This is a response to a Flash Fiction prompt from ‘The Last Post on WordPress’ ~
Prompt ~ SONG
MY SONG
by John Yeo
My natural song is music to my ear Resounding around my comfortable chair, My song will begin and end as I sit here.
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The magic of the song swirls far and near, Harmony soaking through melodic air; My natural song is music to my ear.
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Smooth melodies drifting sweetly clear, Sounds around my chair answer a prayer; My song will begin and end as I sit here.
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Life becomes love becomes music clear; A dreamy soulful symphony where My natural song is music to my ear.
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Trance becomes a pre-hypnotic tear, Memories sing of a future I will share My song will begin and end as I sit here.
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The music with my chair wings steer My mind to crystal clarity without care. The natural sound of music to my ear My song will begin and end as I sit here.
WEDNESDAY 14th APRIL 2021 ~ FLASH FICTION ~ POETRY
This is a response to a Flash Fiction prompt from ‘The Last Post on WordPress’ ~
Prompt ~ WHAT ARE YOU THINKING ABOUT?
S/he said Pause whatever you’re doing, and ask the person nearest you what they’re thinking about (call someone if you have to). Write a post based on it.
WHAT ARE YOU THINKING ABOUT?
by John Yeo
The person seated next to me responded with ‘I’m reading the newspaper.’ Which happened to be an online version of the ‘Daily Mail.’ I am aware that one of the prime reasons for this choice of newspaper is the crossword puzzles and mind games that go some way to the alleviation and defence against dementia. The news is almost a bi-product of the investment in purchasing the newspaper. I then asked,
‘What would you be reading if it wasn’t for the puzzles and mind games? In that particular newspaper?
The unsurprising reply came as, ‘I’m not sure, probably The Independent.’ This reply was obviously based on the more serious aspect of buying a newspaper as an independent slant on the news.
This response got me thinking about the influences that shape the mind. Most people’s habits of thought and inspiration come from the newspapers that we tend to devour on a daily basis. A constant flow of opinion and the slants on what is happening in the world is ingested and percolated from our reading habits. Usually our choice of newspaper is not so much dictated by our parents, but largely influenced by their choice of newspaper. Until we get to our further education establishment where we develop our own instinctual choices.
The wide variety of news sources today allows us to ingest the news in many different ways including the single daily take of our regular morning newspapers.
WHAT ARE YOU THINKING ABOUT?
by John Yeo
‘What are you thinking about?’
‘The trail is very obscure, Many twists and turns Millions have come this way The path is very well worn.’
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‘What are you thinking about?’
‘Across the seas, another shore, There are many signs, Many corners, many directions, Many examples to follow.’
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‘What are you thinking about?’
‘One door unlocks another door, The instinct quickly learns The only way is forward, Be kind, be gentle, be firm.’
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‘What are you thinking about?’
‘Your trail began at birth, Already the myriad clues and signs Were building a pattern to follow. The learning never ends.’
This is a response to a Flash Fiction prompt from ‘The Last Post on WordPress’ ~
Prompt ~ GLIMMER
JANUARY
by John Yeo
Fireworks explode brightly, lighting up the sky As January bows in on the back of the old year. Long dark nights and short cold wintry days. A glimmer of hope for brand new beginnings.
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Frosty rime sparkles on the bare earth fields. The silence is suddenly, sweetly shattered. As a Blackbird bursts into melodious song. When England awakes on a January morning.
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New hopes to build, new dreams, new plans. January arrives signalling new beginnings. The seed is now dormant in the frosty earth Awaiting conditions for growth and rebirth.
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Lisa, lying prone in a hospital ward Feeling birth-pains acutely as a girl is born. Tom smiles and cuddles them affectionately. Their child is the future and a new beginning.
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Her name will be a symbol of renewed hope She will be named after her birth month,
Their hopes, their dreams and plans for the future Will be securely fixed on January, their daughter.
This is a response to a Flash Fiction prompt from ‘The Last Post on WordPress’ ~ Prompt ~ DECISIONS, DECISIONS
How are you more likely to make an important decision — by reasoning through it, or by going with your gut?
Personally I tend to tailor my decisions to the situation I am making the decision about, as I humorously describe in my little piece of poetic Flash Fiction below.
