Friday Fictioneers 29.8.14 “Thought.”

 

Thought,

protoplasmic and ineffable,

remains when all else is earthbound

wormfood for a Godless world that

rates Self over Other.

It remains limp, lost, lonely,

intractable in concept, yet resolute in defiance

of the inept, the oaf, the Worldly,

and finds solace in the spaces between consciousness,

the space where Understanding lives,

feeding the soul and Higher Self, and it waits.

Effulgent in concepts, Thought and Understanding

stand together, tall and intractable,

in a world where Truth become commodity

and Commodity becomes life

without style;

without substance;

without Hope.

Life will find a way,

It is not After-thought,

It is us.

http://rochellewisofffields.wordpress.com/2014/08/27/29-august-2014/

A little bit of a Growl from me here, as part of the 100 word challenge. I think, I am becoming more intolerant of the seemingly inherent stupidity of the people on this planet. I have been researching Edmund Burke (1729-1797) for this Fictioneer, as this quote, “The true danger is when liberty is nibbled away, for expedients, and by parts … the only thing necessary for evil to triumph is for good men to do nothing.” has always been a part of my life since (ahem!) years old, and was a springboard for my poem. Hope you like!

Friday Fictioneers – “Vegetable Liberation Front.”

The attack came swiftly, leafing no stone unturned.

The Vegetable Liberation Front had been biding its time, working at ground level, gathering supporters from every branch who rooted for their just cause. The seeds of dissent were sown far and wide, barking their message to the masses via YouTuber: Rise up and fight! Defy lawn and order, bring anarchy to the streets! Those who could, rose; others stayed on their Gardenia…

Transportation networks were pruned first, shaking the infrastructure of human society to its core. They were swiftly followed by the weeding out of dissenters, hacktivists and plants in their midst..

R-evolution had come!

 

So sorry for the punning – couldn’t resist…

Pop along to http://rochellewisofffields.wordpress.com/ and sample some of the other great people who do this challenge!

Friday Fictioneers: Infinity gains a host

http://rochellewisofffields.wordpress.com/2014/08/13/15-august-2014/

It might only be 100 words, but you’ve got to really use them well!

Contemplation and revelation lay heavy here, all thoughts of internal conflict and struggle have been relegated to the sidelines as imperfect realisation dawns – there is no going back now.

The memories hang heavy still, fetid even, despite the elusive promise of sunshine, and the quill, once the interpreter, is now the executioner, signalling the end of time and the beginning of eternity. So many moments lost, left behind, vanished. The pulse of life in copperplate integrity, gone forever.

A moment to clutch at nothing and then irrevocable loss; a glimpse of a touch and then Infinity gains a new host

Friday Fictioneers 8th August

Been rather busy landscaping a garden, so have forced myself to take a break and be creative in a more Literary fashion! As ever, photo prompt come from the fantastic http://rochellewisofffields.wordpress.com/ Do please pop over there and join in the fun!

The sun ambled its lazy way across the hillside, warming the soil and brick, embracing both as lost friends and potential lovers – for the day, at least – before casting its yellow glow on the broken remains of someone’s memory. That memory, disguised as hope, had slipped down the side of the hill, tearing away the upper floor of the house in its wake, leaving bitterness and resentment behind instead of the intended love and laughter. If only that memory could cheat now, and remove Time’s bitterness, instead of showing the death and mistrust in the mortar.

Love can die.

Friday Fictioneers 11th July – Judgement

I’ve been ill for a wee while – sorry for being away!

 

http://rochellewisofffields.wordpress.com/ Has delivered, as usual, as great photo prompt!

PHOTO PROMPT - Copyright - Kelly Sands

The heat hit first, percussive: intense.

Then: the rain. Gray, greasy rain, thick and congealing, it cascaded from the skies and carpeted the floor, insinuating itself into every nook and cranny in the same way it eroded hope from people’s hearts. Rain like that wasn’t natural. How could it be? Why was it here?

It was no more than a rupture in the sky, a split, such as would be found on the skin of fruit or a child’s knee, but the tear brought more than tears for those who knew what it portended, and shudders for those who didn’t…

Friday Fictioneers 13th June 2014, Room with a last view…

Greetings! Below is my entry for this weeks Friday Fictioneers, courtesy of the ever amazing http://rochellewisofffields.wordpress.com/ Go there. be nice!

m

PHOTO PROMPT Copyright-Ted Strutz

So many rooms.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                              Drip.

Houses.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                              Drip.

Alleys and gardens.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                               Dripdrip.

So beautiful, all that open-space that changes and then gets built on.                                                                                                                                                         Dripdripdrip.

You’d like that. You always did, telling me every day how we needed to get out before they developed the hell out of our area. Talk talk, tell TELL!!

Tsk.

Tongues are useful like that though, don’t you think? For talking with. Hey, amazing how pink they are too when you hold them up to the light? Seriously, look at that colour.

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                  Dripdripdripdripdrip

It’s almost as vivid as that other pink thing I’ve got hooked up over there…

Friday Fictioneers – 6 10 14 Rumah Adat – (Slight Return)

Friday Fictioneers Rules.

From the ever interesting http://rochellewisofffields.wordpress.com/ comes… Friday Fictioneers.

The computer’s desktop had never resembled the desk it lay upon, so clutter free and clean was it that Yandi often wondered why she couldn’t make her humble Rumah Adat just as tidy. Silly virtual world she thought, lighting candles, as if the real world could ever resemble you. The laptop hummed gently, its picture of Kanagawa white in the semi darkness. There was a thump. The gate had slammed shut.

She looked out of the window, watching the wind and waves whipping along the shoreline. One wave in particular, looked terrifying.

“Hmm. Looks just like the-“

 

Friday Fictioneers 30 5 14

http://rochellewisofffields.wordpress.com/

I’m having issues with WordPress at the moment: having lost three haiku yesterday due to the site ‘overwriting’ old data over new, (!?!), I am more than a bit dubious as to not only the state of my laptop, but the site itself. I’m pretty sure it’s only my machine, but I hope this doesn’t get lost as well!

Following on from my post last week – see https://kingsleycw13.wordpress.com/2014/05/22/friday-fictioneers-23-5-14/  for context – for the first time, I am continuing the tale, but popping back in time a little…

I spot the bicycles leaning against the wall and cannot help but narrow my gaze at the town, hazy in mid-afternoon happiness and ignorance. The suit is too warm in this weather and I loosen it, spitting bitter words under my breath to any who don’t want to hear them, cursing their platitudes and palmed condolences as I struggle with the tie.

The clock-tower falls silent.

I hear the organ start, four years to the day, to the hour, of our wedding, but the tune is wrong.

Stony faced, I turn and our tread moves us from Earth to Heaven.

 

Friday Fictioneers – 23 5 14

Friday Fictioneers Rules.

 

Here is the rather wonderful photo prompt for this week. Absolutely beautiful! Don’t forget to pop over to http://rochellewisofffields.wordpress.com/ and have a go!

The gaze of her eyes reminds me of the deep thoughts in her heart, and I feel them connect to mine across the warmth of the new day. This was always our place, irrespective of the passersby and the traffic.

I see her stare; my hands holding her face and I cannot suppress a tear at the welling up of love in my heart with her joy she gives me every day.

“I love you, my most beautiful Angel.”

I place the wreath down on the fence, kiss her picture, and head off to work once more, alone.