8 thoughts on “Writing prompt 7: spaces”

  1. The Cruellest Month

    April came wearing a mask
    squeezing the breath out of parks and gardens
    crushing the smile out of my father at war
    black and white on my mantelpiece
    concentrating on short breaths
    watering lettuce in his allotment, dusty
    and parched as old sackcloth, his legs astride
    balancing years of overweight, high blood pressure
    and the loneliness of his one room days.
    I surprise myself sometimes in windows,
    I almost look like him now – like winter forgot to end,
    to throw off its vast grey-laid land. ‘We are supposed
    to be in the month of blossom, cuckoos and swallows
    returning to eaves like angels of spring.’ Jack shouted
    from two fences away, mug of tea in hand.
    And yes, I agreed, from behind our barricades
    we have time to notice how pink spring sycamore leaves are,
    to recognise the scent of white lilac scattering lanes
    and washing lines. We have time to stand and stare
    at cherry trees weeping, elephants and bears chasing the sky,
    the space to remember how we breathed clean air
    deep and beautiful.

    Kerry Darbishire


    The swelling pause,
    The nothing between girls’ legs,
    The gaps at the backs of knees,
    The open

    Between the toes,
    The silence between thoughts,
    And all that massive space that separates

    Stars, and the parts of atoms,
    Women and their men,
    The erased peoples of this planet,
    The plains where once grew grasses wild

    And buffalo. And freedom.
    That swart blue place in my old red heart,
    Where you shone brief a merciful torch
    That held, and saved, for a beautiful while.

    Lots of holes of nothingness, all types, I can name, precise,
    Except for this black one, intense with desire;
    Quickened and focused, with avid intent
    – Determined to not be stillborn.

    1. Beautiful Olive. You’ve reached a long way with this poem, and I love how it circles back at the end. 🙂

      1. Thank you Kerry …and thank you for pointing out something I had not consciously realised!
        [I love it when readers see more than me..!]

        1. That’s the magic of poetry – to write from the heart ! Sorry I misspelled your name!!

  3. Bucharest

    we were strangers
    in a strange city
    by which I mean

    it was a place
    of enchantment
    shadowed by vampires

    we imagined beyond its
    more than 20,000 churches
    its boulevards and trees

    we would walk
    on the battlements
    of an ancient castle

    but only clouds
    glittering like shape-changers
    floated in the cold lake

    Caroline Carver Mylor 8/5/20

  4. Virus
    Social distanced from family and friends
    I watch the world, a glassed in view
    As silence wraps around me, I remember
    We by a sat lake without a moon,
    Enveloped in deep darkness, an eerie sound
    Planning our future, blanking out the world
    waiting for the dawn,a faint glow of sun rising
    music of the morning, the language of nature.

    Now I wait, wanting the warmth of your touch,
    I find no peace in this enforced solitude.

  5. Broch

    In the broch’s hollow,
    stone beds, tanks,
    stairs to the roof,

    tilt and tumble,
    make space
    between sleep

    and dreaming,
    one step
    to another,

    to the hills’ wavy line
    Fitty, Gallo
    and Knucker,

    their sway-backed rise
    into breast, into belly
    seeded and curved

    with the dead
    on their backs
    hands to their sides

    pointing east
    back to the stone skeleton
    where they lived

    where the spaces
    they left curl
    round the gaps.

    Lydia Harris

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