Weekend Writing Prompt #28 – Life

A word and photo prompt to get your creativity flowing this weekend.  Use the prompts separately or together.  It’s up to you.  Write a piece of flash fiction, a poem, a chapter for your novel…anything you like.  Or take the challenge below – there are no prizes – it’s not a competition but rather a fun writing exercise.  If you want to share what you come up with, please leave a link to it in the comments.

Word Prompt

 Life

Photo Prompt

The ankh was a symbol of life in ancient Egypt

 

Challenge

Prose Challenge – Write a story in no more than 300 words that looks at the meaning of life and the question, “Why am I here?”  Who’s doing the asking?  Why?  What’s pushed them to seek the answer?  Who’s doing the answering?  What do they say?

Bonus point if you can mention ancient Egypt or the ankh symbol somewhere in your story.

Poetry Challenge – Write a poem in 20 lines or less about life; the ups and downs, the important things, what it means to live a good life.

Can’t wait to read what you have come up with!

16 thoughts on “Weekend Writing Prompt #28 – Life

  1. Ankh or ‘aankh’ means eye in Hindi and Urdu. The Egyptian meaning given is a ‘mirror’ other than the symbol of life. Poets do see eyes as ‘mirrors’. It is interesting to learn the intersection of different cultures, and its impact on language, symbols and expressions.

    Liked by 2 people

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  5. Hey Sammi, Namaste 🙂

    How are you? Well I hope and merry?

    It has been a long week bouncing between rainbows, taking the thirteenth floor, I won’t deliberate it will only bore, and I’ve had enough of being rubbed raw, still sore to the core ready for more, unless common sense prevails, and like snails issues pack up and go, taking with them I hope their desperate shadow. As such my poems are a mish mash this weekend…my mind occupied by to many things strung on too many strings, and some are very important. It’s also been Remembrance Weekend: a moment for the world to weep as one together.

    I’ve a longer poem to follow…a narrative piece.

    Dying screams feed crimson streams staining the Field of Flanders.
    Bloodied mass a mess of Officers Soldiers and Commanders,
    Legion after legion lacerated Standards, agonising cries left unanswered:
    Battered lies hope in gunpowder smoke, marching with the boots of Lancers.
    ~
    Where still below the Poppy meadow found buried underground,
    Weeping bones grimace and groan from the fallen and the furrowed.
    Fellows hurried to horror harrowed to death, left to die where they fell to rest,
    Mellow amongst the Poppy Fields: where Mother Earth graciously yields.
    ~
    Shields her children her fallen heroes, those laid to rest in deathly rows,
    Blown to death by front-line foes: vipers and snipers mustard bombs sidewinders,
    Missiles and rockets targeting pockets, armed by money from poisonous prophets,
    Driven by maniacs for imperial profits, Tyrants and Despots who do everything to start it.
    ~*~

    We’ll all be looking forward a bright new week. Hoping your is a treat. Take care.

    Namaste 🙂

    DN

    Liked by 2 people

    • Hey Dewin! I’m fine, thank you. I’ve been a little absent from blogging as of late – NaNoWriMo has taken over nearly all of my free time. I can’t complain though – I’m enjoying it, even if I am missing blogging. How are you? Hope the “many things on many strings” have calmed down now?

      Moving, poignant poem for Remembrance weekend. It captures the horror and sadness of what must have been an awful and harrowing experience.

      Brightest Blessings

      Like

  6. Hey Sammi, Namaste 🙂

    Hoping all is cool for school and life finds you looped above a Tau 🙂

    I managed to finish before the watershed hour,
    Which I hope is fine as I’m away for a shower,
    And an early night tucked tight in my bower,
    Dreaming of Venus my Rosy Red Flower.
    ~*~

    I’ve sort of used a story written once before, about an Airmen I met buried beneath the floor. But rather than be a re-blogging boar, I thought I’d give it an airing once more, rehashed for delivery with new fresh livery, and a few additional lines. I thought it appropriate and in keeping with the message of Remembrance.

    Thanks again for setting the challenge. It’s always a bit of fun to participate, and always an education when reading everyone else’s work.

    Have a wonderful. Take care of one and all, hugs as always for the G’s 🙂

    Namaste 🙂

    DN

    ~~ Wings Of Change ~ By ~ Dewin Nefol ~

    ~

    Winds of change through fair autumn blow, rustling leaves whenever she goes,

    Raising red roses in posies on cheeks, storms in the wilderness snows on peaks,

    Nips on one’s noses and frost on one’s toesies, merrily the Maiden twists and poses

    Whirls twirls turns gyrates bending boughs rattling slates

    Stirring fears gathering woes snaking through treetops hustling hedgerows

    Rippling hot sands where no water flows, mercurially she races and never slows.

