in the mood for Cinquain this week. And I guess maybe I’m in the mood for love as well. So it seemed only fitting that I use one to talk about the other.
LOVE CINQUAIN # 1
I wait:
Anticipate.
A smile … a breath … a sigh.
At last his arms enfold me close;
We kiss.
LOVE CINQUAIN # 2
Blind date.
Some butterflies.
But still excitement builds.
We meet; we talk; we laugh; we know:
We fit.
LOVE CINQUAIN # 3
Tears fall.
Hard to believe:
I thought we had it all,
But now I find I loved alone.
He’s gone.
LOVE CINQUAIN # 4
Today
I walk the aisle
And give to my best friend
My hand and heart for all my life;
“I do.”
Well, I seem to be in some kind of MOOD today. Julia posted her100-word story challenge this morning, and chose a light, springy, happy subject: April. So what did I do with it? See below, but please don’t ask me why? I simply have no idea.
A DIRGE FOR APRIL FOOLS
April. Marcus had promised to come to her in April. She’d have a white gown and bouquet of pink azaleas.
February. She’d believed Peter when he’d told her of Marcus’ infidelity and comforted her grief. So she’d married Peter on the last day of March – mere hours before Marcus’ brother arrived, bringing her the coffin containing her beloved’s body – slain at Peter’s hand.
April 1st. She buried Marcus and planted a pink azalea bush upon his grave. That night, as Peter slept, she drove a knife into his heart – and then into her own – her final breath a benediction: “Rest in peace, Marcus.”
Nothing’s impossible, right? The folks over at NaPoWriMo believe that because today they have asked us to write a Love poem without using the word “love” or any of the hearts, flowers, or cliches that generally go along with that word. (Deep breath) Okey-dokey. I’ll give it a try. To join in the fun, follow the link to the home site for easy instructions.
IT’S ALL ABOUT FEET
I know is this old world, it’s sad, but true:
Emotional relationships so often fail.
And marriages, though formerly until death,
Now change as fast as color on the nails.
But I’m convinced our troth will still endure.
I’m sure of you as you are sure of me.
I know because we’re comfortable together
When on the same footstool we prop our feet.
What better test of faithfulness and trust,
Than doffing shoes and bravely baring toes.
Our feet look comfy, happy, and complete,
And for commitment’s sake we hold our nose.
Here we are again to National Poetry Month — and good ol’ NaPoWriMo. To be honest, April just slipped up on me this time, and I’m pressing to get my poem in. I’m sure I’ll not find the time to write a new poem for all 30 days, but I’m going to go for all the days I can. If you’d like to take part, just follow the link by clicking on the graphic below and go, go, go.
Day # 1’s prompt is to write a poem of negation — describing something in terms of what it is not — or is not like.
My Love Is Not a Knight in Shining Armor
He doesn’t ride a charger sleek and white;
He wears no armor, and he bears no sword.
He never slayed a dragon breathing fire;
Never received a gallant knights reward.
He never rescued maidens fair and sweet;
He never fought a foe with rapier blade.
No maidens swoon to look on his physique.
His hero medals tarnish, and they fade.
No, he’s no knight in shining armor, true.
But he loves me, and that’s all he needs to do.
`
Now, I will admit that sometimes this thing we call romantic love can get downright sloppy — right? (Refer to picture above). But let’s face it: This old world would be a sad, empty, dark place without it. So here’s to celebrating the “Love Holiday” once more. And in honor of that celebration, I got to thinking about the “Irreverent Valentine Sentinment” posts that I did last year. I couldn’t resist hopping back in time and visiting those sentiments, and after I did, I decided to share the links. Many of you read them last year, but I have quite a few new followers this year, and far be it from me to deny them the opportunity to consider the “other side” of Valentine’s Day sentiments. So here are all 7 of them in order of their original posting. Let me know if any of them sound familiar to some sentiments you’ve had from time to time.
I just want to say at the outset that my writing this particular story is Doug Macilroy’s fault. If you readhis contributionto this week’s Friday Fictioneers, you will find a charming, romantic piece that melts your heart. How he got romance out of this picture I could not begin to fathom, but by the time I had tried to figure it out, I was caught in the web of romance and could not get lose. However, not being possessed of the imaginative insight that Doug has, I could not seem to get free of the subject of cars, so my love story is of a slightly different caliber than his. Nevertheless, love — as they say — is where you find it — and an old, abandoned car lot is as good a place as any.
Our picture this week is courtesy of Jean L. Hayes. (Sorry, no link available). My story is below the photo.
Revvin’ Up The Love
“Hey, Babe, wanna take a spin?”
“You talkin’ to me?” Ethel Edsel looked across the abandoned-car lot at the ugly yellow Edsel with the bulldozer attached to its nose. What was that contraption anyway?
“Yeah. You wanna go for a run?”
“You wouldn’t want to run with someone nicknamed Rusty Ethel.”
