Wednesday, April 12, 2017

Word List Wednesday #12 (Also my NaPoWriMo Day #11, 2017)



I know these weekly prompts are sporadic.  I lead a busy life.  I wish I was one of those people who could actually commit to a weekly posting on a certain day, but as it is, I can only do so when my schedule allows.  No matter, I hope I can inspire someone.

EVERY OTHER Wednesday (twice per month) I select a list of at least 10 words (sometimes more).  I pull these words from a favorite literary piece that has inspired me. Usually it's another poem.  I always provide the poem author and title unless you want to go read it for yourself.

The idea is to take those 10 words and create a new, unique piece of writing of our own.

I love word lists/wordles because  they allow me to use words I don't often use, and those new words encourage fresh concepts and ideas for my poetry.

I first created this weekly prompt to inspire myself.  However, I am extending the invitation to others who may enjoy writing with my word list.  I invite you to link your work in the comments section if so!



The Word List for this week is selected from the beautiful lyrics by Van Morrison as they appear in his song titled Astral Weeks.

Word List:
slipstream
viaducts
immobile
backroads
whispering
astral
pictures
sun
eyes
ocean


Here is my contribution:


Reminiscing a Trespass

She stood at the picture window near
the fireplace, looking beyond the
black stormy world of an astral kind of night.
The last of the guests had blown their
sherry-and-gin kisses into the space
beyond her cheeks, tip-toeing their
heels and crispy suits across the lawn
toward fancy cars, a distinct sort of music.
The whipporwills rattled in the elms
between the beginning of a Spring rain,
the wind spun softly, the sound of the ocean
caught between the inner-chamber of a seashell.
Dewdrops whispered from the intricately-shaped
leaves of the eves that swayed overhead.
And two addresses down the lane stood his house,
one window-block glowing like a California sun.
She watched his shadow flit momentarily past
the shaded pane, eyes traveling the backroads
of her mind.  Her memories were a slipstream,
the viaducts plugged.  She wanted to run
from the desire to wade the muddy waters
to his door, to bang the silver knocker
and fill his mouth with her kiss;  sultrily, hungry,
wet clothes peeling from her skin like sun-dried fruit.
She was a positively-charged ion, a 
spinning particle caught in the will of lust, made 
immobile in the absence of his touch.

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