Tuesday, September 29, 2009

Prompts 29 September

Pigeons gathering on wet slate

Love broke out

The train is empty. It doesn't want to leave


I am trying to remember, trying to believe it

After the Coma

Unrelationshiply making love

He asked them, "Play the Birdie Song"

It's like a wound that opens and then opens

From Thursday to Friday

Wondering about small American towns, dusty roads


Long, slow railway stations, the darknesses

He wakes crying

It will be something to talk about at least

Sunday, September 27, 2009

Prompts, Sunday

The simplicity of it

There is a sign of night, clouds

Your body is too sharp

The sea sings because it is moving

A tin-roofed shack, no phone

We smoke a silent cigarette, look at the rain

The grass needs cutting

Pickard woke me


Waiting for morning, for breakfast

Don’t give it a thought

The A-Z of useless platitudes

Madame Curie

If, dear

He left her photographs of sad caravans

The Angry Priest

The road to your place, they are digging it up


A glass door flashing

Let’s face it. Or not

When I was a child, I imagined.

One brick, then a second, then three, four

Dog in a bath

Back to my high, empty place

My father was claustrophobic

Wednesday, September 23, 2009

Prompts Thursday 24 September

The Last Thing You Read


Lost Without His Brother


Something About a Leopard


I have something not to say


In The Court of the Red Queen


Blessings, Effendi


Flanagan Starts Running


Which of the Gods Made Them Quarrel?


It was in a poem, or an advert

He didn't have a belly-button


But then, who does?

It's square, but more round than that

I believe I could believe

More Prompts

As an exercise, consider combining prompts, try using all or most.

From the very first coming down


Only the caravan was real and that wasn't there

Never Again

Happy, but no closer, even now


My father, the way he sits


We have drawn up a list


Sometimes the scars fade temporarily


On the wet road, past the know of pines


Never Stronger

We have made all the possible preparations

It's more a case of

I am not sure that little boys imagine; I mean they all imagine the same things

There is a gap between attention and awareness

My ambition would be to love


I am Transient


Watch how he hesitates before saying, "I love you..."


Turn a deaf eye


We will begin today. We start and it is an ending


It was Easter. I found myself alone


On the phone she whispers that her husband is mad.

Tuesday, September 22, 2009

Prompts 22 September

A Small Blue Plaque

Hanging Baskets

How the woman pauses

While he waits for her to buy two coffees

Paper Hats

Orange tiles, white spikes

His car, his moustache


How the women congregate, talking about swimming

Her Black Wedding

A café, a shop, three or four houses

The trainee barista

Stooped, white hair, but almost free

Behold the duck!

What catches me, what catches my eye


How beautiful, in profile

Four Feet Under

What is the H in W H Smith?


Old Men in Cardigans

The Differences of Aquamarine

At the Lake

If we had world enough and time

Low fat sex

For a suitcase full of cash


Children love wheels

Words, in type, streaming across a photograph

The Olive man smiles, with a twinkle, and holds out a single olive on a spoon for the lady to taste

Shall we do some kind of lunch?

Monday, September 21, 2009

Prompts Monday 21 September

Joe Cocker, three a.m.
When the improbable doesn’t surprise
Black Swan, Owls by Day
Places to Go
Turning of Bluetooth
Women, meeting for coffee
Vente Latte
How the Cancer Bites First
The Wisdom of Drivers
Nobody Knows What’s Going On
Nine Pounds Later
History Does Not Know it is History
Give or Take
The Problem is How You See
What’s Not to Like?
The Bible i-Pod, the i-Pod Bible
Until the rain gets in
Where I Belong
The Poetry in a Football Programme
I am not proud of this
Let us try to be civil, try to be rational
The Light is Wrong
Approximately five hours: 4:58
Picnic in Bierut
The Light Music of Children

Friday, September 18, 2009

Prompts Friday-Saturday

The happenstance of airwaves
Strangers in Borders
Seeds, poison
What copies, what doesn’t, what should
A woman, pointing
Why this is difficult, difficult
I am reading old poems, asking if they are mine
The art of invisibility, with ache
I am trying to remember my mother
Close to Black
We could go to Japan or Peru
Waiting for it to come together
I’m just looking at your face
On the other hand
Blossom, meet Dearie; Dearie, Blossom
Privet School
One kind of itch, two kinds of scratching

Wednesday, September 09, 2009

Prompts September 9th 01

A story, “The Seven Ages of Skin”

When I am an old women and have purple skin

Had we but world enough and time

There is a spot just here, in the hollow of my pelvis

Nobody saw him, the tattoo’d man

Sunday, my father working in the frost, the skin of his hands red and cracking

And of a baby, so smooth, ready for scars

The midwife was small, beautiful, with olive skin and hands that were light

It is the softness in her face

If I should die, think only this of me: dying, my friend, is not all it’s cracked up to be

