Looking for a new writing challenge? Here are my latest challenges for you:
OPTION ONE: Write a fifteen-word story with the words WINNER, FROZEN and ELIXIR in it somewhere.
OPTION TWO: Write a poem or limerick on the theme of DECEPTION.
OPTION THREE: Your word is DRAMA. What does the word mean to you? Acting on stage? A TV drama? Or making a mountain out of a molehill? Your piece of writing can be fiction or truth, or a mixture of the two; it’s up to you.
You had two weeks in which to complete the previous challenges. Here’s a reminder for you:
OPTION ONE: Write a six-word story with the word FLABBERGASTED in it somewhere.
OPTION TWO: Write a poem or limerick on the theme of DAYDREAMS.
OPTION THREE: Your word is SPORT. What does sport mean to you? Being part of a team? Drive? Ambition? Or does the word make you break out in a cold sweat if you even think about running/cycling/exercising? Your piece of writing can be fiction or truth, or a mixture of the two; it’s up to you.
Now for your wonderful mix of writing on option one:
Pub feasting left him rather flabber-gasted!
Voted Remain. Brexit? I’m totally flabbergasted!
Parachute failed! Garden trampoline landing. Flabbergasted!
Flabbergasted… sold my first short story!!
Flabbergasted just because I kissed you????
Flabbergasted! GST made progress in India!
Rabbit food and still collywobbles?? Flabbergasted.
… and so, her own flabbergasted his …
… that she touched flabbergasted so much …
Single-flagged world with single-anthemed soul, Flabbergasted!
Now for option two’s super offerings:
It is the day, and I dream and dream. And, dream some more.
I dream of the world and how it could have been before.
Before the bombs, before TV, and before all the noise
Of hateful shouts, of bullets of things we made our choice.
I often dream of years ago – millions and millions of years ago,
When the world was green, rivers flowed and winds did blow.
Of days when the sky was clean, the clouds were white
And skin would feel the cold wind’s tender bite.
But, we have made progress, we now go to the moon
Everything grows, and changes must happen soon.
We are governed by Time, by a strappy device
Our lives, our wrists, are caught in it’s cruel vice.
The world has shrunk, to the size of a screen
And, we don’t hear each other’s scream.
Trapped we are by a mobile phone
We have forgotten the warmth of home.
I dream of days when I had friends, of days of cheer
Laughter, hugs and jokes over a glass of beer.
Smileys replace the smiles in eyes, and faces
Our fingers tap, our fingers fly to close the spaces.
I dream of the days that have yet to come,
When machines shall replace everyone.
Mechanical toys, efficient and so cold,
Will kill our souls, if I may make so bold.
But, I must work, there is no time to dream
Not by day, or by night, else the master’s scream.
The day dream ends, and I ask myself
Am I the dream, or do I fool my self?
And another from Rajiv:
She comes to me in the dark of night, She looked at me with a face so white. I screamed and woke the ghosts that haunt, And disturbed them in their nocturnal jaunt.
She smiled at me with her bloodless lips, And walked to me, with her swaying hips. She opened her mouth, she seemed to bite. Oh no, I don’t give up with out a fight!
She smiled at me, with her teeth so sharp, Her nails are claws that scratch out the dark. She wants my blood, says it feeds her lust, And bit my neck, my world went bust.
I woke up suddenly, with a horrific yell – And looked around, at my daylight Hell. Oh, thank thee Lord, it was a daydream, But, damn thee Satan, I love her, I scream.
I am the dreamer, I am my dreams; It’s her bite I love, I’m crazy, it seems. This daylight world, I give to thee; I want the dark, the dark is me.
I dream of days
Mon, Tues, Wednes, Thurs, Fri, Sat and Sun,
When all nightmares will be forgotten
Consigned to the past
Never to be realised again.
I dream a dream of days
When we shall be free
Of prejudice and hate
When equality shall be seen and felt
When the needy have enough
When the rich share out their wealth
And when everybody cares.
I am a dreamer –
Maybe I am not a realist.
Finally, option three and a wonderful poem for you:
I despair of seeing an English captain
Lift a world cup
Any world cup
Millions of pink faced fans screaming
I weep at the prospect of another beating
By the Australians
Doffing the baggy green.
My heart sinks while I the watch the ball
Turning end over end
As the All Blacks crush
The feeble rose
Under size 17 boots.
I’ll never stop watching
Knowing it’s inevitable.
After all I’m inured to despair
It’s the hope that kills me.