The Porch #WritePhoto

 

summerhouse

 

She was about five when she stopped crying. But she still crawled into bed with me. Me. The broken one, the brave one, the older one.

My identity was older sister.

I’d been alive three years longer than she. That’s all I had to offer.

She snuggled with me, her raggedy stuffed rabbit tucked tightly to her chest.

Sometimes, on summer nights, we’d tiptoe to the porch. I’d point to the trees and tell her they were our watchers. They would protect us.

I remember those evenings the most. When the skies were beautiful watercolor paintings of our bruises.

 

 

 

I’ve combined two prompts this week:

#writephoto, a weekly writing prompt for poetry/flash/short stories hosted by Sue Vincent which asks writers to use photos for inspiration (the photo above is this week’s prompt)

 

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and Flash Fiction Challenge over at Carrot Ranch which asks writers to pen a piece in 99 words (this week’s prompt: Watchers).

February 16, 2017 prompt: Watchers In 99 words (no more, no less) write a story that includes a watcher.

 

Sarah Brentyn Reef 99 Words - sig

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Puddles

 

Tina’s legs, splattered with droplets of mud, stuck out from under her dress. A white, frilly thing her aunt insisted she wear today.

“What are you doing? Get off the ground!” Her aunt put her lips close to the girl’s ear, “People are staring!” She hissed.

“White is for weddings,” Tina traced patterns in the brown puddle by her hip. She swirled her finger in circles then squinted. “White is for clouds,” she pointed at the puddle. “Look. They bring rainbows to the mucky mud.”

“Get. Up.”

Tina wiped mud on her dress. “White is not for funerals, Auntie.”

 

 

 

Flash Fiction Challenge over at Carrot Ranch

 

February 9, 2017 prompt: Rainbows in puddles In 99 words (no more, no less) write a story about a rainbow in a puddle. Create action or character reflection.

 

Sarah Brentyn Reef 99 Words - sig

 

Cast Out #WritePhoto

 

flame

 

Fingertips touching, never leaving, they dance.

Embers glowing, wind blowing, they move.

Hair whipping, voices crackling, they sing.

Fire curling, stars fading, they twirl.

Calling for the flames to grow…

Round the circle ringed with stones…

Towering bonfire casting shadows…shifting…

Faces alight, flickering rust and gold…features rearranging…

 

They are ancient. Forgotten. Lifeless.

They are born. Pulsing. Alive.

 

On the damp beach,

atop the cliff,

in the forest,

the desert,

the mountains,

marshes,

plains,

valleys…

 

They are everywhere and nowhere. They are here.

 

Fallen angels. Cast out.

They absorb this world. Theirs now.

Blessed innocence laced with fragmented memories.

They will destroy. It is in their blood. It is in their subconscious.

They are human.

 

 

 

My attempt for #writephoto, a weekly writing prompt for poetry/flash/short stories hosted by Sue Vincent

I’ve edited a previous flash, Home Fire, to change the meaning. Hope it works but, still, fun. Try out Sue’s prompt.

 

writephoto-logo

 

The House of Clouds

 

pink-clouds-sig

 

The lovely and talented Ali Isaac recently posted about trees. One thing led to another and we were chatting on about teen poetry. You know how that goes.

Anyway, she said something about writing a cringe-worthy poem about trees when she was sixteen. To which I replied something along the lines of:

“Pfft! My teen angst poetry kicks your teen poetry’s arse. It is SO bad. I won’t even share it online. In fact, I don’t know where it is. In fact, I never wrote it.”

To which she said how fun a teen angst poetry slam would be (sort of) which I took as a challenge. I attempted to reach back through the years, channeling my sixteen-year-old self, to recreate some teen angst poetry. I failed. But…here is an actual poem I wrote. I somehow remembered this verbatim from my first year at university. I was seventeen years old.

 

 

It smelled like chocolate lavender

Inside the house of clouds

And thoughts of tiny animals

Were clearly heard out loud

 

Vanilla rose smiled up at me

Then motioned toward the light

And as my feet sank in the clouds

The day gave way to night

 

Defiance…

 

I love this poem. It speaks to me. Penned by a wonderful poet and posted on the Winter Solstice, I still think of it well into the New Year. I wanted to share it with you all on this day of light and hope: February 1st. A day that marks the halfway point between the first day of winter and the first day of spring.

Enjoy this gorgeous piece and check out Eric’s poetry at his blog, My Sword and Shield. ❤

My Sword and Shield....

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She is bruised
but
She is not broken
She coils
around her heart
like the warm earth
embraces the seed
protecting it
from the frozen world above
gathering her strength
until the spring
when she shall rise
and the world shall bear witness
to her beauty
in bright vermillion
courage

*authors note: Another tribute to all the brave female hearts I am privileged to know.

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