The last Poetry Bus of 2010 leaves from Revolutionary Revelry - tickets available from Jeanne. Lacking that essential messianic drive, I'll pass on the mighty task of leading battered old humanity up the hill towards a state of higher consciousness. But I'm up for a bit of self-salvation so i...

The Poetry Bus pulls in at Muse Swings. I'm stepping aboard with a backward look. Off prompt, strictly speaking, because all I could bring to mind was the best (just before) Christmas present ever, which, in spite of the poem's tendency, was central heating! Also stopping by the last One Shot We...

This week the Poetry Bus is negotiating the snow and ice on the Yorkshire moors with the Weaver of Grass at the wheel. Stars begin and end this poem. My poetic equivalent of qualification for a bus pass on your route, Pat! NIGHTWINDOW Moon-stain blears a piece of blue-black sky. Star-pins ...

I’m hopping on the Poetry Bus, which is currently taking passengers over at Bug’s Eye View. This poem follows the third of three excellent prompts – the leafless tree. NIGHT GALE I part the curtain, fit my face into the breach. Trees moving their shoulders, sensing trouble in a gatheri...

Lots of sand (but the sea's close by) for my response to the Poetry Bus prompt here at the excellent Perfect Fourth and the Week 19 slot at One Shot Wednesday. OLD MAN ASLEEP ON MARLOES BEACH His body is a grounded boat picked clean. Beached, naked, he breathes the tide. Baked dry and h...

An account of a Halloween fall from grace. Check out the Poetry Bus, currently taking on Halloween passengers at Musings. And think too of the masquerade of two full-moon lunatics about to break all the bounds on Writer's Island. LUNATICS We stopped the car beside a nighttime field, newly...

The Poetry Bus prompt is Meeting from Delusions of Adequacy. Here’s a strange and unsought meeting of earth and air. And maybe for Writer's Island, something of an emergence too? EARTH AND AIR Some deep mystery of plumbing or a soft door flapping in a wild wind - the air is taking a beatin...

In the seconds before the hand grasps the stick it is still the most prized antique in his collection. In repose against the wall near the northeast corner of the room, the walking stick looks as if it stands there in waiting, as it once did for King Edward VII, who would take it up and am...

(or..."an exercise in imagery overload.") Time has mostly stood outside you and me; locked outside our little compartment. A stranger and travelling companion; chugging along in the next car, rumbling and rocking; silent, stealing glances at us isolated in our concentrations elsewhere. The...

This story was written for the character of a puppet I made several years ago. As soon as the puppet’s face was formed I knew his name was Hamlet, and that he is a thief. He has loved her since they were children, tumbling around the hills, exploring pockets of the woods and playing grand m...

And he, with many feelings, many thoughts, Made up a meditative joy, and found Religious meaning in the forms of Nature! ~Samuel Taylor Coleridge, Fears in Solitude I can find beauty in the seediest parts of any city. Beauty is easy to find if, if you believe as I do that it has many more la...

A response to latest Magpie Tales visual creative writing prompt. In which I think about an old box of nails. Willow's I was born into a line of creative people. It’s a family that values and shares and supports creativity and there are many of us, spanning generations, exploring all ki...

How it started she couldn't say but over the years it had just become something she did without even thinking At first it was a matter of trying to clean them up -- it was obvious they needed tending So now the back of her car is home to things like duct tape twine a bag of assor...

A response to Willow's latest Magpie Tales visual creative writing prompt. In which I think about the hand. hand (hnd) n. 1. a. The terminal part of the human arm located below the forearm, used for grasping and holding and consisting of the wrist, palm, four fingers, and an opposable thum...

no one thought much of it as she sat in the corner sanding and carving away little chunks of her story fell away with the wood she intended to remake herself though in truth she didn't know what she would become or when... the little piece of wood was becoming smaller and smaller with e...

This is a response to Willow's fourth Magpie Tales visual creative writing prompt. Stop in, give it a whirl - visual prompts lots of fun and inspire a wonderful range of responses. Check out Magpie for links to all of the imaginitive stories and poems by the other participants. Twitterable tal...

the weight of sameness holds us fast to our daily routine. the wind rings one bell repeatedly slowly a weight swinging through the day and into night ...same tone, same interval. this weight of sameness clings no more, no less day or night its presence a bulky but known entity. see m...

This is a response to Willow's third Magpie Tales creative writing prompt. Stop in, give it a try - visual prompts are the imagination's friend! And check out all of the imaginitive stories and poems by the other participants. She stepped on something hard and cursed the pain stabbing the...

This is a response to Willow's second Magpie Tales creative writing prompt. Stop in, give it a whirl! And check out all of the great stories by the other participants. He didn’t go looking for it. The reason he went up to the attic in the first place was to find those old maps of his gra...

This is a response to Willow's first ever Magpie Tales creative writing prompt. Check it out, give it a try! Visual prompts are wonderfully rich and great fun. The instant she walked into the room there it was, arranged on the middle shelf as if set there for the subtlest impact, to blend...