Six Sentence Story prompt word – Space
The sun prints on the floor to give a hint of time.
I have been sitting in the chill for longer than I realise.
The coffee has gone cold, and the froth has gone undone.
People perhaps grow tired of me watching them, they call the bill swiftly.
This table is meant to be bridging our hands together.
But with your absence, the space between us grows apart further and deeper.
Need is like a closed window
which makes the air stale.
It’s warm and cosy
in the beginning.
When time goes on,
it becomes suffocating.
I hold the habour in view
capture the soulless sun
refelcts off the careless blue
Her dreary face
filled with nostalgic remorse
I apply a filter to restore
her black and white heritage
Even a tear soaked face carries beauty
This is written based on Living Poetry word prompt – Race, machine, epigraph
The human race are not machines.
Grease and grime don’t feed us.
Electricity or coal don’t power us.
Carriage or container don’t move us.
We are flesh and blood bear sins.
There was epigraph written long before our birth.
We are of love, power and sound minds.
You touch me with invisible hands
My body moves through the frames without consciousness
You speak to me in an unknown tongue
But I understand in the deepest of my being
You reach out to me like a stranger on the road
I am changed forever by this visual encounter
Writer’s notes: I went to the NSW Art Gallery to see the Archibald exhibition without knowing the Daniel Boyd Treasure Island exhibition was also on. I wandered in and stayed there for a long while. His work touched me and moved me in a complex emotional way. It’s hard to describe. It’s enough for me to share and write a poem about it .
We are the first born of this land
But we are cursed
We are the tail of everything
Our land was robbed
Our blood was tainted
Our children were stolen
Our identity was denied
We bury generations of grief
Into drunken days and nights
Our refuge is the dreaming
Under the watch of our sky father
The only place we are the first
And his favourite
Writer’s notes: This poem is about the Australian First Nation Peoples (the Aboriginal Australians) who continue to suffer from the oppressed and persecuted past.
July sun is more endearing than any other months
on the southern hemisphere
I saw a seahorse up in the sky
My mind told me that’s impossible
But my eyes were certain
In a blink of an eye
a fire breathing dragon appeared
There was no trace of the seahorse
I began to wonder
if my eyes played tricks on me
That was a couple minutes of cloud watching
I have a whole afternoon to ponder
under the warm windy winter sky
其实
我很简单
你想象中的复杂
只是
一个过去失落的我
其实
空气很自然
只是
有时呀
我们忘记了呼吸
其实
你也很简单
只是
我们幼稚的爱
寻求多余的复杂
Bart sends out weekly prompts
hunting for prized written arts
Sometimes they return empty
right back in his wanting hand
At times they return a surprise
making his waiting heart sing
Flicker of Thoughts 