Tag Archives: writing prompt

The World at My Feet

Inspired by the image

the world at my feet


Here I sit

with the world at my feet

and my dreams in the sky

But where am I?

What if I

kick off my shoes

how long will they take to land?

What if I

reach out my hands

will I touch the clouds?

Or the moon?

The stars?

The sun?

Or will I get

too close?

Too close to the sun

Instead of kicking off my shoes

will they be burned off my feet?

I see

but I cannot touch

I dream

but I cannot achieve

Here I sit

with the world at my feet

and my dreams in the sky

But where am I?

The Wind Blows

Image and Idea from keskescreativewriting.wordpress.com

Image and Idea from keskescreativewriting.wordpress.com

We climb

Taking the hard way

Struggling to survive

It’s an effort to even breathe because of the cold

The cold of

experiences, bills, heartache cling to us

holding us back

Making it even trickery to take the next step

There are no hand holds or good footing

Nothing to help us continue

Only things to hold us back

The problems just keep piling on

weighing us down

Making us silently consider

“Is it worth it?”

To struggle through all the pain

All the inside and outside voices yelling to give up

Our muscles ache

We’re tired

It’s always





We make it to the top

It was so worth it

The fruits of our labor are laid out in front of us

It’s all there

We can see how it all played together to get us to this point

All the hurdlers made this jump even better

Pain makes the joy even better

It makes the pain worth it

But it may seem

the closer we get to the summit the harder the wind blows.

Sometimes I wonder,

if everyone could climb mountains

then the summit would not have accomplishment in it

Mountains are just like breathing

everyone does it

but as soon as you can’t

then it becomes precious

That is why climbing a mountain is precious

It’s limits makes it legendary.

My Attempt on Found Poetry, Again

So yesterday, with seven magazines and an old book and the time of three hours on a rainy day, I made an attempt on found poetry, again. Found poetry is hard because you just want that one word, but  . . . you can’t have it! It drives a creator crazy! So below are pictures of my attempts and below them are the words. The black-out poetry is from John Jakes novel ‘The Rebels’ on pages, 63, 197, 200, and 255. For the black-out poetry, I have no idea what the poems even mean, but I had fun creating them. Enjoy!


Be Conquers

“You must remember this

As time goes by

This is what unforgettable memories are made of


It starts with you.

The idea

Unique lifestyle

Conquers are different from other winners they spill over with energy

Passion inspires us all to take on the world

Make a difference

The people, the places, the beauty.

It’s like nothing you’ve ever experienced before

Winners demand the best







The Violent Blue Lightening

Flurry of courage stifled niceties of conscience. He attacked so rudely. Framed a lighting- glare startled him. He whipped is head around. Clamored to be recognized. He saw a ghostly image. Lank hair. Slack lips. Haunted blue eyes – Trembling, covered his face. He broke out in a cold sweat, nauseous. Leaned close, whispering: “Are you more violent?” Climbed, stumbled, turned an unsympathetic eye. Afraid. No. Nothing. He tried. He slipped. A lightening burst. He sprawled on hands and knees, delirious – And then, slammed up to strike his face. Eventually, familiar, somehow.

Perched on the Edge

Perched on the Edge

“Yes, I’m finally learning something about it. Not without a good deal of struggle, I must confess. I’m afraid I never concerned myself before -” Held back the rest of it. Horror of memory stain her eyes for an instant. Inadvertently trapped. Calm voice, “That’s turned out to be a blessing.” Again he faltered. To conceal, perched on the edge. Another awkward silence. Made a serious error in coming here. Too painful. The sweet torture served no purpose – the silence: impulsively. A shock vibrated through, and quickly.

The Air Had Somehow Invaded

The Air Had Somehow Invaded

Depths didn’t care to plumb – very uncomfortable depths – the hazy gray loomed in his mind. Pathetic state. The image dissolved into another. Had struck much too close to the truth. Whatever the causes, he was poisoned by a frequent, almost wholly uncontrollable desire to defy. To choose one road when knew another was the accepted way? Who was to blame? As if it mattered any longer! Or would change anything. And lost himself. Safe for a while from the reality of the world outside. It wasn’t long before his inner world was similarly deadened and remote. Thunder shook. Burst of lightening glared like infernal fire let up from the bowels of the earth, reverberating through the chamber. The air had somehow invaded.

