Treetops together form a canopy.
What a perfectly beautiful place to be.
Oh, views from there, will set you free!
TV’s Tarzan swung on vines in mid-air.
A treetop, monkey business, and daring, affair.
Kids, like me, dreamt of living up there.
Imagination empowers us ready to soar.
Treetops can definitely be reached and MORE!
Next step, “Where no one has gone before”.
63-words
https://sammiscribbles.wordpress.com/2023/03/04/weekend-writing-prompt-301-treetop/
At the library-
the bane of every bibliopole-
‘Treasures’ are for the taking.
The true value of a book
isn’t physically tangible.
Because of this,
Human inspiration,
imagination, and aspirations,
Can never be stolen
But rather surrendered by pseudointellectuals.
https://sammiscribbles.wordpress.com/2022/11/19/weekend-writing-prompt-286-bibliopole/
This week’s topic is:
“Random Questions to Trigger Imagination”
Here are the questions:
room, cloud, any, fist, raven, rock, slide, speak, west, story, blend, circle
My story came full circle when I walked into that room.
When I was a kid, I believed animals could talk. I didn’t give it any thought that it may not be true until I lost my innocent intuition as an adult. It seemed I took a one-hundred-and-eighty-degree slide into radical realism.
Then, I became a father.
When my four-year-old son started insisting that birds could speak, I slammed my fist onto my desk, startling both of us. He ran off crying and I rationalized the incident as ‘good for him’ so he would recognize truth from fiction as soon as possible in such an unforgiving world. There was no blend of parental guidance and support for my child’s imagination that day. I was the boss!
He opted out of having me rock him to sleep that night and there was perceivable distance between us that I’d never before felt. A cloud of regret suddenly surrounded me.
My dad had been a Wild West, no nonsense guy, and I recognized immediately from my own past, the betrayal my son was feeling when I hadn’t listened to him.
Now, I walked into his room this morning, hoping desperately to mend our trust, and there on his open windowsill sat a large raven-like black and white bird.
“Daddy! This is my friend.”
I knelt beside my boy and said, “He’s beautiful Billy. Does he talk to you?”
Before Billy could answer, the bird (who turned out to be a pet magpie that was on the loose) said, “What’s up dummy?”.
Yep. I’ll be ‘eating crow’, for not believing in Billy, for years!
A Conscious Wisp of Vapor
An ethereal thing
imagination.
Scraps of moments floating
about one’s mind.
Waiting… Wandering
Meaningless,
until a muse sparks them
to intertwine and spawn
primordial poetic flames.
This timeless game she savors,
To birth something unusual.
A conscious wisp of vapor
from a snuffed candle.
Imagine you can step from one day to the next in three-dimensional space. I can.
Not only that, but I have a three-dimensional “map” for everything that has a numerical sequence. They aren’t all the same. I didn’t copy anyone.
Since I was a child, I’d ask people (when the conversations seemed most intimate), “How do you ‘see’ numbers?”. It took me decades of blank stares and vacant expressions to find out I wasn’t crazy… I have a gift.
My mind created my own personal universe of dates and times!
The study of this phenomenon is quite new. Compiling statistics is difficult because, for many who have it, it’s natural. You may have it.
My discovery was made possible by explaining my “sight” to an online poet friend. After all, poets exist in an alternate realm and especially appreciate bizarre viewpoints, right?
So I took a chance.
She said, ” That sounds like a form of synesthesia.”
I’d never heard of synesthesia! Whoa! My search was about to end and validation was about to be mine. Not only did I learn about myself, I found out about dozens of kinds of “synesthetes”. Some are way more unusual than I. Thank goodness, I feel my synesthesia is a gift. Many find their own version a curse.
Please explore this topic. If you have a lot of interaction with children, learn to watch for signs of them pointing to numbers in space, or looking down toward Saturday. You may have the answer that they long to hear.
~Special thanks to Jamie Dedes. Poet extraordinaire!~
Random words generated at Creative Games.net
My rules:
Keep the words given. (no substitutions)
Create a story in one sitting.
applause…wheelbarrow…stain…number…pants
Here’s my story:
Jenna was absolutely sure she would be a famous actress one day. She was the youngest of seven children born to a family of dust mites. They all thought work was the only thing that mattered and she was the only one who knew different.
A number of times, as they toiled in the family garden, she took on a role. This time, while sitting on top of the wheelbarrow, she became Cleopatra being carried along by slaves. She was fanned with huge ostrich feathers as thousands knelt along her path. She imagined her body covered in indigo silk and golden baubles lined her arms to her elbow. Her arms felt heavy as she waved to the applause of her subjects. The pearls of sweat rolling down her cheeks were merely jewels that dangled from her crown.
“Jenna, get off of there and help your brother.”
How she disliked it when her father’s voice popped the bubble of her illusion. Now, nothing but mud surrounded her. Her emerald embossed slippers were just rubber boots and her silken gown became a hand-me-down pair of jeans. As she trudged to the tool shed, she found herself in the jungle. Quicksand grabbed at her as the humidity soaked her to the skin. A shadow over head was a buzzard circling, waiting for death to claim her. She could hear the drum beats. The natives were restless and she needed to cross the river of hippos in order to put them safely behind her! She dove…her life depended upon it.
“What do you think you’re doing young lady?”
Mom stood above her with her hands on her hips.
Jenna’s face was scraped from forehead to chin. She picked herself up and continued to the shed without saying a word. When she reached it she found that her pants were ripped. There was a huge grass stain on each knee…wait a minute, it was blood! Her leg had been bitten off by a crocodile! As she limped inside the tool shed, she could hear the drum beats getting closer…
Home of Monty Vern
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