welcome readers & writers! in this cyber space please find: + a photo writing prompt + a place to post your creative writing response (poem, memoir, short story or the like) to the prompt + a community of readers and fellow writers excited to read your writing + morsels of genuine fiction, poetry & creative non-fiction as the blog is updated. share a response as often as you'd like. everyday discoveries from my life, captured on film, will serve as prompts. this is not a place where we will critique one another's work; however, words of encouragement or praise for writers who share their work are most welcome. writers, share your story, poem or creative non-fiction response to the photo by clicking on comments; word count is flexible. cheers! demery

Wednesday, August 25, 2010


welcome readers & writers. first, many thanks to De Langer, abuxtonkutch (welcome new poster!), FilmGuy, Trica, Brian & Bess for your great dog stories yesterday. lots of smiles to be had reading them. and speaking of smiles... 
today's writing prompt is this photo of a downtown mural. what do you make of it? here's where my mind goes: 
As the old man drones on, the vertigo comes again and presses down hard. Why do I sit and smile as if he's sane? As if all is well? It's not. He's not. And only a few of us know it. To everyone else, he the hung the moon. 
The last breath I exhaled will not let itself be replaced and my heart pounds. Maybe I'm the crazy one. Or the universe has reversed itself like a photo negative. Bad is good, lies are truth. 
Seeking my bearings, I look around at others "in the know." One slumps in his seat and stares at the floor. Another is texting. Number three meets my eye and makes a pistol to the skull gesture. 
My attention shifts to him again as I hear the words, "If you want to know the truth..." For one gullible second (shit. shit! why do I let myself go there every single time?) I imagine him actually telling the truth: I shouldn't be the one up here giving advice today. I am a drug addict. I am mentally unbalanced and haven't put forth a genuine ounce of effort in my work or personal life in at least fifteen years. God, how brilliant! The meeting would erupt into chaos, and I would bear witness to the shattering of the glass dome (her name is denial) that holds the whole room hostage. I can hear its sharp crack and feel the wondrous sting of those jillion pieces, too tiny to be glued back together. 
But of course it's still lies. Shiny and sweet and laced with arsenic. Shoveled on a silver platter by grim reaper hands that used to belong to someone I loved. 
i'm so interested to read your interpretations of this photo! submit your story, poem or creative non-fiction below by clicking on comments. 250(ish) words. i'm flexible.


  1. The chill had finally reached their bones. They had been slapping their arms and stamping their feet to try to keep warm but since The Management had come and set up their check point they had to remain silent and still.

    The two moons hung in the sky like a giant pair of eyes, taking it all in.

    “What time is it?” Benny asked.

    “10 past.” Marion answered, putting the watch back in her pocket. “The rest should be here very soon.”

    “I hope so. If I get any colder I don’t think I’ll be able to arm The Ripper.”

    Marion shivered. She hoped it was mistaken for a cold shiver. She hated The Ripper. It was a brutal and indiscriminate weapon. The Workers had finally found something to give them an edge, an opening salvo that horrified those that it didn’t kill by the sheer viciousness of the attack. So for, 6 months on, The Management hadn’t found a defence against it.

    “Is it working? Did you test it?” Marion asked nervously. She had never been involved in an attack that had used it. She worried that today would be the day it would backfire and destroy them.

    Benny gave her a look that feigned insult but expressed confidence.

    A flicker of reflected light flashed from a nearby window. “It’s time.” Benny said. He set the primer. Its claws reflected the moonlight as they uncurled. The blinkers were still on and were timed to come off as it approached the target.

    Marion looked down at the check point, at the men, one last time.

  2. I put down the brush and felt a sick contentment for my creation. My mood as of late has been somber.I feel better in my manic times but this isn't too bad for a low point.I love the creativity I feel,I relish in my insanity.I'm a self diagnosed manic-depressive with a hint of OCD and a whole lot of bi-polar mixed in.I dont need a stinkin' doctor to tell me what I already know about myself.Meds? Hell no.I'm livin'it,the way I want.
    What? It's how I feel. My mind is a steel force to be reconed with and everything is coming at me.My claws are sharp and i'm ready....