DECISIONS? ~ DECISIONS?
by John Yeo
The fictional garden needs a lot of work and we are at the planning stage. I would say this internal dialogue suggests that in this case there was a lot of reasoning through the problem involved.
‘I think if we cut the trees down, we can lay lawns and have a lake for wild-fowl, with flower beds and borders. We can build a summer-house with many arbours and marble statues everywhere. Nature can be modelled, shaped and controlled.’
‘No! Why not have a forest garden and encourage wildlife with deer, squirrels and much birdlife. A natural garden would be best, we don’t need the artificiality of manicured lawns and borders, that is too much like hard work. Nature always wins in the end, whatever we do.’
“We can always concrete the whole area over and build high-rise flats, we could make a lot of money that way. Nature would take a long time to win then!’
‘Now you are being silly, I know you don’t like to be overlooked and feel crowded, I see a natural garden, where we keep the trees and shrubs. We would have our isolation with privacy to write and create. We will have a vegetable plot with chickens in the middle of our own forest. Nature would be our friend and we would both win then.’
‘Yes! We can build a small gallery with workshops and encourage a community of artists and writers. We will build cabins in the yard and sell our work in the gallery shop. Nature would be our partner and our friend.’
This is a response to a Flash Fiction prompt from ‘The Last Post on WordPress’
Prompt FROTH
FROTH
by John Yeo
The conundrum for the day was how to turn a seemingly ordinary five letter word like froth into an interesting Blog post.
My ever-creative mind conjured a situation where my main character; call him Phil, a go ahead young man who unwittingly has become the target of Silas, a smooth-talking con man. Phil has engineered a number of lucrative deals for his employer HMQ and is in receipt of a generous bonus.
Silas has arranged a meet to discuss some dodgy investments. Realisation of the situation has set in for Phil, but curiosity drove him to attend the ill-starred meeting.
I wrote a villanelle style poem to describe the meeting and the outcome.
After all this is poetry month and so far I’ve completed a poem-a-day……
THE FROTH OF A CONMAN
by John Yeo
I avoided getting caught in his intricate web, Becoming just another part of his vocal froth; With guarded responses I never turned my head.
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I kept my distance stayed free instead,
I’m part of a suit tailored from a different cloth, I avoided getting caught in his intricate web.
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The froth on his promises never soaked my bread; The smart trickster used words to subtly rebuff, With guarded responses I never turned my head.
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The inn where we met was a place to dread, Our meeting started smooth then dirty and rough
As I avoided getting caught in his intricate web.
~ I escaped clean away quickly or I’d be dead, Using my ingrained logic, I stayed my wrath;
With guarded responses I never turned my head.
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I avoided the invitation to join in the thread Of broken promises stirred into a palatable broth; I avoided getting caught in his intricate web, With guarded responses I never turned my head.
We survived the unruly protection of the nest, There were two of us left on the final day Pushing and fighting for survival of the fittest The others died slowly and wasted away. One day we were forced to fend for each other. Pushed into flight by our parents insisting Our shining iridescent plumage glistened over As our feathers formed and became powerful wings. ~ Gliding, soaring gracefully, a bird on the move, A fully fledged miracle flying in heaven’s high. Soaring close to the clouds floating above. Survival in the folds of an unpredictable sky. Calling loudly with a natural melody Revelling in a new found freedom of spirit. A powerful instinctive natural urge to belong To the freedom of the life we were now to inherit.
This is a response to a Flash Fiction prompt from ‘The Last Post on WordPress’
Prompt ~ TURN, TURN, TURN
For many of us, winter is blooming into spring, or fall hardening into winter. Which season do you most look forward to?
I
TURN, TURN, TURN
by John Yeo
February dark is merging with March birdsong
Our tender baby plants protected from the weather
A forecast with ice and snow on the horizon.
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Our plants fed, watered, nurtured and growing strong.
Spring is not very far, yet winter days last forever,
February dark is merging with March birdsong.
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Wind howls from the north the season seems to prolong.
Harsh hardship for growers who have to be clever
A forecast with ice and frost on the horizon.
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April brings welcome showers as flowers begin to throng
A carpet of colour spreads far outwards wherever
February is merging with March and April birdsong.
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The farmer has learnt to always weather the storm,
Never afraid to stand his ground whatever, whenever.
A forecast with rain and floods is on the horizon.
