Through the Eyes of Illness

picture by Oleg Oprisco

The Traveler

I wasn’t going to post this, but here it is: an attempt at flash-fiction for FFFC #92. The image is below. I am also sharing this with the Writers’ Pantry.
Side note: I just realized that I have been writing and posting about space a lot lately.

So Bad, It’s Good

Yesterday, my friend had a small party, and one of the activities we did was paint along to a Bob Ross painting tutorial. I had heard of him but never tried one of those videos. Anyway, my finished painting inspired this free-verse poem, because it is not very good! I’m rather embarrassed about it (so I am sharing it with the internet 😂). 

Anhedonia

This (attempt at a) sevenling is for FOWC: Endorse and this week’s Weekly Scribblings, particularly inspired by this picture:

Carnival Dreams by Shelle Kennedy

If We Could Speak

This was difficult to finish, but here is my response to Paint-Chip Poetry #44, especially since I didn’t post my attempt last week. This was also partially inspired by MLMM’s Tale Weaver: Bubbles.

April

Here is another installment of Linda’s paint-chip poetry. I tried to also write in quatrains with an “abab” rhyme scheme. This is also shared with DVerse OLN. Our prompt words are below.

“April showers bring May flowers,”
So goes a well-known adage.
A heartbeat blooms and overpowers
Sky-waterfalls; hope makes a hedge.

Pumpkins planted in the spring
Are simply seeds, but by October,
They’re ripe for jack-o-lantern carving,
So parts of April are not over.

One April morning we are all fools,
Many pranks people like to test:
Teaching that when time seems cruel,
To keep new hope in a cedar chest.

What Gives Us Nightmares

This is for FOWC: Scream. I am also sharing with the Writers’ Pantry. Special thanks to Mr. Bump for reminding me about how terrifying this painting is and how it gave 10-year-old Jenna at least one nightmare. I wrote a free-verse, almost stream-of-consciousness, so…here you go. 

Edvard Munch, The Scream

Consider “The Scream,”

that disturbing painting,

so unsettling

it gave this child nightmares. 

Consider how Mr. Munch

may have painted it today,

if he were living —

horror of art “nouveau normal”

The orange sky is surprisingly

accurate, as is the conspicuous

absence of most

others — uncertainty and anxiety

Are certainly closer

companions — but he’s not wearing

a mask!

this dehumanized creature needs

A face covering,

so no one sees his scream,

though we hear it

screeching, reaching from 1893. 

May Life Speak Kindly

This is for FOWC: Eulogy and Angie Trafford’s Writing Wednesday, “memories.”

---

Eventually for all of us, this
Ubiquitous ceasing of earthly
Life arrives — what is left behind?
One’s family, friends, one’s love,
Good memories and a gracious state:
Yesterday’s gone; what words live today?

I like this image because it looks like she’s rather casually poking the skull. Found on an image search.

Within the Lines

This is for Linda G. Hill’s coloring club for this month. I have colored several pictures, and here is one of them, plus part of another.

I also wrote a poem inspired partly by the coloring pages, since they can be quite fantastical! We color within the lines but can choose any picture we want. 🙂  Sharing with today’s Writers’ Pantry.

 

The rules say color within the lines,
But the artist’s mind divines
How to within the form be free,
Or to trash it, if need be:

These rules don’t dictate what to draw —
Let one’s artistry be raw —
Nor which colors one must use.
If some are fixed, there’s more to choose!

Grand Plans Beaten to a Pulp

Once again, I have a response to Linda Kruschke’s paint-chip poetry, at the last minute. This is about how, this year, I had a bunch of plans and it’s all down the drain now. 🙂 I am also sharing this with MLMM’s Tale Weaver, because any attempt to plan this year has become an epic fail. Without furthr ado, these are our paint-chips:

January 2020: the year was a
Blank canvas of optimistic possibility,
A green flash to signal, “Go for it.”

March 2020: a rainstorm was brewing,
We began to become tongue-tied,
Under the sea of shocking surprises.

September 2020: somehow we have
Tumbleweeded through a surreal summer,
Crispy leaves and autumn colors are coming.

I am a glass of fresh-squeezed
Orange juice, filled with the pulp
Of pressurized emotions, in my skin.