The house was as it always was; the concoctions of must and chipping paint gave it its usual pungent smell, while the ever-expanding cobwebs decorated the plain walls nicely. Like the residents, the spiders themselves were scarcely seen, however, meaning that the space between the walls were often left blank. An empty home was a strange sight indeed. No family, no dining table, no white picket fence here.
New week, new poems! The writing prompt for today is:
A very small object
Priyanka means ‘beautiful’,
in a language I can call my own,
it is fun to curl next to my Culture at night,
to be able to call it home.
Many people envy that,
they do not have such a Bubble,
maybe it is because they must find their culture,
in other people’s rubble.
The roof of the house only came crashing down,
I tell them,
because one of your ancestors wanted Greed.
They wanted more than they could bargain for,
and so their limits they did exceed.
Their house grew and grew until it could fit no more,
whilst people of my culture,
were left to wash the floors.
Now, my home is beautiful,
with bright colours and small trinkets,
it has been enhanced.
Perhaps that is why the Names that live here,
are more freely able to dance.
This poem was written as part of National Novel Writing Month 2017 [Day 12, Poem #6]
The new poems will be based on the Savannah Brown prompts which she gave in the description her write with me video. If you’d like to check them out they’re here.
The first prompt is:
Listen to the quiet voice
When Time fades, and the clocks melt away,
I want to be right where I am now,
not beside another name, place or day.
together but alone, is how it’s best,
together is where we shall be,
isolated from the rest.
this feeling is our home,
that we have built from the ground up,
the foundations run smoothly,
even if they took long to put up.
within this house is where we shall remain,
listening to the quiet of our voices,
sheltered from all the rain.
This poem was written as part of National Novel Writing Month 2017 [Day 9, Poem #3]