I will be illustrated at the very least

Smooth skin, but not a shaved cat

If skin was an instrument and we played it

Move him so the sun catches his child-dying face

The fingertip, the ear, the neck

Perhaps red-raw, perhaps soft and talcumed

The machine sucked it from the bed, your skin, mine, inseparable

Your scars, one like an arrow, one a heart

Sometimes the person, sometimes the skin

You reach across and touch me. My heart leaps up

But you wear gloves and dark glasses

Eventually, we are all naked

But it is the Caesar scar I love

Trace me, slowly

There is something electric

Tuesday, September 08, 2009

September 08:01 Prompts


The grey sea and thew long black land

Trying to lose the pick-up

Every day is a fresh ending

Bloody men are like bloody tractors

I have no name, call me Thing

The winter evening slides quietly into sleep

Slippery as a slippery thing

My Dear, where now?

We were doing fine, until the bed...

Lay your head on my chest, let's pretend we're OK

I've been brought back, not sure why

How you call to me, aching on the night

Darling, don't take it literally AND personally

My life has ended a few times

First they came for

Turning and turning and turning. Turning

Like Ice. Like Fire. Like ice upon a fire

I am not me even when it looks that way

Time doesn't mend this

White. Soft. Sweet.

The milk-buckets are frozen

I would like a cigarette now

Mercy. Pity. Peace. Love.

Somewhere in the clouds, falling.

Monday, September 07, 2009

September 07:01 Prompts

The French Ballerina & the Builder


The clunk and roll of a dozen ball-bearings

Buck House

Refill Pad, Pencils, sharpener


Social Psychology, the Alternative


Stories From the Spare Bedroom

Getting Into Brock'


The sound grass makes


How sometimes the wind aches for people


Guatemala, the View Above the Trees

I remember when I thought the world was solid


And so I drift, waiting to be touched


A soft, muddy river in Portugal.


Where they are all from

Saturday, September 05, 2009

SUNDAY's Prompts September 06:01

I'm out running and then partying tomorrow so here are Sunday's prompts a little early

Learn Brain-Surgery in a Weekend


Once Upon a Time


For once, an early night

OK, tomorrow or the day after

Fresh Apples

Young Miss Tavistock's Dilemma

Rolling, Rolling, Rolling!!

Who's Afraid of Jane Austen?

The Various Differences and Similarities

The Ball.

Bomber Harris at Play


Music and Love begin as delicate flames

James! James!

What we have adored and what we have abhorred

Tea's Ready!

I doubt we live forever

I have not been to Jerusalem

Fast now.

Prompts September 05:01

A Room for Romeo Smith


He never goes up West


It's complicated, but basically, Lycra underpants


I have been cold, but never this cold


Purple Icebergs


A Week in December


Why I have to love you

From what I remember, he had big ears


The myths are swept away by an avalanche of truth

... and the waters will rise

It doesn't hurt much

It doesn't translate very well

Standing with the fat boy, waiting to be picked


Pink Vaseline

I have never been ill


Swollen hands, plump, wormy fingers

Two thousand men

OK, OK...

For entertainment we talk about our lovers


A Cafe called "Writers"

After you left I couldn't wash the sheets

Prompts September 05:01

A Room for Romeo Smith


He never goes up West


It's complicated, but basically, Lycra underpants


I have been cold, but never this cold


Purple Icebergs


A Week in December


Why I have to love you

From what I remember, he had big ears


The myths are swept away by an avalanche of truth

... and the waters will rise

It doesn't hurt much

It doesn't translate very well

Standing with the fat boy, waiting to be picked


Pink Vaseline

I have never been ill


Swollen hands, plump, wormy fingers

Two thousand men

OK, OK...

For entertainment we talk about our lovers


A Cafe called "Writers"

After you left I couldn't wash the sheets

Friday, September 04, 2009

Prompts September 04:01

A story beginning: "The trouble with stories is..."

Listening to the Other Sam Browne


Some nights you can hear them

This is England

What we call the beginning

He looked sweet, he did look sweet

Coventry, Milton-Keynes, Welwyn Garden City

Absolve them!

Somebody's Thinking of You Tonight

It's not that easy when your soul is torn in two

Curb Your Enthusiasm

Don't look so eager to leave


I'm on a Diet of Love

Forgive me, I was trying to say something nice


Pennies From Heaven


I'd like to say we could be friends, Jack


Are you glad she lost the love of her life?

White Paper, Pen

I met my ten-year old self; a curious boy. He was frightened by me

On a rope over the water

A story ending: "But it could have been, it could have been."