    ~*~

    Early one morning when tiring of typing

    I packed a notebook went out walking

    With no intention of ever gawping

    At toys the stranger was busily hawking

    To crowds of shoppers sheepishly flocking

    Stopping their shopping to gape and see

    A golden marionette pirouette merrily,

    Dancing and prancing very happily

    Suspended on strings which I counted three, but

    Knowing there must be one for each knee,

    One for each hand and her head if you please,

    Another hidden inside her where no one sees,

    One string controlling her smiling tease,

    A million dollar beamer painted as a frieze,

    A smile never escaped from, one she never flees,

    An enigma always with her, one worn with ease

    For Love lies inside her, tenderness to appease,

    The whim of strings pulling things always by degrees,

    The Puppeteer who never sings, singing with expertise

    Twisting and twirling his marionette whirling

    Swinging swirling and speaking Japanese!

    ~*~

    Regards the Ankh…I shrank away to think and play…but…

    To be quite frank I drew a blank when considering words to say,

    And tiring of typing I went out walking, walking beneath skies of grey

    Towards a haunt I know where few others go and peace reigns supreme,

    Tis a graveyard I know just up the road where there’s chance to dream.

    ~

    En route I passed the charity shop with time on my hands for me to stop,

    To turn in through the open door walk across the crowded floor, and fully explore the riches within.

    I should say I was ‘called in’ and whilst it was cold out, I followed my sense without any doubt,

    Knowing as I knew somewhere in my view magic and enchantment was about.

    ~

    Not the dear old deer who plays ‘our tunes’, but another dear deer serving country and blues,

    I mentioned the music holding polite conversation, the radio playing her favourite station,

    Whilst I busied and burrowed in baskets I furrowed until I could I take no more,

    The calling growing louder my frustration gunpowder, when then my frantic eyes saw…

    ~

    A wing of gold, bold and rolled in every crease in every fold in every fold was rolled gold,

    Sculpturing an auriferous Tie-Pin.

    Although only one wing it was complete, in every way cast unique lovingly made and polished neat,

    An Aviator’s accessory for those who fly, whose tie might come loose when they reach for the sky,

    No longer tethered like you and I, these Fliers are unprecedented Mavericks upon high.

    ~

    Whilst she reached into the glass cabinet, I reviewed my purchases: all were appropriate.

    Two figurines of Shoaling Monks each wearing orange trunks,

    Two copper trinket dishes both enamelled with Kiwi best wishes,

    One Pembroke Pottery collectors’ piece, a peeling platter for fruitful fleece.

    And last but by no means least, perhaps my favourite from the buying feast,

    A crystal ring pot in butterfly guise, so delicately made it almost flies,

    (And to my surprise whispering to me to be included in buys)

    Where atop its top in base relief, the shape of a butterfly rests on a leaf,

    Rests on a leaf to wait a while before lifting off encouraging smiles,

    High in the sky for miles and miles, flittering and fluttering flattering styles,

    Iridescent dream-coat with chromatic sheen, the Crystal Butterfly is like none ever seen.

    She is faultless scintillating, nature’s miraculous flying dream,

    Giddy and gilded and radiating, reflecting rainbows with her wings beating,

    Her flash rapid her flare fleeting, her tailored jacket gaudy and glinting,

    And she unrelenting glistening and gleaming, off out the door she was leaving,

    Neither wrapped in newspaper nor enraptured by flight,

    Insistent was she to head for the light: incessantly striving towards the bright,

    And then out door and she long gone caught on the breeze lifted beyond

    Beyond the beyond and far away soaring she’s climbing upon this day,

    And with her my sorrows my tears my woe, the tiredness of my shadow,

    The shade that plays in liminal ways that always has me cry,

    Or leaves me hazy slightly glazy with mystical tears in my eye,

    As upwards I gaze upon the open sky to watch my Crystal Butterfly.

    ~

    Had I lingered or lazed or idly made haste, surely I would have missed,

    A glint of glass flash pass so fast from out of the wilderness:

    So quick so slick moving through air, I had no time to stop and stare,

    It made me gasp until at last I caught my breath and followed dutifully,

    Steering a course as best I was able, into the stable sable of cemetery serenity.

    ~

    Glimmering and shimmering the glinting was winking, waiting at a grave,

    One rolled and old badly unkempt: sat cold and lulled by darkness and greyed

    Kept attended but unattended or tended by tenderness: the grave a mess

    A mass of weeds and daffodils, spilled tears without frills or flowers,

    Or pretty girls cockle shells or relatives who come and go: caring for the lonely Airman fallen into shadow.

