Although today, (or what’s left of it), is “officially” the last day of the small stones mindful writing challenge, so many of us bloggers have enjoyed it enough that the challenge will continue throughout the year as small stone Sundays. That’s right, the fat lady ain’t sung yet!
I missed two days of writing my small stones because I was trapped sick inside the house. But a strong storm moved through last night and granted me a deliciously eerie observation; therefore, both to honor that observation and [attempt to] make up for the couple of lost days, I’ve morphed the small stone into a poem called Flock.
Most of you know I am as far from being a poet as any creative writer can get – I know nada of rhythm, rhyme, pentameter, etc., etc. – zilch! But here lately I have been more drawn to writing poetry and since I’m trying to allow my creativity to do whatever the hey it wants, I intend to let the words [even the ones that are making no sense to me whatsoever] spout forth and be.
I appreciate your constructive, (read: gentle and knowledgeable), critique. (The formatting is not as I’d like it, too much white space, so please excuse that). Thank you all very much for reading!
Flock, by Deanna Schrayer
Freakish winter thunderstorm rushing
eastward in fear of being
blasted by arresting snow
hot on its tail,
a nightmarish flock of squawking
fat crows diving frantically back
and forth between dying oaks.
The rain/sleet/hail goes: splat! ting! bam! against
darkened basement window from
where I spy the liquid mutations.
There may as well be a rabbit-
eared TV set two feet
from my face, reflecting
Hitchcock’s The Birds
off my eyeballs.
Did you write small stones this past month? What is your favorite, (of those)? We want to hear it so shout ‘em out! Be sure to visit Writing our way home and read others’ small stones as well. What is the best one you’ve come across? One of my favorites (quoted from Fiona Robyn’s site, a handful of stones), is by Glenn Halak:
“Twilight rain washes
Those people aren’t coming back.”
Those few words are chock full of mystery aren’t they? My own favorite small stone is one of the shortest, written on January 24: “Ring of shiny icicles grips streetlamp in the night, looking for all the world like a postcard made in 1942.” Maybe this one is a favorite because the memory of the moment itself is beautiful….which, I believe, is the point. 🙂
Let’s tie that fat lady up and shove a sock in her mouth! Write your small stone every Sunday or, better yet, every day. And keep in mind, April is National Poetry Month.