The Hemingway Day. Move.

I am back from my little Spanish jaunt and now I find myself amidst a sea of boxes as the boy and I prepare for a little change of scenery. This week’s WordPress photo challenge is of change, and the timing couldn’t be sweeter. Here’s a moving-day Hemingway Day for a few sections of fiction…

 

Move.

The box labelled ‘Heart’ is heavy.

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Blue.

Blue.

Blue

Whilst giving my poet’s brain some dozing time this weekend, I am looking to two of my wordsmith heroes and pilfering their greatness for my post. From one of the masters of verse, W. H Auden, comes the poem ‘Funeral Blues’, which I first heard as a ten year old that, for some reason, after having taped it on my new VHS recorder in my bedroom, had a fondness for Richard Curtis’ Four Weddings and a Funeral.

If I could ever dream of writing a poem so fine I could only wish for it to be read so well…

 

 

Funeral Blues.

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message ‘He is Dead’.
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last forever: I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now; put out every one,
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun,
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood;
For nothing now can ever come to any good.

 

Orange Peel.

I am a writer of many syllables, and so today’s monosyllabic writing task for the Daily Prompt proved a rather tricky prospect for my frantic pen…

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She said that she should hide the tops of those legs, they were grim. She said she should hide the tops of those arms, they were grim too. Put all out of sight that is much the same as the peel of that fruit that the red-top sharp-wits like to spend their day’s words on. But what if your face is foul too?

http://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_prompt/one-at-a-time/

Smile.

Today’s Daily Prompt is rather apt for someone who is entering the last year of her twenties tomorrow… “You’re tasked with creating a brand new astrological sign for the people born around your birthday — based solely on yourself. What would your new sign be, and how would you describe those who share it?”

 

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Her teeth looked like they would bite with the weight of the earth behind them. Her lips quivered as she curled them in an angry grimace. The twisted smile was a word of warning.

http://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_prompt/custom-zodiac/

I’m with the band.

 

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Laura didn’t have an imaginary friend. But she did have a series of Take That dolls that were entirely representative of their real life counterparts when they whispered sweet nothings to her.

 

This post is in response to today’s Daily Prompt, Imaginary Friend…  

 

http://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_prompt/imaginary-friend/trackback/

 

 

Beast.

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Letting my pencil run away with itself again today with a free writing task…

Beast.

As each limb twisted you could see muscles sliding beneath dense black tufts of fur. He was short and stocky, a compact beast with a thick skin. He thudded through the green reeds and shook the ground with every step. Any obstacle that sat in his path was torn or battered with a fierce might that would strike down most in one fatal blow. His shoulder blades rippled underneath the skin as he forced his way through the jungle, his thick fingers grasping at everything within reach, inspecting it before throwing it away or throwing it down his gullet.

They usually travelled in troops. But he was a lonely soul. Originally it wasn’t by choice, but today he wouldn’t want another way. They were forever taught they needed each other to survive, but he had proven that the strongest need only themselves.

He spied her cowering in the distance. He could sense the eyes on his back and he turned to find her recoiling between the vines, looking tentatively upwards at him. Her eyes weren’t like the others. He recognised their haloed amber. This is what had drawn him in before.

The mighty beast bowed his head and held his hand out to her. She edged at the beckoning gesture, slowly foot-stepping towards him. His eyes had grown sadder since the last time. Then she was drawn in by the pools of fury but now they were saturated with longing.

As she reached his side there came a cry from behind, he tensed without hesitation, pushing her behind him, flaring his chest and standing tall whilst scrutinising every corner in search of the noise. He winced as she grasped his rigid arm, but he dismissed her and started to violently hack at the surrounding wilderness.

After moments of study he admitted defeat and retreated to her side. She touched his face with her forefinger and turned to show him what she had been cradling on her back. The miniature beast had the same amber halo of her eyes, but it was flecked with the burnt orange that blazed within his own.

The taut muscles in his face started to soften. His thick brow raised upwards and his menacing glare turned into something that she had never seen in him before. He was smiling.

 

http://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_prompt/ready-set-done-4/