My Weekly Writing Challenge

Looking for a new writing challenge? Here’s one for you:

OPTION ONE: Write a six-word story with the word BINGO in it somewhere.

OPTION TWO: Write a poem or limerick on the theme of INFATUATION.

OPTION THREE: Your word is HOLIDAY. As it’s that time of year, what else could it be? What does the word holiday mean to you? Lazing on a beautiful beach, or taking in the stunning scenery? Perhaps you have some happy childhood memories to share, or you can create a fictional holiday; it’s up to you.

Now for last week’s challenges:

OPTION ONE was to write a six-word story with the word FLAMINGO in it somewhere. There were some brilliant entries:

Indiablue:

In the pink? My dear Flamingo

EDC Writing:

Flamingo dancer … bird brain it’s flamenco!

Glynis Smy:

Oi, I said flamin’ go, Flamingo!

Bindu:

The pink sea beckoned! Flamingo world…

Please visit the following link to see Steve Walsky’s story:

https://simplicitylane.wordpress.com/2016/07/17/lolli-poped-the-question/

Sarah:

Pink panther? No, pink flamingo! Doh.

Ugly duckling? No, a pretty flamingo.

Rajiv Chopra:

Bill and Hillary did a flamingo dance!

Carolyn Imbaya:

Flamingo legs! Don’t step on me.

OPTION TWO asked you to write a poem or limerick on the theme of LAUGHTER.

Bindu:

Laughter is the best medicine
Oh what a crime, my goodness what sin!
To consider a bitter, pungent mouthful,
Akin to something sweet and cheerful,
Is nothing but a mind boggling toxin.

For OPTION THREE I gave you the word POLITICS. Here’s what you came up with:

Bindu:

Politics at work,
politics at play,
Find it in the open,
Even behind closed doors,
discover it in governance
Or even everyday matters
Ah, politics is here to stay,
What you think; no matter!

Sports or cinema or even infotainment,
Find it in plenty, whichever field you venture,
Education, e commerce or history,
Are replete with many examples
Of interesting, engaging mind games.
These make for fascinating conversations,
And tingle awake many a sleepy mind.
Politics is here to stay, it makes the world go round!

Pat Garcia:

My heart weeps.

Years filled with murder.

Women, children,

Old, young, dying,

My heart weeps.

Freedom, the way to live,

Dictators wanted

Greed unquieted,

Power boosted,

Suppression of others routine,

And my heart weeps.

 

The best way, my way,

The right way, only my way,

People seen as dogs, infidels,

Breathing air, their air,

And my heart weeps.

 

Down through the Ages,

Past and gone,

Lies the unknown spirit of confusion, hatred, and death,

Arising,

Turning men into war mongers,

Nations into furnaces,

Knives killing,

Like arrows diving pointedly into the soul,

Guns shoot,

Bombs explode,  

Men, women, children die

And my heart weeps.

 

Politics play,

Leaders encouraging each other,

As blood spills and soaked the ground,

The pavement,

The floor,

And my heart weeps.

 

Autonomy?

Monarchy?

Communism?

Socialism?

Democracy, what?

Socio-Marxism?

Dictator, ah what?

Strange bedfellows,

Do they understand?

 

My heart weeps,

People sent out to kill,

My heart weeps,

Listening has disappeared,

Only the cry of death can be heard,

As the politicians play the games called politics.

 

I’m calling you Wisdom,

Cause my heart weeps.

No one has ears to hear,

Eyes to see,

They’re blinded by their own greed, ambition.

They say my way is the best way,

And my heart weeps.

 

Shall I run,

Shall I stand,

Shall I proclaim the uniqueness of life?

Does no one see,

Does no one hear the wailing,

Of the mother,

The widow,

The grandmother,

The auntie,

Oh, my heart weeps.

 

Yes, they sit there,

The politicians

Playing the politic game,

The men,

The women in the cabinets of this world,

Chic, but unwise,

Having status yet knowing nothing,

And my heart weeps.

 

The stupidity of politics,

The restlessness to attain power,

To scrounge, cleanse, and devour,

Wiping out resistance that becomes non-existent,

As we desecrate the human spirit,

And my heart to weep.

David Harrison:

Time to Return to the Real World:

Recently while reading a well-respected political magazine, I came upon an article by an ex-MP which seemed to me to represent the prevailing false wisdom doing the rounds in Britain. It appears that those of us who voted to leave the EU almost four weeks ago are racists, xenophobes and ‘little Englanders’ and that our votes were won by a campaign which was anti-immigrant and untrue. The time has come to debunk such palpable nonsense.

