Some Writing Prompts – August 2019

So for those of you who like a writing prompt or two here are some for August.  Three fairly obvious themes I think.  Make sure you add a pingback and I will attempt to pull them all together at the end of the month.  Let’s see what you got. 

  1. The day the skies burned
  2. Monorail
  3. Tomorrow, today.
  4. Dead satellites
  5. Orbital lockdown
  6. Binary lovers
  7. Apocalypse 2029
  8. Turbo
  9. Above the clouds
  10. Born to the stars
  11. Gravity
  12. Roses and bullets
  13. Darkest valentine
  14. Broken Mirror
  15. A lover’s touch
  16. Lips, blood red.
  17. My tomorrow, my yesterday.
  18. Summer no more.
  19. Innocence
  20. Love’s call
  21. Between the sheets
  22. The longest night
  23. Fangs
  24. A voice from beyond
  25. Our darkness
  26. Necrodancer
  27. Putrid
  28. The things inside
  29. Swarm
  30. The Awakened
  31. Sunrise no more

Things I would not place inside myself – A poem

it’s somethign I guess…well actually not really…meh…

It seems that there are those that will, and I think it’s a farce,

but people (per the internet) do hide things in their arse.

I’m told (though not seen it myself for I share my PC

with kids) so cant research it but if I did I would see

 

Ripe marrows place in darkest holes, and veges by the barrow

inserted, lubed and with great force, pushed into bottoms narrow.

Digits, midgets, varied widgets placed where sun shines not

a friend of mine vanished a vase when on it she did squat.

 

This bloke from Scotland, cavernous, spread wide, bent to receive

the contents of Old Nick’s full sack when drunk on Christmas eve.

And I did read a tale of woe of one lad who took pleasure

dressed as a pirate placed gold coins inside like hidden treasure.

 

A story told of one young chap one night when feeling fruity

filed down a tooth bruch, electric type, to place inside his booty.

But not outdone a lass invited several chaps to sample

her gaping hole but it turned out that just the two were ample…

 

Things stuck inside, spread open wide, or isides falling out

each to their own, and when at home, I really have no doubt

that there are those who cant recall, have lost things, or forgotten

I might suggest they might just be lodged inside your bottom.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Still processing this…

They say confession is good for the soul but bad for the reputation.

I wrote here about things I am not good at.  Mostly to do with towels.

Anyway, turns out I dont know one superfood from the other either.

It is school holidays at the moment so I’m mostly spending time with the boys, not doing a lot but enjoying it nonetheless.  So we sit down and we are watching something on netflix and for whatever reason they serve up a serving of quinoa.  I believe it is pronounced Keen-wah.

Well I believe it now but until yesterday I had no bloody idea that is the same as that quinoa (Kwinoah?) stuff I force down my face when I am feeling particularly fat.

I honestly had no idea.  I mean one look at me abnd you’ll understand that I am don’t have a heavy keenwah intake but for whatever reason the fact just avoided me and I thought they were seperate things.

I told the family and they all laughed their arses off at me.  Even the 14 year old who’s brain only works between 11 and 2 each day and who is currently obsessed with knives and fire.

They then reminded me that until perhaps 8 years ago I had no idea that the spike in the end of an ointment cap is used to pierce the film lid.  Up until then I tended to use the outer prong of a fork though this did often result in something of a premature ointment explosion.

I reminded them that they were all garbage human beings and the 11 year old blonde one, fond of his facts and a bit of a know it all, ceased laughing most heartlily when I reminded him that he still couldn’t ride a bike and he better hope his hair darkens before he gets older because blonde haired male adults are just weird and creepy.

I wanted to say he would look like like a kiddy fiddler but showed some restraint when Mrs Afterwards gave me the look.

The even came to an abrupt end and we all had an early night after I suggested they eat my backside.  I know, wrong on so many levels and I know I ought to be ashamed of myself.

I blame it on the lack of keenwah in my diet…

 

 

 

 

Waking

These battles played out on the streets….

These battles played out on the streets

For heart and soul, beneath the sheets

And words they spill, lips full of rage

And like blood spill onto the page.

 

My now

Your then

Our what might be

 

And blinded, clambering to see

The path not taken, setting free

And time will tell, and roads will wind

As shrouded pasts are left behind

 

This evermore

That what could be

Those sweetest of tomorrow’s

Stars

Like stars beyond my reach …

Like stars beyond my reach those thoughts of you

slip through my fingers to my feet

head bowed faintest recollections blown like sand

I’m left here on this precipice.

Here in the darkness looking out

and fire burns on horizon distant

blood red, golden on my face

One last time wind whispers your name

Fading

One of these?

At night he whispers sweet reminders

of how it felt, quite swept along.

Returning tides compelled, jump in,

strong currents have their way.

And beaches red at sunset burn

as she returns to land once more

and on her lips his promise lingers

salt stained on her skin.

