October 30, 2014 by petrujviljoen
Walking; the brae and the pond noticed. Yes, really. No, no fishing no more. Vegetables are good and potatoes pack a mean vitamin. Only … Don’t! I’m sure you know what I mean about carrots. Eat, eat all you like.
The moon was out, dis-spelled Cthulhu and Noctum passed by. Madness smiled hi. I nodded.*
Obscure languish happened after the fact. Oh well. Just as? Refer to the star(s) if you don’t know what I mean. What’s that song? Starry starry night – and something about the moon … and something about blue and grey. By Don McLean.
The pond beckoned, almost gushed. Reclining, first one side then the other, fingering the cicatrice, sipping malmsey to compliment the brackish water (there’s nothing like it) on the palette: Cyprus memories of a fingerling caught and let go of while cirrus clouds wisps its way in the surface of the pond ripples hardly matter. The proverbial pebble – the cliche – don’t! Plonk! Oh well, you know how it is …
… with the swimming salmon swishing this way and that Kipling story – way below in a moonlit spot warming no-one and never meant to either. [This is private.] Except the cilium on the malva did notice – and reacted. Hardly a ripple though. The roots, where I play, tells the beginning and its outcome, the beginning. Again.
Centipede, centipede why do you curl up so? Fortification,my dear, shielding, because of … this, this… A journey it didn’t particularly want to be on. There one lies, at the furthermost extremity, fingering the malachite in the moonbeam – no, no – we don’t do gold. Yes. Silver only. Why?
*loosely based on lyrics by Jesus Rodrigues. Amazing story.
LQW Wordle gets published weekly with a list of words to make prose or poetry with. What I like about this is, there are hardly any rules. Just to use the words. One can write as long or as short as one likes.