“Hey, they call me Bull, but it’s what’s inside that counts. Take me: sort of ugly outside, but inside I got a heart a’ gold. And I bet your little engine still purrs like a kitten.”
Ethel giggled.
Bull grinned. “Come on. Rev ‘er up and let’s make it a date.”
Well it does feel good to get back in the saddle with Friday Fictioneers. I have been a little swamped with other work the past couple months and have missed out on the fun. But this week I am going to have even more fun than usual because not only have I written a story in response to the challenge, but I have also invited the students in my current creative writing class to participate along with me.
Unfortunately, most of those students have not had the time to submit something for this week’s prompt (I keep them too busy writing for the class), but two students have joined me. The first submission is a 100-word story from Jo Boester, who is a new blogger here on WordPress. (You will find her blog at this link: http://jboester.wordpress.com/).
The second submission is a 100-word poem from Erin Campbell. Now, Erin actually submitted this poem for another challenge we took part in, but when I looked at the picture for this week and saw the connection with the ocean, I took it upon myself to encourage her to let her poem apply to FF’s as well. She writes of tide and time from a unique perspective, and I think it’s a fitting response to the challenge.
I’m very proud of both of these writers and look forward to seeing them pursue their writing goals and publish more of their work in the near future.
Last of all, you will find my story. I was just in the mood for romance this week, and although seagulls seem to be the main focus of the photo, my mind and heart were captured by the beach itself and the romantic interlude it inspired. Hope you enjoy what we have to offer.
As I walked on the beach early one morning, I spied a seagull ahead of me, sluggishly wading in the water. The closer I came to him the more I could sense his loneliness. When I drew closer, I saw another seagull circling overhead.
The seagull in flight was slowly closing the gap between them, and as he swooped down, they both spread their wings wide in greeting. Some observers might have thought this was an act of aggression, but I believe it was a way of avoiding being alone for another long day. I wondered: “Do the birds, as well as man, desire companionship?”
A rock is my island. The rock is my throne, where I sat and watched as the world turned to dust. A thousand years of progress swirls around me like a cloak around my shoulders. It caresses my cheek and settles in my eyes and hair like a crown as the wind bellows at its loss. Tides rise and wash the ages onto sallow shores, leaving broken shell memories behind in their wake. I am the only one to keep them close. The island grows as I grow. Loved and feared by nothing. A ruler of ashes, I command ghosts.
They sauntered along the isolated beach, shoes in hand, just as the sun slipped into the ocean.
Stopping at an outcropping of rocks, Jonah leaned against the rockface, pulling Valentina against him. Her eyes sought his, instantly identifying the fire that turned them to wine. “I thought I’d never get you to myself,” he growled softly as her arms encircled his back.
He tightened his hold, burrowing his right hand in her hair, pulling her closer. Nibbling and teasing her lips, he finally possessed them with a hunger she’d come to crave. She felt the melting begin and eagerly surrendered.
As Cody sat on the cracked seat at the back of the bus, jostled by the jerky movement of the nearly worn-out vehicle, he couldn’t get her off his mind. He kept seeing her smile, hearing her throaty laugh at his flimsy excuse for jokes. He could still feel the softness of her fragrant hair and feel the warmth of her in his arms.
But mostly he could see the hurt in her eyes – the confusion and – yes – he was sure it had been fear. He shook his head now at those memories. He shouldn’t have taken off like that. He shouldn’t have given up so easily – shouldn’t have left her in the clutches of that family of vipers!
He’d known what their attitude would be towards him. He’d grown up in the gypsy caravans – no confirmed lineage as far as a father was concerned – and the best he’d been able to do for work was traveling tool salesman for the local company. He knew as well as her relatives that he didn’t deserve someone like her. Of course he didn’t. But then who did deserve someone as wonderful as Tess?
Besides, deserving didn’t have anything to do with it. It was love that mattered, and there wasn’t another man alive who could love Tess Montague better than he did!
But she had to make the choice. He couldn’t choose for her. And she had lived almost 30 years doing exactly what Mom and Daddy – and Granddad – told her to do. They held the purse strings, but that wasn’t what put the pressure on Tess. He knew that. No – it was the emotional stranglehold they had on her. That guilt trip they always laid on her any time she wanted to be independent in any way at all. He shook his head again. He knew she wasn’t strong enough to get free from them by herself. Why had he given up?
Well, for one thing, she had held back when he asked her point blank if she loved him. He’d confessed his love for her repeatedly for weeks, but she’d never say it back to him. She looked at him with love in her eyes. And goodness knows, the woman kissed him like she couldn’t get enough of him! But she wouldn’t say the words. And it would take words to make her his wife. It would take words to tell that lordly Brewster Harrison, Jr. that she wasn’t going to have him as her husband, regardless of Granddad’s threat to disinherit her if she didn’t marry Brewster.