 

Until tides turn and whispers fade,

sepia tinged her longing rests

and deep she sighs, sea at her back

and smiling turns away.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Kiss my nuts

Okay so perhaps a work in progress title but it got your attention I am sure. Just in one of those moods 🙂 Sorry. Kinda.

Were I at last to recognise the thing that we became

The thorny, bristling, spite filled rage

That spews from me onto the page

And like so many through the age,

At last I give it name.

 

My not again, my what the fuck, my who the hell was I

Quite compromised, unrecognised

And like those fools, philosophised

That I was there, just drowned by lies

And watched as life passed by.

 

And then, unshackled, this my thought

Regret no more, not turning back

And craving not the things I lack

now place your lips upon my sack

And kiss them like you ought.

 

 

 

Chilled

Come on, were all a bit too serious sometimes

In sleep I kiss your lips now cold

and miss the hand I used to hold

but god you made me feel so old

I’m kind of glad you’re dead

 

Heart’s drift apart when rent asunder

but can you blame you blame me there’s no wonder

from day one it was quite a blunder

should have listened to what friends said.

 

Mouth full of lies and legs oft parted

and that time you shit when farted

Inside I smiled when you were carted

to final slumber’s bed.

 

On and on such endless droning

pretty mouth but so much moaning

okay so I quite liked you groaning

when you were giving head.

 

But time moves on and people change

yeah yeah I know I may be strange

but jesus you were most deranged

and filled us all with dread.

 

So fare thee well, you did expire

now consumed with roaring fire

toast marshmellow on funeral pyre

I’m glad you’re gone, ’nuff said.

Debris

Just one of these things.

This cliff top wreckage of the place that once our hope protected

I stand and feel the chill of night as shadows slowly lengthen

And as my thoughts are drawn to betrayed memory of promise

Those icy fingers of regret squeeze tight and leave me gasping.

 

No night, no stars, no restless slumber

Horizon sparks and crackles

Into this tempest I will run

And scream your name one final time.

 

Lungs bursting, eyes red as the blood

That thunders through these veins

The words are lost as rising waters

Drag your ghost to inky depths.

 

And on that beach as morning comes and calm creeps with the sun

I turn , soft waves lap at my feet, and look back one last time

There in that place where love once blossomed nothing now remains

Your name now lost upon the breeze that blows upon my face.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Things I cannot do

We’re all shit in our own unique way.

There are things that I am good at which I am comfortable with.  I do a decent limerick, I”m shit hot with spreadsheets , and I make a bakewell tart so good that you’d likely let me touch you inappropriately just for a slice.  I think there are others but thise are the ones that spring to mind.

This though is not about my ability to make Microsoft Excel talk to you and tell you it wants to watch you take a pee.

This is about my inability to fold towels.

Well I can fold them but for the life of me I cannot get any of them the same bastard size.  It’s never been something I thought about much, intent as I was in the past to stack them in such a way as to make a pretty pyramid akin to the sort you get if you get a bundle as a gift.

God that’s a depressing thought in itself isn’t it.  A gift of towels.  Reminds me of the Christmas I found myself disappointed I never got any socks.  I died a bit inside that day I tell you.

I am also not talking making towels of vastly differing sizes fold to a similar footprint.  That would be stupid.  Hmm.  I think I’m still pretty crabby about it.

No, thing is Mrs Afterwards has this knack of folding all the varied towels and they all end up beign of a similar size and stack wonderfully and whilst she doesn’t admit it I know she is smug as fuck about it.  Well I would be if I had achieved such a feat.

Today I decided I would do the same and it did not go well.

Within ten minutes I happened to call a particularly tricky black bath sheet a bastard in front of the youngest, and followed that up by telling all the fluffy white ones to go screw themselves because even the ones of the same size refused to allow themselves to be folded to the same dimensions.

Eventually I rolled them all up instead like in a hotel but they didn’t fit on the stand in the bathroom so redid them just like one of those lovely stacks you get as a gift from your sister when you move into a new home.

Anyway, I imagine it is something passed down from mother to daughter but there is no way I am asking the missus.  I’d rather air dry.

That reminds me, does anyone know how to change a duvet cover.  Last time I did one I ended up with a prolapsed sphincter and a dislocated shoulder.

 

 

 

 

 

Bound

Just one of these things.

When skies turn grey, horizon’s shrouded

Compass bearing wayward, lost

I find my comfort wrapped in you

and threads that bind, knit tight.

Drawing  close such warmth I find

life’s colours woven through this cloth

though mended, frayed, it’s patched with love

and never out of reach.

This love, this life, our ever more

through storms that roar and rage,

my shelter until morning comes

and sun shines on my face.

ReD

Words perhaps? Not Rhymey ones. The other type.

Lips like fire set worlds ablaze

and reckless how they run

those crimson tongues charred ruins make

and promise they turn to ash.

In sweat soaked sheets they smoulder still

the merest spark brings it to life

and lies once more sing sweetest strain

until burnt out flame fades to black.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Someone else’s forever

Fancy one of these?