    ~

    I sat awhile in quiet thought and deeper contemplation:

    Mindful in my musings and respectful consideration,

    Reflecting on solitude of one stolen from their station,

    Shot down defending a war-torn nation,

    Gone but not Forgotten: buried in isolation,

    ~

    And there silently he permanently lies, always gazing upon cloudless skies,

    Forever upwards asking why: why he cannot fly or simply flash and flare,

    Don the goggles fire the prop and into the dog-fight quickly rock, rapidly

    Rolling twisting turning, machine guns blazing hellfire raging, nerve ends fraying voices praying

    No not praying they’re clearly saying, ‘Look out! Gun in the sun!’

    ~

    “But I was too late to turn too late to learn, I crashed and burned instead.”

    “I felt the bullets bite as the Gun caught site of my feathered tail end,”

    “Closed in for the kill with propeller roaring and guns pouring out hot lead,”

    “Strafing and raking wings and fuselage with bullet holes large and red,”

    “And those piercing Merlin’s heart brought me to the dead.”

    ~

    Said I weeping an Airman’s tears, “what could I do to ally your fears?”

    “Do?” said he, “what do you mean? I’m laid out forever, this is no dream.”

    “I mean fly.” said I. “Would you like to fly again in the sky? Perhaps turn an old trick or two?”

    “Really?” Said he, ‘what power have thee to enable me to rise from this tomb?”

    “Rise from this gloom and not just rise, but take flight again in cloudless blue skies?”

    ~

    I smiled a little, I may even have mused, as he talked to me sounding confused,

    Bemused I think by bewitchery, amused I think by sorcery, the Dark Art in the heart of me,

    The heart of me that no-one sees or needs to ever know:

    Tis the heart of me at the very heart of me where nobody ever goes,

    Until a channel opens and communication flows.

    ~

    “Flow and grow and swell to expand, one string of thought will become a band,”

    “A rubber-band of twists and threads, stretching tales into stories instead.”

    “Stories that would otherwise never flow or have anywhere else to go, when buried deep down below,”

    “With an Airman in uniform whose spirit still glows, eager to capture the camera’s pose,”

    “The one with the helmet, the Top Gun pose, the one inspiring lyrical prose.”

    ~

    “Lyrical in the sense that it is all seems to rhyme,”

    “If not quite always then maybe some of the time?”

    “Then this a time when it needs to rhyme, and needs to rhyme quite well,”

    “For a second poem spun by his grave is enchanting Dewin’s will:”

    “It is I the fallen Airman whose spirit excites his quill.”

    ~*~

    Cobra Red Leader to the battle-front, tis time to join your regiment.

    An Ace to fly high for his finest hour, so let spit and polish inspire desire!

    Reach for the Skies in your dashing Spitfire: climb on board prepare for attack

    Load munitions rack and pack, fuel the Merlin take up the slack,

    Throttle wide open no turning back, adrenaline pumping no moment to crack!

    ~

    When then down the runway I’m suddenly roaring, lifting away I’m suddenly soaring

    Beneath pale moonlight I’ve taken flight en route to Germany!

    A flight by night accompanied by starlight into the jaws of the enemy!

    Navigating by stars alongside Lancasters, I’m wondering how long it will be,

    Before hell breaks loose above the clouds: for glory of death and victory!

    ~

    Still throbbing still turning my Rolls Royce was yearning,

    Yearning for Merlin powering the prop, to weave his magic and never stop

    Whilst faster and faster and faster we drop, descending upon our target spot,

    Red blood bubbling boiling hot, engaging bomb-load, the whole damn pot,

    And every bullet in every slot, the enemy below will get the lot.

    ~

    Sliding-back the trigger cap, the crimson button is wide open,

    I’ve only to press with deftest touch, and she’ll deliver her darkly omen,

    Hound the Gun from iron skies, beat and fight Nasty lies,

    Nasty flies and Nastier fliers, ordered by a Tyrant a dark-minded lair,

    Ravaging Europe as harbinger of war: a leader who’d lead us to Death’s black-door.

    ~

    Searchlights wander as roaming cones, desperately seeking those bombing homes

    Reaching raking illuminating, dissipating darkness with the cloud cover above,

    Broken in formation we were scattered patternation, mere dots against the dark,

    When alone far away coming fast from the grey, two machine guns began to bark,

    To bark and hark the enemy mark to hustle and hassle and heckle!

    ~

    I was pebble dashed fore to aft when my Merlin began to wrestle,

    Bullet splashed fore to aft in no fit state to tussle, I trusted to fate and began to climb,

    Encouraging the enemy close behind, then topping out above the clouds to silhouette the Moon,

    Whilst manoeuvring rapidly to face my foe< squeezing a little room,

    For one good shot was all I got before the fates would seal my doom.

