Prompt 422: Ekphrastic Poetry–Windmills


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Prompt 416

Ah, August…what kind of a creature are you? Are you about the music? What music? A dying anthem? To what? For it is music that is most visceral to the soul, isn’t it? What animal are you, August? What behooves you? Where are you heading to? For is it not death that we’re all headed toward to? So the point isn’t in that destination, but the journey. What is this journey? Isn’t it full of digressions? Isn’t Cervantes telling us something about digressions, that they are the fluff that makes the journey interesting? I don’t know about you but it’s music that brings me home.

Prompt 415

I guess I’m having a bit of prompt fatigue. Even creative fatigue. How to go on writing? How to go on having done this over and over again? What is clear though, is that our Spring/Summer 2018 issue is coming to a close, on the last week of August I think. Then what? What new breath? What has got to die first? Perhaps we should stick to solid basics but invent a new mode? I’m thinking like that’s why Chanel the brand has succeeded so well. You’re still recognisable, as a brand, as a voice, but you’re breathing in new inspirations, giving new reiterations? Perhaps poetry needs to be that. What’s new under the sun, my loves?

Prompt 414

Is this a fallow period for you? You know, a time where nothing seems to happen. Same old same old. But isn’t it strange, do you remember, when the same old doesn’t really remain, that things do move forward, transform sometimes really dramatically? Changes can be pretty dramatic that’s what I’m saying. But just like the illusion that the clock’s hands seem so still, and move so slow, then you drowse and the next thing you know, an hour or two had passed. Did you fall asleep? Did you get absorbed into some other thing? Time is a tricky illusion? I know I talked about time as a kind of filter, so we’re always looking back into the past and how things are so different now. Anyway this time, think about change.

Prompt 413

July just sort of flitted itself away and we’re almost on the last week. July is very workman-like, I suppose. It just takes cares of its tasks and that’s why time seems to fly by. That’s a true gift of work. To forget time. To not have too much of it. To fall even a little short of it, so you’re always asking for more time. And if you think about it, time really is what creates our journey. I still remember for instance, John’s first dance class. And yesterday I attended his final class. So imagine what time does to one. It gives us a sense of a journey does it not? And when the journey ends a new one begins. So how about waxing lyrical about a recent journey?