Mouth dry, full of regrets and lies

and fading dreams of what we had

they fill my mind when eyes I close

and raging ‘gainst the lovers sunset

I thrash between these sullied sheets.

 

There in the distance, silhouette,

you walk where once we lingered long

into the night and then slip softly

hand in hand

into someone else’s forever.

 

 

 

Sunday

I’ve had flu all week so not written anything and this is the best I can muster.

Backs packed and gloom descending

as the weekend nears it’s ending

‘Monday blues’ on twitter trending

and I curse that I have not yet won the lottery.

 

For Monday, it sucks balls you see

the thought of it quite bothers me

I’ve felt this way since after tea

and I curse that I have never played the lottery.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Never alone

More Sunday word vomit

One final sleep

‘neath blankets cold

of eath and clay and stone.

 

And to my end I walk at last

no evermore, or well lived past

and to the darkness wide and vast

I enter all alone.

 

And you shall be my final thought

my life, my hopes, my joy

remember me, the things I wrought,

my kind and loving boy.

 

 

 

 

 

I turn

More Sunday word vomit

Were I to hear you call my name

and turn, to see you one more time,

a souvenir, momento of what was.

A keepsake of sweet memories

I would commit to not forget

or reckless scant attention pay

for fear of losing priceless gift.

No holding back, no front’s, no walls

this truth I’ve kept for far too long

and though again you walk away

unburdened watch you leave…

In the end

More word vomit

When old and grey still close I keep

those memories dear to my heart

and ‘fore I walk to final sleep

and lonely paths to then depart

A final time I will relive and tender recollect

each smile you gifted though I often sadly did neglect

your light by which I found my way and through the dark did chart.

Love generous and without cost

so freely gave and not repaid

and eager how I ate my fill

as sunset sank beyond that hill

were dreams way back were made.

And so at last, though late I know

you lie as pale and cold as snow

and how I wish I had the time

of days were you were always mine

 

Might I suggest – Part 2

Stupid, childish, purile and ridiculous. Meh, least I’m not fiddlign with kids or beatign my wife or listenign to K-Pop.

Hey week, yeah you, yes over here

it’s over now and how I fear

I need to let you know you suck

and right now I don’t give a fuck

about how monday made me blue

Tuesday, wednesday, Thursday too

cos Friday my balls oft caress

and leaves my trousers quite the mess

and saturday, well that’s hard core

my skimpy clad foul mouthed hot whore

Sunday will spoon me, there’s no lack

I feel it’s love pressed to my back

You did your best and hey that’s fine

something something 69!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

This once

Word vomit

Those moments where you cross my mind

and fondly I recall just how

we filled our days with blissful laughter

nights I felt such warm embrace.

 

And as I linger, holding tight

to thoughts I know will soon drift off

like smoke upon the summer breeze

I live again just one more time.

 

That once, that chance, that single glimpse

that slipped away and from my grasp

relived and dearly held once more

until again or never more.

Broken

Borrowed some emotions from someone far deeper than me.

If cut then I should surely bleed

were I not drained, face cold and white,

and curled beneath your naked branches

fade for lack of love and light.

 

Roots of dismay my heart entangle

moss grows thick upon my chest

and to the earth I am returned

at last, in peace, to sleep, to rest

 

 

 

 

 

Might I suggest

Long day…just let it out I reckon.

Might I suggest if you don’t mind

you place your lips on my behind

and there remain and tender linger

and oh look, a middle finger

just for you, in fact there’s more

you offspring of a rancid whore

and siphilitic hobo dad

in fact I would be rather glad

if you succumbed to aids, grew frail

and had your mouth abused in jail

by strapping chaps called Whale and Moose

who’d leave your anus gaping loose

 

Happy Tuesday!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Forever Night

More wordy words

Eyes closed

pretending sleep

Under blankets as heavy as church roof lead

held down by the weight of the world.

Cigarette breath, yellowed teeth, finger to the lips

and harshest repercussions.

Not a word.

Don’t cry.

In the morning smile and say it’s just a dream.

A nightmare born in velvet plush and gold adorned

and echoes batter on the doors

and innocense do steal away.

No shame

No guilt

And ever more to pay.

 

Horrid

Oops that just slipped out

In simple terms I will admit

that I can be a total shit

I’ll gladly steal your parking space

and leave the bathroom a disgrace

wont tip, will steal your secret treats

your cookies, chocolates, bags of sweets

and blame it on the kids no less

and shout at them until they mess

their pants and need some therapy

and no one will suspect it’s me

at work steal credit for your work

and be a bastard, dick and jerk

off thinking of your wife or worse

your sister dressed up as a nurse

and wish disease on you and yours

and puss comes leaking from your pores

while home I sit and read the news

take drugs and smoke and drink cheap booze

and eat endangered meats for tea

koala, whale and chimpanzee

and all the while I smile and nod

on sunday I go pray to God

for he Forgives so I can test

his patience as things I molest

and charities support with time

while I commit white collar crime

and then it’s home in time for tea

I bet you’re all a bit like me