Thursday, April 30, 2009

MySixWriMo Day 30


Well, kids. We made it. Woo hoo! Many thanks to all who have shared their stories this month. Now let’s finish this thing with a deafening bang.

To celebrate everything we’ve done this month, let’s take one last look at those prompts we passed by earlier. This is our final chance to collectively Take Two. Let’s make the most of this chance.

And, of course, we can’t forget this fitting prompt from Robert Lee Brewer at Poetic Asides:

For today's prompt, I want you to write a farewell poem (six). After all, we are saying farewell to another wonderful National Poetry Month. Say farewell to this month; say farewell to a vacation spot; say farewell to a bad relationship; say farewell to work; say farewell to school; say farewell to saying farewell even. Hopefully, I won't be saying farewell to you; please stay in touch and let me know of your successes as we keep poeming (sixing) toward the horizon.

It’s been a terrific month of stories. I can’t wait to see what you post in the comments. You guys rock.


Greta said...

This one hails back to the longing prompt. Another prose-poemy thing.


They were never there, the soft, cool hands on my fevered brow, the gentle rubbing on my back as my stomach heaved. There were no hands cupping my face, humming with pride. No reassuring squeeze of fingers over accomplishments, fears or heartaches. No hands wrung, one over the other, over my worries.

Instead, those hands doled out backhanded, pinching compliments. They pointed fingers, smothered dreams, and picked at tender scabs. I wanted to hold one, but they were always too busy. Now, all these years later, my own hands are too well-trained and too skittish to reach for hers

Stephen said...
This comment has been removed by the author.
Stephen said...

Ah, the ill harvest of seeds long planted. Good job with that one, Greta.

For mine, I went back to Day 11 and then added today's Poetry Asides as a fitting title. I originally posted it, and then decided to change around the structure of one sentence to make it flow better. I hope what I have now works.


Father Domineci entered the vestry and closed the door, his senses instantly wrapped within her warm fragrance.

He thought about their first night together, how she came to him in a fit of tears and opened her heart, said she wanted cleansing of her sins. He remembered how often their love making had been a quiet struggle, each trying to fulfill the other while taking as much as they both could, and afterwards how they lay in bed—her in his arms—not saying anything because they didn’t need to. But her note earlier tonight had proclaimed that it was all over; she’d come to believe their affair was “wrong in the sight of God” and that his whimsical absolutions could no longer ease the burden weighing her heart to the point of despair.

“About the Cardinal,” she said, her face turned down now, her right thumb massaging the rosary in her hand. “Either you tell him or I will.”

Greta said...

This is a fascinating character piece, Stephen. Right up my alley. I could interpret the good Father in so many ways--human man weak in the flesh, a predator, an opportunist, a man in love. And I'm not so sure about her, either. Terrific way to end the month.

JohnOBX said...

I'm late, and apologies, but couldn't miss out on the capstone day. Still feeling in a romantic mood for some reason.

I thought she was being a friend when she slipped her hand into mine; she'd done it in times past when it all got to be too much. There is a way of holding hands that communicates a simple comfort of presence, a human reminder that you are not alone. Then there is the other way, accented by a slight hitch in the breath and parting of the lips. A tilt of the head.

Do you need me to draw you a map, buddy? her eyes seemed to say.

I leaned in to kiss her.

Greta said...

Nice finish, John. Sealed with a kiss :)

JohnOBX said...

Back at you guys. This has been fun and honestly, most days it has been the only thing to lubricate the creative gears.