Ok, so, it’s been a while, but I’m back, for at least as long as this phase lasts, having undergone a bit of a makeover in the meantime. I don’t know about you, but I think the new look’s something of an improvement and I’m rather proud of it. So there!
I decided to try my hand at writing another short story for this week’s Creative Writing Ink prompt – partly for the challenge, but partly because the photo this week put an idea in my head that I thought would be better told as a story than as a poem.
Spanish Chair (supplied by Creative Writing Ink)
Our Spot
“This was our spot. Every Sunday when it was nice we’d pack the folding table and chairs in the boot and drive out here, stopping off along the way at our favourite bakery to pick up some rolls and pastries to take with us. It was our chance to have some ‘us’ time, away from friends, family, work and the rest of the world. We’d sit and look out at that amazing view over a chelsea bun or pain au chocolat and while away the hours without a care in the world. Sometimes we’d go all afternoon and not say a word to each other, just enjoying being alone in each other’s company, only looking up every now and again to share a look or a smile before going on to the next chapter or nodding off again in the sunshine.
“It was always so peaceful here, with only the sound of the birds and leaves rustling in the breeze to break the silence. No matter how stressful the week before had been, a few hours up here and everything was better. If we’d argued, which we hardly ever did, we’d leave the best of friends again, whatever little thing forgiven and forgotten.
“One Sunday, my world changed forever; one minute he was sitting next to me in his usual spot and the next he was down on one knee with love in his eyes and the most beautiful ring I’d ever seen in his hand. It’s still my most treasured possession. Well, after him.”
“Possession now, am I? Charming!”
Her husband came over from the car, interrupting her story, and bent down to kiss her with smiling eyes, as in love with her now as he’d been all those years ago. Her eyes shone as brightly as the ring on her finger, which had aged a little better than she had, though no less gracefully.
“Granny and Grandad sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G!”
Their two young grandsons giggled mischievously and tucked into the rolls and pastries from their favourite bakery that now covered the folding table, enjoying their Sunday afternoon.
© Catherine Smith
Feedback appreciated, as always 
A short and sweet poem for this Creative Writing Ink exercise posted last week; I looked at the photo and this was the first thing that popped into my head, so I went with it
Love (supplied by Creative Writing Ink)
Love Is…
Wandering the golden sands
beneath the setting sun,
content with life and holding hands,
with eyes for only one.
© Catherine Smith
Comments and feedback more than welcome
Have just entered three poems (Street in Winter, Taxi! Taxi! and Up Here) into the latest United Press poetry competition, Seeds of Inspiration. Will have to see how they do
I’ve managed to fail at doing any Creative Writing Ink exercises for the last couple of weeks, but I really wanted to do this one, not just because of the stunning image, but because it brought back so many memories of a recent skiing holiday. There is nothing quite like being so high up that your view of the world is such that you could almost be looking at another planet, it’s that breathtaking.
Walker (supplied by Creative Writing Ink)
Up Here
Alone, up here, with the world far below,
I gaze in wonder at the endless sky.
To experience this! So few must know
how it feels to stand here, alone, so high.
To describe this sight, there are just no words…
Beautiful. Unworldly. A magic scene.
To be up so high, to look down on birds
and hear my own heartbeat, it’s that serene.
Stood here now, in awe, on top of the world
with nothing to break the unending view,
it’s as if I’m seeing the Earth unfurled,
a sight so old and yet, to me, so new.
I will never forget what this is like.
One last look, then on for the downward hike.
© Catherine Smith
Comments more than welcome as usual
I seem to be on a bit of a roll at the moment, as I recently found out that a poem I entered into a free-to-enter competition run by United Press has been chosen for publication in their forthcoming anthology, ‘Life Begins’. Apparently I can still re-publish it wherever I want, so here it is:
Life’s Moments
Achieving some belts in a martial art.
Entering full time employment.
Finishing a race when it hurt from the start.
Time spent with friends in enjoyment.
Passing my test on the fourth attempt.
Finally learning to swim.
Buying a house, being free from rent.
Entering this comp on a whim!
So many moments have shaped my life,
had a say in who I am,
but the one that stands out is becoming a wife;
for me, this is where life began.
Life pre-husband was undoubtedly great,
perfectly adequate for one -
but life when lived with your true soulmate
is a hundred times more fun!
© Catherine Smith
Following on from this post and as promised in this one, I’ve now found out which of the two poems I entered were chosen as one of the winners, which means I can probably post the other one here
A young bride once walked down the aisle
A young bride once walked down the aisle,
the epitome of beauty and style.