But if he had stayed a little longer …. He couldn’t help but wonder if it would have made any difference.
He shifted his position sideways and stretched out his legs since the other half of the seat was empty. He sighed and leaned back thinking that his staying wouldn’t have helped. Tess just didn’t have the strength to choose him over all the rest. As the last thought weighed him down in spirit, he glanced to his left to look outside the rear window of the bus.
What the …! What was he seeing? He blinked … rubbed his eyes … strained to look again.
Was it …? Could it be possible …? Running after this bus for all she was worth …?
By golly … the woman did have the guts to do it!
He jumped up and stalked down the narrow aisle of the bus to the drivers seat. “Hey, buddy, I gotta get off!” The driver glanced in the rear-view mirror to get a look at him. “I gotta git off NOW!”
“I can’t make a stop out here in the middle of the road, mister!”
“You got to. The woman I love is runnin’ down the road after us, and I gotta go to her!” As he spoke the last words, he was already standing on the steps with his hand on the automatic door. “If you won’t stop, I’ll force these doors open and jump!”
The driver spared him a disgusted glance and saw more determination than he could fight against, so he put on his flashers and pulled over to the shoulder, shocking the other passengers into voicing their irritation. “You better get off quick, ’cause I can’t sit here!” he ordered.
Cody punched the air with a “thumbs-up” sign, and the second the door opened he and his suitcase were on the ground. A quick salute to the driver was all he managed before the bulky vehicle lumbered away, with all gears grinding and a thick cloud of exhaust fumes burning Cody’s nostrils.
But he didn’t really notice. Because as soon as the cloud of exhaust cleared enough for him to see through the haze, Tess was all that filled his mind. She had run until she had collapsed to her knees, and she obviously had no breath left to speak. But she was beautiful. And her eyes told him everything he needed to know.
~
If you enjoyed this story, you might like the companion story — Tess’ side of the story — which I wrote for the Friday Fictioneers challenge this week. Here’s the link to the story from Tess perspective: “Racing for a Second Chance”
Lungs burning, gulping breath, she could hardly see.
Keep running: her mantra.
The bus was gaining speed rapidly.
Keep running. Have to catch it! Have to stop him!
Best thing in whole life … How could I …?
But submission to her family’s pride was a life-long habit – nearly impossible to break.
Keep running!
You’re making a fool of yourself.
Keep running!
I AM a fool: I let him go!
Keep —
The bus suddenly screeched to a stop … pulled away again.
Too spent to chase it further, she dropped to her knees, squinting through the exhaust fumes.
He stood there, suitcase in hand.
She had no breath for words, but her eyes said it all.
~~~
I wrote this story for this week’s Friday Fictioneers, hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. But I also wrote the other side of the story — from the guy’s point of view — for the new writing challenge — AS I SAT ON THE BUS — over at Bumba’s blog.
Odd … the fence so freshly painted. The barn still bore silent scars from enemy troops scouring the countryside of its rightful owners and leaving all to ruin. A few lucky farmers had fled, losing all they’d worked for.
But before … before death and destruction … she and Johann had walked the length of this fence daily … stopping for kisses … planning: marriage, children, living beside this fence.
The night of the soldiers Johann had forced her to run while he covered her, and she’d seen them capture him.
20 years gone and she’d come back to remember. If only Johann were ….
This Friday’s challenge is here in the form of a photo from Rich Voza
BUT NOT ALWAYS
He was Cherokee, she Scottish-American. But the moment they met in the airport coffee shop, they were connected. Waiting out the fog, they talked like old friends. When her plane was called, he carried her bag to her boarding gate.
A question in her eyes, she said, “Wow, Chicago and Dallas – talk about two people going in opposite directions.”
Light flared in his eyes. She didn’t want this to end either. He traced one gentle finger down her cheek.
“Opposite today … but not always, I think.”
The light in her eyes leaped to his, just as the boarding line began moving.
His next words a promise: “I will see you again, Joy.”
I couldn’t resist jumping in this week. Thanks to Julia for all these great challenges. They help so much with the “discipline” of writing, don’t they? This week’s prompt is “… the notes from the piano ….” So here’s my take:
THE SILENT NOTES
Lucy couldn’t understand. One whole octave silent … dead. She’d been gone 20 years, but surely someone else played ….
Lifting the lid, she spotted the wad of papers — old — torn — wedged under the strings. Prying the papers loose, she studied them: Letters! Letters and notes! And all signed by … him!
One whimper escaped. Then a sob. He really had written! Father had hidden them, and when she’d gone, he’d stuffed them here. Cruel joke!
Twenty years suffering a broken heart, and all that time ….
That’s what Father had meant when he’d whispered his dying words: “The notes … from the piano ….”
To join in the fun, hop over to Julia’s place and check out the challenge. (You’ll also enjoy her terrific header photo. It just pulls you in and makes you want to stay awhile just looking at it.)
The Happy Wordcrafter 