    ~

    Merlin still roaring, the berserker still enjoying dancing with the Devil at night,

    When cresting the clouds in a silvery shroud the enemy was in my sight,

    With my thumb I pressed with deadly need and felt the bullets swiftly speed,

    Racing pacing from my gun, and rocketing still hasting towards the moonlit flying Gun,

    Gunning as he was coming on a vector head for me, a flight-path destined to end in tragedy!

    ~

    But not for me on this second time around, for I already lay wrapped deep in the ground,

    I was yet as a Phantom a vaporous drifting cloud, merely dust in a coffin the stain on a shroud,

    A body given up and artfully embalmed: wept upon and mourned over in song and Psalm.

    There was no fear of dying as we drew close together, my gun still firing hell for leather,

    For vengeance and hollow victory, for the one hundred years stolen from me.

    ~

    Red eyes blazing my fury raging my guns hammering out their wicked tune,

    As closer we raced as quicker we paced in light of the Silvery Moon,

    Flashing we were dashing hastening our game, ripping through canvas and timber-fame

    Heading for chaos torn metal and pain, ripping open memories facing death again.

    Agonising recall destroyed in free-fall, another Aviator for death to claim.

    ~

    When then of a sudden at the last possible tick, I pressed forward the throttle pushed hard on the stick,

    Tilting left with elevators to spin twirl and flick, barrel-rolling onwards going at a hell of a lick,

    Guns still blazing for the sheer hell of it, emptying the chamber, the pent up anger, the hatred making me sick,

    A century of venom toxic and thick, harbouring hatred hardened as brick. This was the moment to break free of it,

    Submit with compassion Love’s elevated station, virtues for which war has no commendation.

    ~

    Much to my merry surprised he paused a moment and deeply sighed, wiped away tears from his bone-cup eyes,

    And turned to me and said, “with dread I feared judgement-day would come, the trial of my soul begun.”

    “When to my wooden coffin-bower at the moment of my finest hour, Merlin would arrive to guide me on,”

    “In heart and mind in body and song, on a journey to redemption through a dark night long

    “On a voyage never-ending flying between Stars, further than Pluto way beyond Mars…”

    “A passageway gilded and golden with Honourable Intention, one walked by this Maverick en route to Ascension.”

    ~

    My quill went slack as I gently sat back against the worn and weathered headstone,

    The inscription was bare there was nothing there, no flesh to flesh-out his bones.

    No story to tell no tale to be told, for a Spitfire pilot praying for release from cold,

    The moist womb of an earthen tomb where he’d stopped and stalled the Merlin,

    The Rolls Royce once turning, the powerhouse once yearning, burning Spitfire over Berlin.

    ~

    Where his memories survived in countryside in a Poppy meadow beneath high peaks

    Where Falcons fly and Hawks sigh, Red Kites soar for weeks and weeks,

    Where Raptors glare but only Eagles dare: dare stare at the glare of the Sun.

    Where an Airman’s body shallow tucked: feathers missing cruelly plucked,

    Wings all broken brittle bone snapped, torn apart by shrapnel in the last fateful act.

    ~

    There was no further whispering sigh: already long gone, he was flying high,

    Released from the coffin reborn to fly, mastering aerobatics in a clear blue sky,

    He was a Flier once more, a pretty fly guy, with panache and appeal and a twinkling eye,

    He was back from black as Maverick: new guardian of aerial route-ways,

    Jedi Knight and Templar, Lord of all he surveys: an Officer and a Gentleman until his dying days.

    ~*~

    Well, that's me done for the day I think, perhaps also the week. My body is still more than willing, but my head is soon to sleep 🙂

    I shall say 'au revoir' and head for the pillow, and the tall-mast ship with sails that billow, to carry me gently quietly away, to a place called Zzzzzz where I long to stay everyday for just another single day. Wishing you a wonderful week. Good luck finishing the novel! 🙂 Best wishes.

    Ciao for now. Namaste 🙂

    DN

    Liked by 2 people

    • Hey Dewin!

      An interesting tale indeed. Cemeteries are places of wonder, crammed with real life stories. Of love and loss, and hardship and joy. They can be places where the atmosphere changes too; one day heavy and full of sadness, and others full of the poetry of life.

      The tale of the airman who gets to fly again – what a engaging story with beautiful ending! You’re knowledge of piloting aircraft is deep and detailed and added a real zing to the tale – like watching an old war film.

      Thanks for sharing. Wishing you the brightest blessings for the rest of the weekend 🙂

      Like

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