I am neither racist nor xenophobic. Neither am I anti-immigrant. I do believe, however, that it is essential that immigration is controlled in order that our country retains its British identity and that our services are not placed under intolerable pressure. Concerns of this nature are not racist, but sensible and valid. For too long this debate has been shamefully shut down by the liberal left which has always used the racism card when it knows it is is losing the argument. Those who have been ignored and sneered at for far too long by a remote establishment, have now clearly expressed their opinion and have, at the same time, brought about some of the most seismic events ever witnessed in Britain’s political history.

The Leave campaign understood ordinary people’s anger. It also gave a positive outlook of life after Brexit. Contrast this with the Remain camp, which in its eternal arrogance continually talked down Britain, used lies and scaremongering and remained a remote elite which simply didn’t get it. This is why it lost. And lose it did. Despite this the empty rhetoric is still being heard. Now is the time for an acceptance of defeat and a respect for democracy.

There should be no more anti-Brexit marches. No more sour attacks on those who exercised their rights. No more fatheaded accusations that we have let down our young people and ruined their future. In reality, we have presented them with a future of prosperity and hope, free from the hubris, lies and shambolic ineptitude of an institution which has no interest in reform. This despite the many lives wrecked through its catastrophic policies-including the doomed euro. The plight of the Greek people and record youth unemployment across Europe are but two results of its failure, together with growing unrest and instability.

Our nation is now on the threshold of great things. We can rejoin the world. Already we are in talks on several trade deals. Many investors have signalled their intention to remain in Britain. Already ‘project fear’ is crumbling.

It is now time for the remainers to rejoin the world. The real world. Stop the bitterness. Stop sounding like the EU itself. The matter has been resolved and Britain has voted out. I, for one, am proud of the good common sense of our people and proud to be able to number myself among them.

Carolyn Imbaya:

‘Members, for how long will we tell ourselves that we are still in a low level? How long will we be afraid of taking up a challenge? How long will we be afraid to fail?  Please, let us get off our butts  and be in charge of our own lives, for that is where our destiny lies.’

The members of Nana’s women group nodded their heads in approval. Maybe this time we may go far as a group, Peggy thought, we should have chosen her to lead us much sooner.

Nana was stepping in for the chairlady who was away and the wealth of ideas she brought was mind blowing. ‘Do you think the members are going to implement whatever they discussed Lisa?’ asked Peggy as they walked out of the meeting. ‘You know these ladies, here’s a great idea, jump for joy and that’s about it, it ends right there.’ Oh well let’s hope that this time it will be different.

Nana accepted her role as an acting chairlady reluctantly as she didn’t feel up to the task. She had no choice but to put her best foot forward. There were many things she wanted to change but top most in her agenda was to ensure that every member of the group owned a property and this she had to do no matter what!

The next couple of days Nana spent her time talking to financial institutions to find out how their group could access a loan facility so as to buy a big chunk of land and then sub divide it amongst themselves. She not only researched on areas which they could get the land but also on a formula they could use to raise the much needed amount.

‘I haven’t felt like this in a long time, Peggy, for once I feel I am doing something that really matters.’

‘I must say, Nana, you are really cut out for this kind of thing; I wouldn’t know where to begin. I’m sure the chairlady will be very pleased when she comes back. Speaking of the chairlady, when exactly did she say she was coming? I think the next meeting will find her around.’

‘Good, I really need to move very fast and have everything ready before then.’

‘Sure, my friend, but just don’t break your back while you’re at it.’

‘Members I am so glad to be back. I am sure everything has been going on well as I was briefed by my assistant Nana. There is one caution I would like to make though. Trust me, members, I have more experience. Let us not get carried away by emotions, think with your heads, ask yourself whether you are really ready to undertake a big project such as buying property. If we as a group have not managed to even rear poultry, will we be able to buy land? Let us remove our heads from the clouds and come back to reality because the way I know you members, this project is going to fail even before it takes off. I think that is all I wanted to say.’

Nana fought to stay calm as she stood up to address the members. ‘Ok I guess we all heard what the chairlady has said. I don’t refute even a single word you’ve said, madam chair lady, just to add on to what you were saying. It is true that as a group we have not even been able to rear poultry, it is also true that we have not transacted business as a group but it is also true that as members we would like to each own a piece of property to build our homes. It is not wrong to aim high, and our heads are not in the clouds; we have a roadmap to achieving what we set out for. Today as we vote on the project, let us be level headed and leave politics out of it.’

