Memorable writing that sparks imagination. Lean in. Hear the writer’s voice on the page. Dear Number Five By Karen Quest Dear Number Five, If we are to believe the song, one is the loneliest number, but without you, we wouldn’t know where we’d be. I checked you out, and from math to science, to art, music and literature, to religion and biology, you’re everywhere! I hope you have fun reading some cool facts about yourself. I give you my Ode to Five. Starfish are pentamerous Which might sound kind of calamitous Five appendages have they And no matter what you might say I think they are quite glamorous. It isn’t criminal to take the Fifth. Lanford Wilson chose you for the title of his play, The Fifth of July. Beethoven named one of his symphonies after you. There are 25 one-ounce shots in a fifth of alcohol. Almost all amphibians,…
Category: Sparks
Memorable writing that sparks imagination.
My Secret Cottage
Memorable writing that sparks imagination. Lean in. Hear the writer’s voice on the page. My Secret Cottage By Kathy Guthormsen I open the back door to dew sparkling in the morning sun and hints of rainbows shimmering in the lingering mist. They let me catch a fleeting glimpse before their magic fades. Goosebumps raise along my bare arms as I race through the grass and turn to look at my wet footprints. The sun will soon erase this evidence of my footsteps. I won’t be followed as I skip through an imaginary forest to my secret cottage at the far end of an enchanted glade. Rabbit hops along next to me hoping for the reward of a carrot. Cat slinks across the trail, hunting. She’d like to catch Rabbit, but he’s bigger than she is. And wilier. I raise my hand to shade my eyes and turn in a circle….
Delicate as a Hummingbird’s Heart
Memorable writing that sparks imagination. Lean in. Hear the writer’s voice on the page. Delicate as a Hummingbird’s Heart By Noah Davis This past Saturday, the fire burning on the north side of the river jumped a ridge and lit another hillside of drought-stricken timber, sending a plume so high that the air turned red with the seared skin of Douglas fir and larch. At 5:30 that evening, in the diner booth across from my father and me, a young man and woman, both with shiny, smooth cheeks, sat drinking their waters in small swallows. He wore a collared, white button down with jeans and scrubbed cowboy boots. Her skirt was blue, like glacial streams, and her straight hair was the color of stacked wheat shafts when the sunlight isn’t choked with smoke. His bangs were still wet from the shower, comb marks straight as irrigation ditches. She ran her…
Reverberations
Memorable writing that sparks imagination. Lean in. Hear the writer’s voice on the page. Reverberations By Brenda Bellinger I suppose another title for this post could be “Echoes.” Some are gentle, quiet, reminiscent of the fading ring of a bell. Others are loud, persistent—drumbeats, almost—like the hourly news headlines of the brutal slaughters in Ukraine, occasionally punctuated by stories of defiance, strength and resilience. It’s Monday morning, the day before I’ll upload this post. I’m sitting at the dining room table in the family home that will soon be listed for sale, waiting for the painter and landscaper to arrive. Traffic noise is more noticeable now in the hollow silence of this near-empty space. All but a handful of the original furnishings are gone, replaced with artsy pieces and decor selected by our real estate agent to stage the home. Gone is the Tuscan-inspired color scheme that ran throughout the…
I am not That Girl
Memorable writing that sparks imagination. Lean in. Hear the writer’s voice on the page. When I heard “I am not That Girl” by Ariel LaChelle, I knew I wanted it on the Sparks page of my blog. It’s longer that what is usually posted here. It’s so amazing, I could not resist. You can read it and watch Ariel perform “I am not That Girl” in her own strong and melodic voice. I am not That Girl By Ariel LaChelle Even though the term “That Girl” Was created by black girls, I don’t fit the requirements Automatically, Because I am a Fat Girl. And ‘cause I have tight curls That become more angry If I dip my scalp in the water, Then let my hair air dry And don’t try To keep it in order. No styling, No stretching, No products, No dye, But I feel like I might If…
Pull
