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Sally Sparrow December 14, 2009

Posted by Anna in Exercises, Poetry.
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Writing prompt: ‘s’ … and alliteration with at least 2 other letters. (ie write your story with as many words beginning with ‘s’ as possible.)

This was an interesting writing prompt, and I didn’t find it really lent itself to the flow of a more ‘normal’ story, so I went with just playing with the alliteration. I’m not sure I’m happy with how it ended, but the last six lines took 4 hours because of all the interruptions, and writing never flows without concentrated efforts. It’ll have to do for now, though. All up, it was fun to play with – thanks Jane!

Sally Sparrow sipped a tiny teaspoon’s worth of wonderful water from the beautiful birdbath in Billy Baxter’s backyard.

Sunshine skimmed through towering trees and wondrous, wavering notes thrilled from the throats of three thrushes nearby.

Such a sensational, seasonally-perfect summer’s day in Sally Sparrow’s psyche.

Just as Sal jumped from jacaranda to japonica, the thrilling thrush sounds sensationalised into shrilling shrieks.

Sally squeaked a sharp screech and hid herself hastily, making the most of the mass plantings providing particularly perfect protection.

What wicked wandering wildcat would intrude, illicit and invasive, to haul havoc into this heavenliness?

Sally studied the scenery, sighting a dutiful dog dozing devoid of all dignity, brazen on its back beside the back door.

A child chortled cheerfully, chucking fistfuls of flowers forth at its friends, for their amusement, approval and abundance.

Giving the garden a God-fearing glare, Sally swooped skywards to tremble in the treetops with her troops.

Three thorough thrushes nestled nervously nearby, too terrified to tell over the odious occurrence which had wasted their winsome warbling.

As amity again affected the garden, garrulous gossiping grew gradually, but Sally stayed sensitive to surrounding sights and sounds.

At last she located the exact evacuation evocation explanation: a horrible hawk high on his eagle-eyed aerie.

“The babies! The babies! The babies!” she cried, calling a cacophony credible and clear, babbling boldly from bird to bird.

The message made meaning to apt avians: alert to protect their precious progeny, they waged wild winged warfare, furiously fighting their foe.

Sally Sparrow, too small to significantly succeed at the scene, cheered the challenging champions, her chums.

Their assault was astonishing, amazing, audacious! Horrified hawk heaved his haughtiness high, away and aloft to another, less attentive assault.

Sensationally sabotaging sly slaughterer’s strategy, returned regiment rested, watered well and weighted by whopping-great worms.

Blessed bounty of Billy Baxter’s backyard settled subsequently still, soothed in societal singsong started by Sally the Sparrow.


A Judgement Call September 19, 2009

Posted by Anna in Poetry.
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I came across a man* today
With whom I am acquainted,
And as we spoke of common things
The atmosphere was tainted.

The pleasantries were quickly done;
We talked more personal,
Yet as I listened for response
I felt quite criminal.

Our conversation was about
The pitfalls of the journey;
The treachery along this route
Of whom so few are worthy**.

His words did not betray his heart
Nor yet was it his silence,
Yet judgement oozed from every pore
And censure was his parlance.

Does he know more than me? I thought
When able to escape.
Perhaps he does, I must admit,
But we are not his shape.

This path we walk is ours alone,
With companions on the way.
Some help, some harm, some radiate
Turning night time into day.

The friends I treasure most are these:
The ones who respect my call**.
They love their call and honour mine:
Together we give all.

These friends allow me most of all
To be honest, real and human.
They stand beside me, hold me strong:
We are each other’s crewmen.

Those who won’t permit the smallest hint
Of human frailty,
Omit themselves from warm inclusion
Great fun and loyalty.

Please understand my dearest ones
The path might seem to be wide,
But when you sit in pious judgement
You create your own divide.


* “a man” is a generic term and does not apply to anyone specifically
** “the call” and “for whom so few are worthy” is about parenting parenting – not one of us would be picked on merit at the start, none of us do it like another, and our efforts can take a lifetime or more to be proven one way or another.


Pierre's Rough Week April 4, 2009

Posted by Anna in Exercises, Poetry.
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This exercise, entitled ‘a week of days’ didn’t come from a book. It actually came to me in the shower, along with a series of words, and I wondered if I had the ability to convey the idea of someone coming to terms with something about themselves in a light-hearted, poetic kind of way. I don’t write much poetry, so this was something quite out of the ordinary for me. What do you think?


On Thursday Pierre was smacked in the face
By a hard and horrible truth.
It just wasn’t possible, he cursed and he swore,
Though he knew it deep down in his core.

On Friday Pierre was deep in denial.
He avoided, evaded and shunned.
It couldn’t be true. He refused to believe.
In excesses, he drowned and deceived.

On Saturday Pierre just took to his bed,
Where he wailed and waffled and moaned.
How dare it be true! It just had no right!
He, a piteous, desolate sight.

On Sunday Pierre went wandering alone.
In the wind and the storm and the rain.
Perhaps it was true. But why would it be?
With the likes of him? What with he?

On Monday Pierre was a happier man.
He chortled and whistled and sang.
It was nice, to be true, this scurrilous thing.
This odd, inexplicable, heart-filling, king-making thing.

On Tuesday Pierre went to a nice little shop
Where things glittered and glistened and shone.
When this thing is true, it requires a swift act
To ensure a true covenant pact.

On Wednesday Pierre turned up for his date
His heart fluttering, anxious and odd.
“It is true,” he proclaimed. “It is true, I love you!”
The ring slid, their lips met, right on cue.