Saturday, 25 April 2009

Random words

Hi blog-readers

I seem to have a bad-case of the hyphens, so you'll have to forgive me. I'm sure it's a temporary condition and will soon pass-over. Try to ignore it if you can, I'm not sure whether it's contagious ...

Anyways, this morning I've just posted the double-word random-word #4 for April, on my writers' group site, for any member who wishes to pick it up and freewrite with it for 10 minutes.

This morning's random-word is below, and my freewriting response is belower ...


Scattered light

Resonates, light waves washing over a shore of darkness.
I am back to the sea and purple moonlight falls like a veil over the water.
The salt waves chopping the veil into pieces, slitting it into two and three slivers, only to be reunited with each other and sealed back, seamlessly, as if they'd never drifted apart.

Resonates, with Marge de Piercey's collection of poems, Available Light, and her I am salt as the salt marsh, ripe as mature brie, and her Eat Fruit, and the other observations that I loved to read when I found her book.

Resonates with the Young Connections play about the pharoah's wife and concubines sealed in the pyramid when the pharaoh died, and the army of soldiers that were also entombed, and the still-has-me-spellbound mix of cannabalism and fragile paper birds that the women created while indulging in their cannibalistic acts.

There was once an old farming woman who found herself sat on a neat little lawn beside a neat little house on an estate down a neat little country lane.
Come in, they said, you're going to catch a chill.
She wouldn't of course, because the view inside would impose itself on her, and out here she had a much better panorama spread out in front of her, in front of her mind's eye, that is.
Eventually, they all retired for the night, as did everyone in the houses around, until she was alone on the lawn, the only person awake for miles.
The night-sky was intermittently clear then dull, for there was a breeze blowing before it a largely unenthusiastic smattering of clouds.
When the night-sky cleared, it left spaces for the stars to shine through.
The scattered light shone down on the old farming woman.
Get up, get up.
The scattered light shone down on the path that the old farming woman trod, away from the neat little lawn beside the neat little house, across the hills and far away, to find herself a small-holding to hold once again.

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