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Never taking shelter from the storms of life,
Ever ready to spread warmth with a smile.
A forecast with sun and warm rain on the horizon.
Merging February, March, April with a May Spring song.
~
~
This prompt was another relatively easy prompt for me to respond to. As gardeners and confirmed allotment holders, Margaret and I follow the seasons closely.
I’m certain spring is the season we look forward to most, as this is the month when most of our hard work is done. We need to sow most of our vegetable seeds in the spring. We grow a surprising amount of our brassica seeds in large tubs, before transplanting the baby plants into their final resting place in the allotment beds.
We are always at the mercy of weather fluctuations, as a late spring frost could easily wipe everything out, sending us straight back to square one.
Spring is for me, the favourite time of the year, for the beauty of birdlife, their wonderful tuneful breeding season when the dawn chorus reaches the heights.
This prompt was quite easy for me to answer, as I had already answered something like it in a poetry group Margaret and I were both members of seven years ago. I wrote this poem which is based on an actual event that happened during my school days. The fountain pen I won did give me a lot of service over the years. Sadly, I can’t remember exactly what happened to the pen but the main section of this writing prompt is answered within this poem. I think I probably outgrew or lost this wonderful prize that was responsible for inspiring and enabling me to put my thoughts on paper over many years since.
The Germination of Significance from an Insignificant Seed
This is a response to a Flash Fiction prompt from ‘Putting My Feet In the Dirt’, Writing Prompts hosted by ‘M’. Which can be found by following the link below..
Dawn breaks on a misty March day, frost fills the air and colours the pathway through the fields with a grey-white film. Early March shadows loom and recede along the hedgerows, cast by shrubs and trees. There’s not a sound to shatter the icy silence of the mist-shrouded morning. Then, a deep throated warble sounds from a nearby bush, a fusion of birdsong begins to break the silence, melodiously rising and falling to colour the bleakness of the scene. A Blackbird song signals a new day dawning. The rich quality of the tuneful sound loudly resounds and can be heard for miles around. A natural sound, designed as a territorial warning. He whistles and warbles sweet sound, smooth trilling notes with melodious perfection.
Slowly more birds add sound to the dawn chorus; a cacophony of melodic, richly outspoken, deep throated choristers soon penetrates through the March mist.
Then without warning the smooth flow of notes is broken. A cry of alarm sounds and many wings flap as birds take to the air to escape from the danger of feathers or fur. Their natural defense against man, predatory feline or hawk. When all danger is past the beautiful dawn chorus resumes in a mass of sound. Tuneful and melodic, with perfect clarity. The morning March mist lifts, as a watery sun breaks through the clouds, spreading warmth.
This is a response to a Flash Fiction prompt from ‘Putting My Feet In the Dirt’, Writing Prompts hosted by ‘M’. Which can be found by following the link below..
Ideas are not easy to attain, they are an amalgam of information. A perfect mixture of acquired information coming together from many sources. So much inspiration is perspiration, while one is waiting for that eureka moment when some seemingly unrelated facts come together.
My day starts with a habitual routine of little rituals, I wake early and check out my online social media accounts. Then I avidly check the headlines and stories in the online newspapers. Following this I will read a couple of chapters of the current book I’m immersed in. At the moment I have three on the go. ‘The Road,’ written by Cormac McCarthy, a post-apocalyptic novel that vividly illustrates what life could be like for the survivors after a nuclear holocaust. The other two are, ‘Tamburlaine Must Die,’ a novel written by Louise Welsh. My other current book is a reread of Charles Dickens, ‘Oliver Twist,’ an old favourite I am sporadically reading. I have always thought that reading is as important to the formulation of ideas as breathing.
These days information arrives from many sources leading to an indiscriminate mixture. There is also a need for contemplation, not a quiet meditation on the meaning of things but a meeting of the outer and the inner eye, a quiet process of mixing, matching and remembering.
I enjoy the challenge of answering writing prompts by ‘M’, on WordPress. Each day I’m confronted with a random couple of words and I then allow my thought processes free rein to come up with ideas for a poem or a short piece of writing to answer the prompt. Opening up my mind to fill the indiscriminate mixtures between life and art, inspiring ideas. The interesting, usually two word prompt; allows my mind to take off in a flight of fancies. This is the great adventure that is writing, the challenge of going somewhere I may not already have been.
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