There's only 1 shopping day left to order signed copies of the new edition of Messages. You'll have read and responded to 30 of them during this month so why not get the book and have a further 270 writing prompts?
We can add personal dedications, e.g. To the most brilliant 'Your Messages' participant. We couldn't have done this without you, yes YOU... or something rather more subtle. Or we can sign them, as presents, from you to someone you know who will enjoy the book's playfullness.
The link to pre-order signed copies is on the left, and you can let us have specific dedications by email: sarah@sarahsalway.com and lynne@lynnerees.co.uk.
Lynne & Sarah
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If you want to take part - great. All you need to do is add your response to our message here as a comment, but remember it has to be exactly 30 or 300 words, and it needs to be posted before 8am GMT the morning after the original post for each day. Please also remember to add your Name and Email Address to the end of your message, so that we can get in touch if your work is selected.
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You’d been burgled, you were certain of it. Slowly it became apparent that only her possessions had been taken.
ReplyDeleteWhen the realisation dawned, it became clear. You stood inside the wardrobe so that you could smell her presence.
You listened to the ansa-phone messages over and over so that you could hear her voice.
You waited and waited. You were waiting still, for six years you were waiting.
I read the poem you wrote over cold coffee, cigarettes and half breaths, half waiting for the secrets we blink to give themselves up. I sat next to you, half breathing, half seeing, half believing those half remembered moments.
And when they sang the song we wrote, you shook my hand as if we were
acquainted in some way.
I waited for you; I watched other lives encroaching on our history
I watched from an unbridgeable distance. I threw you my life raft
but still you blundered onwards, as if waiting for some translation.
Time runs on like a half breath, a half spark, and like the songs you played me
that were so beautiful, they all got lost in the wreckage.
So I read your poem today, the one that made me cry
The one you wrote when I was seeing, believing, breathing, and waiting, and still,
like it was only yesterday.
I wrote my Last One for You.
Grief took it’s time. But dreams were not as kind
I heard your voice. The unshakable unstoppable words you spoke on repeat replay
I saw the words you wrote like magenta dripping from your pen
And like a landscape that’s paralysed I wonder why the inner beauty you saw
was lost on you when the spirit, the essence, was absolute,
but impervious to the physical.
That was my last one for you.
Chris Hoskins
chris.hoskins.poet@btinternet.com