Shall I, Shan’t I?
This piece of writing (poem, verse) is in response to Shafali’s prompt of last week. Click here to see her blog and her wonderful art work.
Shall I, Shan’t I
Can I, Can’t I
Should I, Shouldn’t I
Will I, Won’t I
I am only constrained by the shackles in my own mind
I alone have the power to allow my mind its freedom
I have the key to these shackles
Am I brave enough to free my mind
To see where it will take me
To plumb the depths
To scale the heights
To discover the limitless possibilities
The many faces of life
This little musing/verse/piece of writing has, yet again, been inspired by one of Shafali’s pen and ink drawings. Please pop over and take a look at her artwork, so talented and I’m so envious of her talent and so pleased that she shares it with us 🙂
Who can say we are, each of us, single entities on this earth
Are we not all exposed to different experiences
Do we not tend to make sense of them differently at different times in our lives
Surely they then shape our thoughts and attitudes as we grow
Our experiences then must also shape our personalities as we age
As, surely, we all exhibit ‘good’ and ‘bad traits
But who is to say what is good and what is bad, what is right and what is wrong
Only we ourselves can decide those questions to our own satisfaction
Do we not all hide something of ourselves from view
Are we not all presenting the illusion of the self we want the world to see
And, if that is true, does that make us bad or does it make us sensitive
For do we not want to protect those around us from our worst selves
A young girl at sixteen – fresh faced and innocent looking in her youth
May, at twenty seven, be hiding behind a mask of paints and powders to keep her young
For our society is critical of women’s ageing – we don’t feel secure in our growing maturity
Yet our experiences shape who we are and show on the faces we so assiduously hide
With age comes knowledge and knowledge is power
If I want to paint my face with paints and powders I will – if not, I won’t
I will be who I want to be each and every day that I live
For my life is constantly changing – and my life shows on my face
Another short story using Shafali’s beautiful pen and ink drawings as a prompt. Please visit her site to see her wonderful drawings.
Monday 11th May 2015
It was exactly one week since Jane Meadows had moved into the ground floor flat of a lovely old Victorian house, and six more days before she had to go back to work. During the past week she had steadily worked through the pile of packing boxes, which held all her earthly possessions, and found every item a place in her new home. It was time to tackle the garden, or forest as she termed it which, she had been delighted to learn, belonged to the downstairs flat – her flat. No-one else had access to it so it was hers to do with as she liked.
Stepping out of the French doors, which led from her sitting room to the outside world, she stood and surveyed the rest of her territory. The grass was at least three feet high in places whilst there was a massive laurel bush which had run rampant over the years and taken over most of the end of the garden. This would certainly have to come out as it blocked the light which, in turn, failed to reach the lovely sitting room. Jane had plans for her garden: a patio where she could sit of an evening sipping a glass of wine or two, a border round the edges of the garden, a small fish pond and eventually a summer house where she was planning to write her novel when the muse eventually spoke to her. But first she had to clear the site. Jane, not one for standing around looking at work which needed to be done, had already organised a team to help her. Her two brothers, Jeff and Kevin, were due to arrive in the next ten minutes and she’d decided that they could make a start on the laurel bush. Read more
This week’s Wednesday Writings has, again, been inspired by one of Shafali’s drawings. This week it’s a Mystery Chest, though it’s inspired me to open up the memory chest in my mind and delve in to see what treasures I could find there. Too many to write about, as it happens, so I’ve had to shorten it, edit it and keep it to my childhood years – so long ago now that I often forget the simple joys that being a child brought.
Please do pop over to Shafali’s blog to have a look at her beautiful artwork.
Making daisy chains on a warm bright day
Sitting down at my grandmother’s feet
The grass, spread around me like a sumptuous quilt
Studded with thousands of tiny flowers, so neat
The second of Shafali’s beautiful writing prompts ‘The Bell’ can be found here.
Over 10,000 years ago, when the bell was forged, it had been imbued with a form of magic – the kind of magic that makes the world a better place over time; the kind of magic that helps to heal the wounds of war, hate, tragedy, grief and strife. The bell was not the only one of its kind, there were others dispersed throughout the different countries, each one protecting the people who resided therein, ensuring the spread of human warmth, compassion and kindness.
The magical power residing in these bells was protected by the faerie folk who laboured hard to ensure that love and compassion would be amongst humankind’s greatest assets, the ones which would ensure the continuation of both the world itself, and everything else that lived its life upon it.
Unfortunately, love and compassion, kindness and thoughtfulness, the main constituents which humans require to ensure the world’s continued existence, did not extend to every human being in the world. The faerie folk had failed to give any thought to this possibility and, thus, had brought about the ruination of their own existence whilst ensuring the eventual destruction of the beautiful gift that had been bestowed upon all living things – the world they live in.