When he clocked her, the groom
gave thumbs up to the room,
which didn’t half make his wife-to-be smile!
© Catherine Smith
This was actually my favourite of the two, but what do I know? Evidently, not very much! Anyway, thanks Marriott
I was wondering why a new Creative Writing Ink prompt hadn’t been put up for this week – turns out, the version of the site I normally go to hadn’t been updated, hence my somewhat late offering! This is the best my brain can manage in 15 minutes after a week at work:
London Taxi (supplied by Creative Writing Ink)
Taxi! Taxi!
Taxi! Taxi!
One hurries past but ignores my plight,
waiting alone in the dead of night.
Taxi! Taxi!
Try hailing again but they’re already taken
so I carry on trying, frustrated, forsaken.
Taxi! Taxi!
Anytime now I’ll be lucky, surely,
and a cabbie will come to take me to Horley.
Taxi! Taxi!
Right, that’s it, I’ve had enough,
as I head for the bus, in a right old huff!
© Catherine Smith
Comments welcome
I would have posted this earlier but I was watching the wedding on TV – congrats William and Kate, it was lovely
My effort for this week’s Creative Writing Ink exercise is below, along with the pic that prompted it. The connection between the words and the image is quite a subtle one this time – rather than the subject of the image itself, it was the colouring that really grabbed me, along with the overall contintental theme. Quite a short and simple one this week:
Italian Street Sign (supplied by Creative Writing Ink)
Holiday Colours
Red wine sipped at sunset by lovers holding hands.
Yellow sun shining down over wanderers on the sands.
Blue skies meet green hills meet white shores and sapphire seas.
Can we go on holiday now? Can we? Please?
© Catherine Smith
Comments welcome as usual
Slightly belated Happy Easter everyone! And a slightly belated Creative Writing Ink exercise to go with it! I actually had this pretty much finished and ready to post last week but I kept getting distracted and ended up sort of, well, not posting anything… However, here’s my effort, a (very!) short story for a change
Steps (supplied by Creative Writing Ink)
Easter
Steph couldn’t wait. It was Easter and that meant one thing – the annual family get together at her grandparents’ place down in Cornwall. It had become something of a tradition over the years, ever since her grandparents had decided to retire and move back to where they’d grown up, met and lived until her grandfather’s job had taken them away to London. Every year the whole family would make their way from wherever they happened to be and stay from Good Friday to Easter Monday – even Uncle Dave would come over from Connecticut, so important was this weekend in Steph’s family calendar.
She wasn’t sure what it was she looked forward to most about these weekends. Certainly, getting away from the bustling pace of city life for a few days of Cornish sea air was part of it – walks along the beach, BBQs on the terrace, camping in the back garden; what Ivy Pine Cottage lacked in bedrooms, it more than made up for in outside space. Her grandmother’s cooking was another; she couldn’t remember ever coming through the front door and not being greeted by the smell of freshly baked bread, cakes or hot cross buns. She loved catching up with her various relations, finding out what they’d all been up to, and fussing over Bonnie, her grandparents’ playful and much-loved labrador.
Perhaps what she looked forward to more than anything else though was Ivy Pine Cottage itself. It was a quaint, old place, that looked as if it had grown from the land on which it stood, so naturally did it blend in with its surroundings. Steep stone steps led up, past the ivy and beneath the old pine tree that gave the cottage it’s name, to a wooden front door with a wrought iron knocker. Going inside was like stepping back in time; a crackling fire and ticking grandfather clock stood either side of a small black-and-white TV, the furthest modern technology had been allowed to intrude into the living room. Watercolours and oil paintings lined the walls; faded sepia photographs stood in frames on the mantelpiece. Tiny doorways that her dad always had to duck through connected the various rooms and nooks and crannies, each filled with more photos and memories. At night, the place echoed with the sound of Bonnie’s gentle snoring as she lay asleep on her rug in front of the fire. If a house could be a hug, or a favourite pair of slippers, this was it.
The conductor announced her stop then, forcing Steph to abandon her daydreaming and get her things together. She smiled and waved at her parents, who’d come down the night before and had offered to meet her at the station to take her the last few miles. She turned to look at Paul and smiled; this was to be his first Easter at Ivy Pine Cottage, and she very much hoped it wouldn’t be his last.
© Catherine Smith
Comments welcome – somewhat new territory for me, this!