Memorable writing that sparks imagination. Lean in. Hear the writer’s voice on the page. Pull By Guy Biederman Writing backwards, I row toward home. Note from Marlene: Your turn. Write a story in six words. Guy Biederman teaches short fiction and is the author of five collections of short work, including Nova Nights (Nomadic Press,), Edible Grace (KYSO Flash Press), and Soundings and Fathoms, stories (Finishing Line Press). His work has appeared in many journals including Carve, Flashback Fiction, MacQueen’s Quinterly, Bull, great weather for Media, Riddled with Arrows, The Disappointed Housewife, and Exposition Review, where he was twice a Flash 405 winner. Guy’s stories, prose, and poems have also won a Publisher’s Choice Award, an Editor’s choice Award, and been nominated for the Best of the Net. Born in the Chihuahuan Desert near the Mexican border, Guy grew up on a Sting-Ray in Ventura, learned to write in the…
Face the Sun
Memorable writing that sparks imagination. Lean in. Hear the writer’s voice on the page. Face the Sun By Flynn I see that you are broken badly For you this can’t be fun I know I cannot fix you Still, I’ll help you face the sun Flynn is a musician, writer, and artist, originally from New York City, now living in Seattle, WA. He is the creator of SinkCoffiti art. As a lifelong artist, Flynn is always looking for the next opportunity to translate his everyday experiences into artistic expressions of art and music. SinkCoffiti is an original art design concept using coffee, light, and photography to create unique art. Originally posted on Suleika Jaouad’s The Isolation Journals Facebook Page. #justwrite #amwriting #iamawriter
EGGS-istentialism
EGGS-istentialism By Su Shafer Memorable writing that sparks imagination. Lean in. Hear the writer’s voice on the page. Fragile egg is not so fragile. Blank slate not so blank. Like a bud inwardly smiling About the blossom to come. Potential quietly waiting, Imagining possibilities. A whole universe before creation. How can it contain so much excitement And remain so calm And confident? It doesn’t fear the breaking Or the new world waiting Outside its shell. Su Shafer is a creative crafter, fabricating bits of writing in poetry and short stories, and generating characters that appear in paintings and sit on various bookshelves and coffee tables. She lives in a cottage on the Olympic Peninsula of Washington, and always has an extra cup of tea ready should a Sasquatch stop by on its the way to Island Lake nearby. Adventure is always afoot in the untamed forests of the Pacific North…
A Pantoum for Constance Demby
Memorable writing that sparks imagination. Lean in. Hear the writer’s voice on the page. A Pantoum for Constance Demby By Leigh Anne Caryl They said she died almost without notice Thank God her music lingers Beautiful transcendent videos Visuals of stained glass gothic cathedrals Thank God her music lingers An unapologetic exploration of meditative melodies Lifting me above the Ethos Grand Visuals of stained glass gothic cathedrals An unapologetic exploration of meditative melodies Beautiful transcendent videos Visuals of stained glass gothic cathedrals They said she died almost without notice ______________________________________ Tribute to a Marin County Friend I will never forget Leigh Anne Caryl is a pen name. This is her poetic inner child and muse that has been a lifelong writer and constant internal friend, who feels safe to reveal the emotions, and deepest secrets within her soul. Her first published poem was in 1989. She was printed…
Divine Candy
Memorable writing that sparks imagination. Lean in. Hear the writer’s voice on the page. Divine Candy By Sandra de Helen On Route 66, Dead Man’s Curveour house with an outhouse on seven acreswith no running water,no candy store in sight. We ate the eggs our chickens lay,beans, potatoes, and greensMom picked in the woods.No sweets except on holidays. Grandma baked pies,Aunt Mame made candy:Chocolate fudge, peanut butter bars,and her heavenly divinity. Billowy clouds of white sugar,studded with walnuts Mame herselfpicked out with her prized nutcracker set. Black walnuts the family gathered togetherto gather from alongside gravel roadsof the nearby countryside. Once each year every small familywithin our larger familywere gifted a decorated boxof Aunt Mame’s treasured sweets. We rationed them, made them lastby savoring each bite with the mindfulnesswe’ve long since forgotten. Only my sister and I are left to recallour Aunt Mame and her gifts.No one thought to ask…