***

 faulkner-reading-quote

 

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39 Responses to My Weekly Writing Challenge

  1. Simon says:

    Hi Esther, good to see your writing challenge. I must take part sometime! 😃

  2. EDC Writing says:

    Up in arms her bingo wings

  3. Helen Jones says:

    Hi Esther, here’s my attempt:

    Two fat ladies? No, just bingo

    🙂

  4. Sarah says:

    B-I-N-G-O, an annoying song, but catchy. 🙂

  5. Bindu says:

    Ninety.Top of the house. Bingo.

  6. Bindu says:

    Bingo! Go for it! Do it!

  7. Bindu says:

    Just ‘being’ is HOLIDAY to me! A day of colours of a different sort. No early wake up, no pre- dawn chores, just lie placid and still, staring at the ceiling or out of my high rise window. Reminiscing nothing in particular, rising at will to potter around the house without a care or thought of a pending task. Another word that expresses my thought on holiday – BE.

  8. Bindu says:

    Fondness, adoration, passion or feelings,
    Extreme interest, fixation or crazy about one,
    Foolish attachment,puppy love or crush,
    Calf love ,a thing for or object of love!
    Call it what you may; infatuation
    A short lived romance adds spice;so a must.

  9. Sacha Black says:

    Bingo! I unlocked the casino safe.

  10. Pingback: Summer as a 90’s Kid | A Texan's View of Upstate New York

  11. Pingback: Limerick – Infatuation | A Certain Point of View

  12. Al Lane says:

    Great set of prompts 🙂 I wrote a couple of limericks on infatuation – love’s winner, and love’s loser! https://altheauthor.wordpress.com/2016/07/25/limerick-infatuation/

  13. Rajiv says:

    My writing brain is on holiday… But, here is a 6 worder for you.,.. Based on observations in India

    ‘Bingo! Security protects crooked politicians.’

  14. Rajiv says:

    oh sorry…
    ‘Bingo! Security staff protect crooked politicians!’

  15. ‘Bingo!’ yelled Ethel. ‘Balls,’ sighed Deirdre.

  16. There was a young man who adored
    A beauty whose name was Maud.
    For hours at the station,
    Rapt with infatuation,
    He would await her and never feel bored.

  17. HOLIDAY

    Samantha and Joe pitched their tent at the foot of a steeply inclining bank on which a couple of large bushes provided shade from the still bright early evening sun. It was a decent spot and Joe said how well they had done to possess it in time: a few other tents were going up now, but not one had as good a location as theirs. Joe rummaged through his rucksack and took out a camping stove, a tin of beans and sausages, a small pan and a can opener.

    He pierced the tin and started twisting. “I fancy a beer with this,” he said to Samantha. “Are they still in the car?” With a final turn of his wrist he sheared the top off the beans and sausages before tipping them into the pan.

    Samantha nodded. “I think they’re still in the carrier bag in the boot.”

    “Okay, you get the food cooking and I’ll get the beers.”

    Samantha watched Joe weave between the cars and vans, wondering if any of this really counted as a holiday. She admired Joe’s spirit, his determination to get on with things no matter what, but at that moment she wanted to cry. No, she cajoled herself, I’m going to hold it together, I’m going to light this stove and we’re going to enjoy our meal. She opened the side pocket of the rucksack, the one where the matches would be. But they were not there. She pulled out a penknife, aspirin and paracetemol, plasters, some string and some tape—but no box of matches.

    Joe returned clasping two bottles of beer. “I can’t find the matches,” Samantha said to him. “Are you sure you packed them?” He put the beer down and systematically searched every pocket of the rucksack. “You know,” he replied after a few minutes, “I think we may have forgotten them.”

    Samantha put her head in hands. “Christ,” she muttered, “this is a disaster. A complete and utter…” But Joe had stood up and walked off in the direction of a group of men who were playing cards and smoking beside a lorry. She watched him shake their hands; perhaps, she thought, he would rather their company than hers. A couple of moments later he returned, triumphantly brandishing a book of matches.

    “There you go, problem solved,” he announced cheerfully. He lit the gas and gently stirred the beans and sausages. “Not that I want to alarm you,” he continued after a pause, “but those lorry drivers reckon we might be here for at least a week.”

    A wave of despair crashed over her. She looked to the left then to the right: stretched out along the motorway was a mass of cars and caravans all hemmed in by the hideous lorries. Then she looked ahead at their own little car stuck in the middle of this ugly gridlock. No, she urged herself, I am not going to cry. She picked up her bottle of beer, raised it in the air, and said to Joe: “To our first holiday together—the first of many!”

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