Thursday, September 03, 2009

Prompts September 03:02

When men die far away it is like sand settling, dust

In the room the women come, and usually go


Through certain streets, dusty, deserted

Do not ask what it is

The corners of evening


A far sound, something falls, something breaks


It was a soft September night, almost October

There is always time

It’s a freaking waste-land

To murder and create

Do I Dare? Do I Dare?

I decide to revise

I pin you, you squirm

Old men collecting fag-ends

Full Moon

Basically, I was afraid

My mind creaks, like melting ice

The universe in a grain of sand

Mr Spock I presume?

After the cups, the marmalade, a little toast


Reading Annie

They think they’re all grown up now

Prompts September 03:01

Unfortunately, this is likely to be necessary

Where Art Thou?

The fickle, the unsure, the hypocritical

Being a Soldier

The basic necessities: laptop, mints, CHARGER

A Spotless Mind

Oh would the gift the giftie gie us!

Reading TS Eliot

Watching World Film

Above the water, under the cliff, far from a house

Boys & Caravans

Sometimes the names move, they slip, they slide

More or less low-calorie

Sleeping in another room, he tries to remember things

The Queen waves a gloved hand


I am in possession of Possession


I am waiting in the wings for an empty stage


The smell of steak in alley-ways


A little lady, sweet, who worried about Penguins


She picks the blackberries, cooks them for me. I try not to cry

Vanilla, I think

I am trying to remember a goal I scored

Sausage & Mash

New Govt Regs: Item 1 LOVE

Wednesday, September 02, 2009

September 02:01 Prompts

"It has been a nice summer," said Diana, twisting the new ring on her left hand with a smile.

“Harvest is ended and summer is gone," quoted Anne Shirley,

A fox will track a vixen for a week

a little undercurrent of vague pain and dissatisfaction running through it

A piano made from ice

There was quite a bewildering succession of drives, dances, picnics and boating parties

almost as beautiful as the angel on my string

Anne of the Island

Coordinates is an anagram of Decorations

For a little while I had a dog.

gazing across the shorn fields dreamily.

He was the first to escape

I had one white pill and one yellow pill in the morning, and in the afternoon I had a pink pill and in the evening white.

I went into the trees and built a shelter.
I will give you the horse, a cart, a leather coat, a plate and some gasoline

LoveFinder General

Murder Club, the Vicarage 19:15 Mondays

the fields were bare and sere, scarfed with golden rod,

The fortnight Anne spent in Bolingbroke

The house bleeds

The Promise Tree

The woman was fat and her face was pink.

There is a woman I love who could not kill a wasp

There was not, however, much time to think about him.

They were both nice, manly fellows, but Anne would not be drawn into any opinion as to which was the nicer.

We are studying love

When he was eight he was stolen by gypsies

When he was ninety he swam across the bay.

whenever she thought about Gilbert.

Whispers of a life without borders

Tuesday, September 01, 2009

Prompts September 01:02

I taste salt


You see the little things, the quietly beautiful that I miss

Death may or may not be permanent

I am bleeding slightly; from various places

The simple things, like you reaching for me

We will hurry home

It is not here that your mother meets your father

The wind rises; you laugh

We will kiss the earth


The buzz of a needle, the tatooist's hand

Once this was sea. Sea-birds still nest here, dark with disappointment.

An old woman who smells a little

Oyster-Catcher, night road

Duke of Earl

Various ice-creams, more than one kind of cheese


The flowers echoing the dead church-bells

September Blast

Just back from Wales (and September started a few hours late but we're having another "BLAST"

Write every day, EVERY day, to a strict minimum and a tough total, and write at least a third of your total word-count "pre-log", that is BEFORE any email-reading or internet browsing.

Post your minimum targets and exceed them, no excuses.

Stories may be posted in a free area of Boot Camp for feedback, but in order to see these stories we will need to have a Yuku ID (go to Yuku.com) to grant access.

A dozen already on board, we want twice that number

For further info contact AK at alex.keegan (AT) btinternet.com

Prompts September 01:01

The National Anthem, The Archers, A Man Lost in Space

Related Travel Advice

A room smelling of shame

3-in-1 for the treatment of love creaks

Collecting postcards from the lonely

A story beginning, "This is the point..."

We have a problematic interface

He is wearing a raincoat from a film


These are small things, human things

When there was water

I try to remember us, but see clouds

An old, decrepit caravan, broken glass

Behind night stones, beneath dark

I have waited too long to be born

A shingle beach, rain, they separate, come together


Everything here is just the right size

Of course, as long as you are here

I dream of bloody waterfalls, of screaming grass

I tend to flop about when anger leaves