Do the Write Thing- April's Writing Exercise
Hello
Wordsmiths! Here are some images mainly of people (and a dog with a cat, the proposed HS2 line & an Elephant- just for Patrick?) If you would like me to send the images to you by email, please let me know. The idea is to choose one picture (or more) and write about it. As much or as
little as you can, or want. Hopefully you'll be inspired
by the images in some way. The writing can be factual, fictional, serious, funny, prose, dialogue,
poetry, a Haiku (or two?) free-flow thought – anything! Just words on a page.
The point is to just get something down. I do hope you find at least one of the pictures thought provoking.
I also need your help. I know of Ronnie and Reggie, and the suffragettes, but does anybody else know anything about the other people in the black and white images? (no, not William) Someone must know.
I tried to make sure I mainly used pictures of people, with the vague thought of giving some inspiration to you, maybe with a play/show/happening in mind… Happy scribbling!
The point is to just get something down. I do hope you find at least one of the pictures thought provoking.
I also need your help. I know of Ronnie and Reggie, and the suffragettes, but does anybody else know anything about the other people in the black and white images? (no, not William) Someone must know.
I tried to make sure I mainly used pictures of people, with the vague thought of giving some inspiration to you, maybe with a play/show/happening in mind… Happy scribbling!
I have also put a link at the bottom of the pictures, so that you can see my poem on you tube, that I have put to music and pictures. If you'd like to watch it, please click on the link. Thank you, Chris.
My link:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WWF77-4OTtA
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ReplyDeleteHi, This is my take on the Hs2 picture...it's a little story called "Little Lord"
ReplyDeleteIt's written circa 1400. It's a take on a soldier taking his son South after their family being destroyed.
Enjoy!
Walking. Never has it been so hard with you on my back..
I’ve walked, marched, rode, strode and stomped through marshes that freeze you to the bone.
I’ve marched across fields full of crops in the red hot summers and hills too- Green, grassy, English hills.
I’ve walked across most of our land-endless freezing winters of these isles, that take every piece of your soul left from your weary, soldiering body.
I walked it for you. For all of you.
My first few years spent walking, were spent walking for that man they called king. That fat, useless piece of flesh that held the throne.
The man who summoned us all to arms to no endearing ends. The useless war. That’s what she called it-your mother.
And now I march again. With you on my back and my soul evaporated.
Although, you are my soul now. You are my king. My little king.
Your Mother has gone, always remembered. But how will you remember me, my little lord?
We were lords once, of a sort. We held a manor. Destroyed by some upstart Southerners, claiming that we owed yet more taxes to that upstart thief of the throne. Until the burning started. The burning of lands, of hearts, of souls and of minds.
Sons, Mothers, Brothers, Wives. Gone in a flaming landscape that turns any man wild.
Nothing mattered, unless it involved taxes coming forth to that fat b**tard, in any way, shape or form.
We rose up, my lad. We were proud. We discounted the threat of our enemies, as we would the Scots.
We were wrong.
And now we walk, me and my strong lad. The last of my line. Motherless…and soon no Father too.
Thoughts collect in various spaces of my already vacuous mind. Did I always think this way?
Thoughts were too quick in days gone by.
Always on fighting, too quick to forget love.
And now, just now, you are all I have my little lord.
My son.
And as I lay you down. Six years old.
Your Father cannot walk anymore my little lord. My son. My soul.
I was once a warrior. Now, ever forgotten.
Thoughts were too quick in days gone by.
Always on fighting, too quick to forget love.
And now, just now, you are all I have my little lord.
My son.
And as I lay you down. Six years old.
Your Father cannot walk anymore my little lord. My son. My soul.
I was once a warrior. Now, ever forgotten.
The track we walk, let be’ god’s…one day they put something faster on this track ere’ to give us god’s speed to that hell on earth they call London.
You my son, you will warrior on now.
Forever, not forgotten. Forever onwards. Find your path, my son.
There will be a day, when our ways are forgotten. Maybe horses, well…they’ll find a way to fly of some sorts.. but until then. Soldier on my son. Maybe they’ll create a huge river, or pony track..but our track of the beaten will be gone.
Maybe the future generations will suffer. As they see the footsteps trodden by previous generations, their Green England, disappear, at the hand of the Realm.
Hello Catherine, how are you? I like your story, I saw it, but I think others may not. If you put it on the blog, as a 'new post' then I think others will see it. Chris.
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