  3. Birthday Present

    “Hey Hun,” I said, “What do you want for your birthday?” She thought about it for a moment and then said, “Oh, I don’t know, put a smile on my face.” I knew in an instant what would do that and so I set out to work on it. A week and a half later it was complete and my wife and I stood in the parking lot next to the side of my friend’s deli. For the past two years he had been asking me to paint a mural on the side of the building. “Anything you want to paint.” He would say. Inspiration had finally struck me and now I pulled the blindfold from off her eyes. She stood for awhile and just took in all the shapes and colors that played on the two story building. At the bottom of the wall I painted her sitting on a swing, leaned way back with the wind blowing her curly hair. Her eyes were closed and she was smiling and having the time of her life. The ropes of the swing were attached to a metal bar which was being held by the claws of a turkey which was flying high into the evening sky rich in blues and purples. “I call it Juxtaposition.” She glanced at me with a quizzical look and I said, “It’s two contrasting object in close proximity. The turkey, one of the ugliest creatures on the planet next to you, one of the most beautiful.” Her face lit into a big smile and I said, “Happy birthday.”

  4. Five seconds. That's all that would be allowed.

    The bar was cold and held no pulse of life. This was how it was to know the end of all there ever was to know. For what could find its way to a beyond that held nothing, a vacuum, a black hole, space everlasting never ending, yet finding the edges of time, perhaps?

    From the ancients came no comfort. Comfort wasn't a word for endings, only beginnings. And beginnings had only led to this.

    The bar trembled in palms meant to soothe, not to destroy. Once gentle had been a word to honor. Once calm had been a word to fall into as in a soft cloud of sleep without dreaming.

    Five seconds. There would be no more. There would be only the last five of all the seconds of living.

    The bar was lighter than expected, as though heaviness meant death. Rising up, rising up, rising up . . . there was so little to mourn, really, with all that had ever been loved gone before. Still. Over to the right there bloomed fruit that although reached so very high, the fruit hung heavy, within reach, bright read and glistening with its own fullness of juice.

    Rising up, lifting—it wasn’t so bad, really. Five seconds. Four. Three. Two . . .

  5. Open eyes. Dark, Move head. Limit. Cramped. Knees pressed into torso. Arms numb. No, they move. Twisted. Limited. Push head up. Limit gives. Pull head way back, thrust beak were limit gave. Punctures! Light pierces in, eyes work! Wobble head strenuously breaking away limit. Open beak, clamp and bite off pieces of limit. Unwind, stretch out full body, stand. Erect! Swivel head to activate smell. Odors! Nothing interesting. Turn head checking sight. See both ways before moving. Left leg, limp foot dangles then instinctively splays as leg is lowered and other leg raised. Crane neck forward and back to balance as walking is slowly mastered. Look for danger, motion, food. Move out of rushes, onto sand. Hear roar. Water forever, front and both sides. Waves. Raise wings, flutter them briefly to dry them, ooze off the goo. Something moves across a foot. Spear it with beak! Miss. Things are moving in the water. slightly open beak, thrust, snap on thing, got it! Hold head way back as it attempts to escape, feel it slither hurriedly into stomach.
    Raise wings slowly, full length above head, forcefully, powerfully impel wings downward, repeat, feel body lift, repeat rapidly, self rises above the water, legs adangle, climb higher, fold in legs, sail higher, catch wind glide on wind, catch breath, pump wings more, swoop, ascend, swoop.
    Fly day upon night upon day. Night upon day upon night. Sleep floating. Waken. Lead the sun, be overtaken, do it again.
    Below, something floats. Creatures crawl upon it. Soar swoop. Idea! Take them all, take the thing with them all. Eat them one by one.