Tag: Julie Easley

Get That Balance

We’ve reached the last Strange Prompt! Thirty whole new pieces of writing from me, with multiple contributions from 24 other poets and flash-fiction writers. It’s been a very satisfying outcome from my writing residency, and not at all what I expected. I’ve played with some fun techniques and poetic forms. I’ve written more flash fiction prose than I would ever normally do. I’ve been delighted by the quality of the shared writing, and very much enjoyed seeing some writers become slightly addicted to the prompts (Ann Cuthbert, I’m looking at you!). So thank you to everyone who has contributed, read, shared, commented and enjoyed this little project – I’ll see if I can come up with something great to follow.

Here’s my last one – just a little mesostic…

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Thanks to Esther Bonner for this meditation on time…

Time passes..
Tick tock.
Seconds, minutes, hours.
Tick tock.
Birthdays, anniversaries,
work, pleasure.
Life never stops.
Tick tock.

The beating heart, like a clock.
Tick tock.
Life slips away.
So STOP!

Grab a moment to lift your face to the sun, let its warmth caress you.
Blow on a pearly white feather, watch it float idly on.
Rest your weary eyes.
Listen to the wind sigh on an Autumn breeze.
Trail your hand though a cool, fresh mountain stream.
Let your senses be cossetted and renewed by life.

Time passes..
Tick tock

Julie Easley has a great take on the subject, fierce and feminist as usual!

 

she was adorned with bruises

ornaments of torture bejewelled about her body

but it was her poise that goaded him

her sealed room approaches

 

The doll, she said,

won’t dress herself, won’t sit to attention,

the doll won’t respond

if you tell her she’s miserable

 

 

Infinite gratitude to Tony Gadd, martial art guru and spoken word powerhouse, who sends us this wisdom from the depths of his own current, very serious, health struggles…

Walking the tightrope of an ECG

An emotional and bodily state

Balance in life

Like balancing stones

A lifetimes work

Practice the key

Physical and mental equilibrium

Unsettled by other

Forces and influences

Rebalance essential

Eyes closed, breathe and just be…

 

House of Abasement

Ah! A little something dark and twisted comes flowing forth today, from me and from my two contributors. Enjoy this very Strange Prompt…

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From Julie Easley, a poem:

I thought I might be dead

waking up in this shrunken room.

The walls seem elastic

to my touch, bending with my body,

as if breathing on their own.

A small window beckons me,

desperate as I am for light,

for signs I am living.

There is movement, a momentary

glimpse of hope as images

flash before my eyes.

But I am just a mirror,

a reflection of my past, playing

out on repeat until I learn.

And from Jo Colley, a prose-poem:

It’s so light, but there are no windows: the light comes from a series of ultra violet bulbs, giving the impression of daylight. Light making an effort to emulate the sun, to be real, to improve your sense of well-being. But the effort is too great. And there’s nothing to hide under or behind: all open plan, wooden floorboards, floor cushions. You feel so exposed. It makes you want to prostrate yourself face down on the tasteful rug and list every one of your inadequacies. You suspect this might take some time.

Delicious!!

 

Mary’s Flour

Time for reactions to prompt number two. Remember, you can still join in and send me something, we have 28 more prompts to feature 🙂

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Here’s a lovely response from Julie Easley:

They dissed Mary’s flour
said it tainted the fancies
but Mary didn’t care
for their sour responses
She flavoured her flour
with the decadent essence
of feminist spice mixed
with a pinch of opportunity.
Some choked on the power
of Mary’s floury produce
their taste buds unable
to swallow and savour
the equalising strength
of her sweet sisterly ingredients.
Plus a small, fierce statement from Lisette Auton, nut allergy sufferer

Mary’s flour does not say categorically whether it is made with gluten nor if it contains nuts.

Mary needs to work on her labelling.

 

And here’s a tiny little poem from me!
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Pleas be sure to go and see the photograph by Brigida Baltar currently on exhibit from the Middlesbrough Collection at MIMA, until the end of March.