Wow, this weeks prompt from Writers Island had me stumped for a while but here goes. The prompt ‘Earth’ got me thinking about our lives and the impact we have on each other.
 
My earth is small, a miniscule moment

each one has a part, to play in this script

A pre-written role, or a self driven life?

Could this all just be, one great big show?
 
It would seem to me, that all left to chance

would share in a risk, to great for the end

Would I miss the start, if I hid for a while?

Would the play be complete, if one misses out?
 
For this life sometimes, appears too busy

to give one a rest, and others shelter

Why so busy, when all around

people are dying, from lonliness?
 
I called out for those, who appear in this play

there seems to be mayhem, but others follow

Why missing in action, seems the norm?

When I want to ask, what is the point?
 
Each tangent a path, of self direction

Some see God as the chief director

What directs our paths, in time forgot?

Could history call for different tunes?
 
See here for more thoughts on ‘Earth’

Today’s prompt is from Writers Island. See here for more.
 
A peaceful moment, a thought for today
 
A contract of sorts, a promise of love
 
An unspoken word, a glance o’er the room
 
A word of hope, a fall from grace
 
A day of drama, a night of sorrow
 
A life of pledge, a call of grief
 
A moment of regret, a lifetime of sorrow
 
A month of growth, a year of life
 
A promise remains, a light for the future
 

The theme from Writers Island is ‘Unforgettable’. See here for more ‘Unforgettable’ writing.
 
It was a simple plan requiring a few more details to set up the parameters of the evening, then all that was needed was to sit back and enjoy the night.
 
Hugh cut a stylish silhouette as he stood half hidden by the shadow of the tallest building in the city. Not a particularly tall man he relied on his chiseled appearance and suave manner to impress all but the most savvy of women. Today had started like any other day as he prepared his plan.
 
It was several weeks ago when on an night on the town, Hugh approached a very classy looking woman lounging provocatively at the bar . Following a brief but eye-flashing conversation the pair left the hotel and disappeared into the darkness.
 
The next morning came far too quickly for a very muddled headed Hugh as he found himself in a strange hotel room. This was not part of the plan! He crawled to his feet to find her gone. What exactly happened? How did he miss the past few hours? What had gone wrong? His carefully practiced plan was perfect, infallible even. It worked every time…a fabulously looking woman, a few drinks, good conversation, a prepared hotel room and the piece de resistance - a couple of tiny little pills slipped into her drink. This served not to create an criminal act but left very glamorous women a little disheveled and wondering what happened to their evening.
 
It was perfect really, as inevitably once Hugh suggested they move their party to his hotel room, he always received a polite but shattering negative response. It was so unfair, he was a good catch, reasonably well off, smart dresser, well educated but with one small flaw…his face was horribly disfigured. The result of a boyish experiment gone wrong, and hardly bettered by numerous plastic surgery attempts, Hugh was daily haunted by his face.
 
Women were polite but never interested. It was heartbreaking, when night after night as he was offering more he always received the same answer.
 
Tonight was going to be different. He had spent countless hours finding that woman. He’d spent even more planning this night down to the minutest detail. A phone call here, lists and jottings there and here it was. the plan was complete and ready to enact.
 
He walked into the foyer and there she was. He almost lost his nerve…
 
She was dressed in black with scarlet shoes and the tiniest of handbags. He stopped behind a marble pillar and his breath was sounding like staccato.
 
He continued on, his soft Italian shoes almost soundless on the marble. He walked along the busy bar as the noise around him seemed to dissolve as he touched her shoulder.
 
She turned and the light changed in her eyes. His throat was dry as he said…
 
“I just want to know what happened”. There it was out…a question to a woman without trying to hide his face. Her laughter was almost girlish as she replied “I’ve been sitting here every night waiting for you to turn up. I got locked out of the hotel room and they wouldn’t let me in. You were asleep and didn’t hear the phone.” the words tumbled out and over. “I just kept hoping that you would come back”
 
He couldn’t help but smile as her eyes got wet and the noise of the bar seemed to take over.
 
He only had one problem…..did he need to come clean to her about his previous evenings…?

Wow, this weeks prompt from Writers Island really made me think considering the situation I now find myself in. I wrote the following poem after I had the original melanoma (which has resurfaced). At the time I agonised over the inclusion of the last line as I was feeling so positive and I didn’t want to diminish that, but it seemed a bit scary. Anyway the writer in me won out and I left it in. So here it is…
 
My Constant Journey

The scar on my shoulder

I wear like medal

a constant reminder

of the battle fought

the ‘Keeper of Time’

has allowed me to cheat

the cancer in inside

has been taken away

A new chance I have

but life seems so short

I want no regrets

when the Keeper comes

I want to choose

for peace and worth

for others who need

not for stressful waste

Each day provides

a convas of sorts

to paint and explore

to mark as I choose

The canvas renews

each new sun rise

a picture by day

a restoring by night

My soul has found peace

I have found purpose

for today and beyond

there is great expectation

tomorrow may have

darker days to come

but the journey’s not complete

’til the Keeper calls.

© Katherine Smail 1999

Just a note…I almost couldn’t write it here as it’s awfully close to home but somehow it felt like it was meant to be.

The key was on the shelf as I rushed out the door,

pulling the handle was an exercise in slow motion,

hitting out at the door which was firmly slammed shut,

holding a child in my arms and no keys for the car,

reaching to open the umbrella, to avoid the rain,

wishing I took a moment longer to pick up the key.

Today’s post is a prompt from Writers Island.

There’s a box on the porch,

it’s wrapped in brown,

too big to carry,

too heavy to lift.

It’s not expected,

to arrive today,

the deliverer gone,

and a trolley too.

A washing machine,

to go out back,

what to do?

how to move?

A fabulous gift,

but can’t be used,

until a trolley,

can be found.

Today’s post is in response to the prompt provided by Writers Island.

It was a peaceful scene…

• To feel the cool, crisp breeze as it curled its way around the jagged cliff edge, swirling almost silently to twist and lift the smaller pieces of debris left on the beach by the lapping waves.

• To see a lone runner emerging from the misty dew as he sought solace in a new day, marking the sand with his footprints and knowing that his influence would be forever rewritten by the tide overnight.

• To hear the birds voicing their morning call, while their perfect pitch pierces the air before the day’s noise enveloped them.

• To reach down to brush the damp sand left behind after trying to disappear into the dunes forever.

… and it plays over and over in my head as I fulfill the many tasks of life.

An imaginary scene? A wish for days gone for now? A hope for time in the future?

All of the above but the journey of writing about ‘our beach’ gives my shoulders a lift as I stride into the day.

~

I wrote today after reading about Writers Island that friends Robin and Jo shared on their blogs. Thanks girls, I enjoyed the prompt.

~

BTW we’re feeling a bit better today! Yeah