Category Archives: Stories

Victor’s happy ending

When Victor entered the afterlife, he kept on writing.

He wrote stories
with happy beginnings and happy endings
He wrote poems which oozed joy
He wrote television shows that were hard to watch
(too many belly laughs is exhausting)

He wrote to his grandparents to thank them
for all he learned from them
He wrote letters to his parents, explaining everything he felt
(he knew they wouldn’t read them anyway)

He wrote a love letter to himself
He answered it

Victor kept on writing
The love of his life
was also the love of his afterlife

After a comment yesterday that started with ‘poor Victor’, I realised he deserved some more words.

Advertisements

Victor

Victor was a boy who liked to write stories. He wrote everywhere he went. He wrote at school, during his lessons. He wrote in the bus. He wrote when he visited his parents.

Victor lived with his grandparents. He liked to show them his stories, and every once in a while they would read one of them. ‘That’s not much of a happy ending, is it?’is all his grandmother ever said. Grandfather corrected his spelling and grammar.

When Victor got older, he asked his parents to read his stories. They explained that they couldn’t digest words, only images. He asked his grandfather if his parents were illiterate. Grandfather said ‘no, they just don’t like to read’.

Victor never gave up. He wrote and wrote. His spelling and grammar became impeccable. Still his grandfather would only comment on alleged mistakes. Victor once asked him what difference grammar and spelling made to the quality of a story. Grandfather refused to look at him and yelled ‘you should know that by now’. Victor just wrote another story.

Grandmother kept wishing for happier endings. He once asked what that meant, a happy ending. She couldn’t explain it, she had only been taught how to complain.

Victor turned into a man who liked to write stories. He wrote poetry, he wrote prose. He even wrote television scripts for a while. His parents always admired the director.

Victor never got angry. He just wrote. His last story was about a young woman who murdered both her parents and her grand parents. ‘That’s not much of a happy ending, is it?’ his grandmother said. She never read his last words. He had chiselled them into the spotted marble himself.

‘I disagrie’

Angela van Son addresses privilege and stigma in her new poem “Back In The Day”

Published, and interviewed… I’m excited. And it feels very weird too 🙂

ASLI MAGAZINE - creating change

Angela van Son, 42, Utretch, Netherlands, is a dutch procrastination coach and poet/writer, Angela explains that she began learning English at the age of 12, and while thinking she never had any creativity, took up a creative course that has led her to rekindle her love for creative writing.

“I loved writing when I was a child, and I’m happy it’s back in my life. I love to play with words, I enjoy the challenge of writing in English, and I love the surprise of an unfolding story or poem. I never know what I’m writing about until I do it.” – Angela van Son

angela van son (2) Angela van Son

We wanted to find out a little more about Angela:

Can you tell us a little about yourself?

“I’m self-employed, working internationally as procrastination coach. I like to help people move forward when they’re stuck, and to work on what’s holding them…

View original post 1,043 more words

Cavities

there’s a well trodden path
of things I don’t talk about

every thought a footstep
wearing the soil of my brain
increasing subsidence

no bottom in sight
an intricate pattern
a labyrinth – no exit

I need diamonds
on the soles of my shoes

Today’s prompt at napowrimo.net was write a poem that is based in the natural world: it could be about a particular plant, animal, or a particular landscape. But it should be about a slice of the natural world that you have personally experienced and optimally, one that you have experienced often. I ended up here. #NaPoWriMo day 5 is done!

Things to do at a party

Smile.
Congratulate.
Hand over present.
Have suitable follow up conversation.

Move on to another person.
Inquire how they are doing.
Answer the reciprocal question.
Lie – or break down.

Pretend to have fun.
Make more small talk.
Smile – or break down.

Repeat procedure
until exhausted.
Leave – and break down.

Smile.

A Tritina* Poem

On very rare occasions I reblog a poem by a fellow writer. Mainly when I’m especially struck by it. That happened to me this morning. The tritina is a poetic form that’s a bit of a challenge, but that has a powerful effect when well written.

I love how this one moves from fresh to rotten, how the water runs through all stanzas, how you can feel the temperature change even though that isn’t mentioned…

I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did!

Reblogged with permission.

Poems and Drawings

napo2016button1

it was a warm night when we first met
a hazy moon reflecting off the rippling water
a gentle breeze rustling through crispy Autumn leaves

time passed as did the seasons and the leaves
and I wonder in dismay why we met
that night on the pebbles by the water

many years on the river now dry of water
replaced with an increasing torrent of mildewed leaves
a forgotten ode to when we first met

perhaps soon a water deluge will flush away the leaves and the first day we met…

Conte on Handmade Paper Conte on Handmade Paper

© Dawn Whitehand 2016

*See this link for the definition of a Tritina
Prompt from www.napowrimo.net

View original post

Bjorre

Ikea by Gerald StolkHe sat in IKEA
enjoying his coffee
It was free
The only coffee he could afford

He sat in IKEA
enjoying the company
It was free
The only company he could afford

He sat in IKEA
enjoying the silence

It was the only conversation he could afford

The image was found on https://www.flickr.com/photos/gerardstolk/ His work is beautiful, I recommend checking it out!