The Chief Sin Was His

The Chief Sin Was His

These dreadful confrontations took pleasure in tormenting the old man, in revenge for the old man tormenting him. What in the name of God was wrong with him? Faults were mild in comparison, chief sin was his oppressive iniquity. Burned bright: risen like some demonic figure. Watched him. Was afire, venomous. Surely twist, despicable. So much hate from all of them? Understood how outrage continuing friction and violence, grueling, really couldn’t fault the people when the latter were far less desirable.

Her – Writing in Different Forms


Free Style:

Her whole essence was color. Radiant beautiful color. Her hair was the cosmoses. She could control everything with a blink of an eye. Move universes. End universes. Begin universes. Her whole essence was color.


The Cosmoses

Cut to

An eye, lined with Blue eyeliner.

Zoom out to see whole face

The neck fades into cosmoses.

Cut to

Her hair. You realize her hair is part of the cosmoses.

Cut to

Her eye again. She blinks.

Cut to

Full face. Suddenly, a black hole forms and all color is sucked away.

Cut to

Her eye. She blinks again.

Cut to

Full face color flows through the hole and is more beautiful than ever.

Short Story:

The whole universe collapsed. Swallowed itself into nothingness. ‘Well I guess it has been coming to that point for a long time now. Then again we are born to die. But more accurately, they are meant to die for the others to be born,’ she thought. She thought . . .

Because if she spoke everything would end . . . just like it had done before.

She lost everything. She lost . . . everyone.


She had never heard sound before

never her voice

She whispered

A galaxy ended

She didn’t notice

She laughed

A universe ended

She didn’t notice

She screamed

Everything ended

but she didn’t

She was alone

After hearing sound for the first time

everything was silent

She missed the silent sound

Of when everyone was alive

She started to build

But she built incorrectly

She built imperfect, immoral beings

And had to end them

To begin a new universe

and to try to build something better.


Her (in thoughts):

But what if I never can? What if I can never be a good creator  . . . and destroyer as before I heard sound? I look up, new are born. I look down . . . they are  . . . ended.

HER pauses. HER sighs as much as a thought as sigh.

Her (in thoughts):

My whole essence is color  . . . maybe?

The Great Had A Name

“I had a name.” Tears fall. “I had everything, yet nothing at all. I had breathe.  I had blood pumping through me. I had warmth to my skin. I had hair that would grow. I had . . . life. I had acids in my stomach to digest what I had for breakfast. I had finger and toe nails to be cut. I had a pulse. But now . . . I don’t.”

“Did someone take these . . . qualities from you?”

“No, I took them from myself.”

Tears fall.

“But I’m still able to cry. I wasn’t suppose to be able to cry.”

Stares off in the distance, then comes back to whatever reality this is.

“I was suppose to lose everything, but my name, and I was okay with that. Truly I was. But I lost my name. I was suppose to lose all the bad. But I lost . . . everything,” said shaking.

“What were you to gain?”

“Everything. I had to lose everything to gain even more. I was to gain greatness. I ask you, what is the difference between good and great? The notoriety of it. I want to be notorious.”

Tears fall.

“But can I? Am I able to anymore?”

For a lack of better words, breathes deeply, even though there is no more breathing.

“If I have no name, what will they call me when I am great? The Great one? But I am not he. The Great? Of what I ask? Who am I?” Stretching out the words.

“They will call you by your name.”

“What name is that? A name makes a person. I am no one, nothing, unless I have a name.”

“Your new name is, ‘The Great Had A Name.’ For then they will have know what you have lost and will follow you because they have lost their’s as well.”

“But they lost their’s to others. I – somehow – took mine. Will they follow me then?”

“No one has to know.”

“But I will know. I will be lying. I wasn’t suppose to be able to.”

“Just be glad you can, The Great Had A Name.”

“It has a ring to it doesn’t?”

“Go be notorious.”


What is it like to breathe? What is it like to love? What is it like to to touch? What is it like to hear? What is it like to taste? What is it like to see? What is it like to run? What is it like to try? What is it like to read? What is it like to fly? What is it like to do? What is it like to be?

It is utterly and completely unique to each and every person, experience is the only option. But that’s the hardship, you HAVE to experience it.

You have to struggle to breathe, to TRULY breathe. You have to be hurt to TRULY love. You have to be burned to TRULY touch. You have to hear crying of agony to TRULY hear. You have to taste bitterness to TRULY taste.

You have to see






to TRULY see.

You have to fall to TRULY run. You have to have a need to TRULY try. You have to have an imagination to TRULY read. You have to let go of gravity to TRULY fly. You have to be able to TRULY do. You have to have purpose to TRULY be.

Truly, I tell you.