I feel them try to comfort me
I deduce it from their soothing words
So well chosen and carefully placed
And with such tender resignation
They do not stare
Though pity often creeps in the eyes
While their heads hang low with
Arms swung high

As for me on the receiving end
I feel rather circumvent
All slimy and stickless like a
Worn out child’s toy
Their words pour over me
And I recognize their sincerity
But whatever it is that is within me
Buffs and bounces back that fine
Exterior- your words wont grab
my wounds, dear soul, I’m steely
wool and rock ‘n roll

Meanwhile, at home my heart skips beats
My breath gets caught and then re-caught
Like fish thrown back in and
I can’t swim away fast enough
Before I’m caught again
Life is pulling me by the mouth
And it’s clear I’m caving in
I’ve started dripping and heaving
I lay down a lot
And sometimes I forget that
I am- instead of am not

Ho, where is the horizon line
That sun that beat upon the leaves so fine
In autumn when my sweatheart went
I felt the arms of love that fit
In absence I still search for them
And no grievance can be released until
I give up searching on earth’s grounds
Conjure strength inside to let my insides
Out

The truth, dear one, as tears roll down
In death, as in life, you’re still my son.

---*
RULES:

Title your piece "There Are No Gods" (taken from the title of a D.H. Lawrence poem)

Use the words: denuded, raindrops, anguish, rocks, gull, winsome, jar. (words pulled from his works)

Use D.H. Lawrence's painting above as inspiration.

This can be a fiction or non-fiction story, a play, screenplay, or poem.

Write for 20 minutes. Edit for 10 minutes. Stop. E-mail it in andiebottrell(at)yahoo(dot)com. Watch for it to be posted here.
---*

There Are No Gods
by Andie Bottrell

Azure blue sat their ocean seats
swift shallows cusping interiors red
a laugh bellowed out from beyond
and distracted their longful stares
their lusting ambitions
it begged interruption
as trees swam past
and the sky caught fire
they knew what they wanted
but damn if things weren't
wacked, denuded of their rightful
place and ways
a nightmarish dreamscape
and them, just dolls adrift in it
the laughing ceased- the joke finished
their eyes returned to each other
fingers touched the tender rubber
of sun stained skin
a gull swashbuckled a fish
and winsome man stuck his dick
in sweet woman's inner jar
their breathing beat the waves
in calm
their beating bodies settled things
there are no gods, they said,
or holy things
no trinities or entities unseen
beyond the horizon ended things
and death would always settle things
raindrops fell from anguished skies
crying eyes mirrored them
beating bodies kept heaving on
rocks rose from seas below
bowing into rocket ships
shooting to the moon and back
and they, they
kept holding on
the believing ones on shores
parallel and further yond'
with occasional screams
and condemnation for their 
wayward, heathen souls
but
the azure sea kept rocking them
back and forth
keeping them
as if to comfort them 
and their lustful ambition
remained new as birth
binding them in locked eyes
bodies connected and
held strong by tissue
and bone
these simple, basic human things
the human strings 
of love

---*
(here is D.H.'s There Are No Gods, if you care- figured it be good to include)

There Are No Gods
by D.H. Lawrence

There are no gods, and you can please yourself
have a game of tennis, go out in the car, do some shopping, sit and talk, talk, talk
with a cigarette browning your fingers.

There are no gods, and you can please yourself -
go and please yourself -

But leave me alone, leave me alone, to myself!
and then in the room, whose is the presence
that makes the air so still and lovely to me?

Who is it that softly touches the sides of my breast
10and touches me over the heart
so that my heart beats soothed, soothed, soothed and at peace?

Who is it smooths the bed-sheets like the cool
smooth ocean where the fishes rest on edge
in their own dream?

Who is it that clasps and kneads my naked feet, till they unfold,
till all is well, till all is utterly well? the lotus-lilies of the feet!

I tell you, it is no woman, it is no man, for I am alone.
And I fall asleep with the gods, the gods
that are not, or that are
according to the soul's desire,
like a pool into which we plunge, or do not plunge.

Persons/Places/Things WRITING EXERCISE

Use images above as inspiration.

Persons: You must have two main characters and they must both be women. You may have other characters of varying genders in supporting roles.

Places: Your setting(s) must include both the suburbs and the sea.

Things: Explore what happens "when the sun goes down" and using non-traditional adjectives.

Use the Words: Vestigial, Fugacious, Furtive, Gambol, Imbroglio, Lagniappe, Lagoon.

Write for 45 minutes. Edit/re-write for 15 minutes. Be sure to include your title and name, then e-mail to andiebottrell(at)yahoo(dot)com and watch for it to be posted here.
--------------------*

“Suburb City in Maritime”
by Andie Bottrell

Chilly, iceberg Adrianne was adroit in getting what she wanted and as of 10:32pm East Anchor Time what she wanted most now was to be introduced to Ceru, the aquatically calm and seemingly amatory new resident of Suburb City. Ceru Parama was a fugacious character- never found where last you saw her- least of all where you’d expect her. This unpredictability and mystery intrigued Adrianne no end and she felt she simply must master her.

The year was 2452 and rain had fallen from the sky for 5,032 days. Reports were coming in; in any way they could, from all over the world, that city after city, country after country had submerged. The rain had fallen slow and the tragic torrents- called “The End of Times Storm”- had been adequately predicted to allow for technology to come up with options for the world to adapt to an underwater submergence.

In the pre-maritime world (as it is now called), Adrianne lived in a shabby abode next to a polluted lagoon. She was married to Ted Felix, one of the first to predict the “End of Times Storm.” While this prediction was later verified by sources the world over and picked up as a nightly news story and eventually bought into by the masses- at the time Ted Felix predicted it, there wasn’t even a vestigial of people who thought that he was anything but bonkers, bonkers, bonkers. And as his public position as local weatherman availed him to the masses on the regular, he became a literal punching bag and his home and wife targets of the most unfortunate of furtive folks.

Ultimately, all the mockery and beatings led to his death when one particularly minatory and mordant man shot him in the head, effectively widowing poor Adrianne. While this event was without question tragic, by comparison, Adrianne’s life in Maritime was now at least ten-fold improved. After Ted Felix’s death and the stunning confirmation that he had been right all along, Adrianne was awarded a gasp-worthy sum from the city for all her hardship endured. Now, in Maritime, she was one of the wealthiest and most respected citizens. In short, what Adrianne wanted, Adrianne got.

On Tuesday, a full week after her first eyeful of Ceru, Adrianne got her second view. Ceru was dressed in turquoise that blended in with the serene aquatic seascape and her breather-head sparkled in the sunbeams. She looked as if the sea itself had manifested into womanly form- all mystic, magic, and uncapturable majestic. Adrianne discreetly stalked Ceru throughout the day, making sure to never once take her eyes off her, least she disappear again.

At sun-down this quest became more challenging without turning on her breather-head light, so Adrianne decided it was time to make her move. While Ceru approached a homestead, Adrianne tapped ever so light and tingly upon her arm.

“Pardon, allow me to introduce myself. I’m Adrianne.”

Ceru looked at her a bit shocked, but then smiled slowly as if she’d been expecting her all along.

“Yes,” Ceru answered, cupping her hand over Adrianne’s, “You are. Aren’t you? Wont you come in?”

Ceru lead Adrianne into her home. “How was your commute?”

Adrianne looked at her puzzled, “I’m sorry…?”

“You must be exhausted. I had a hellish amount of errands today.”

Adrianne suddenly blushed the color scarlet and felt like throwing up. She was accustomed to being in control and now she felt too much like the poor, teased and bullied wife of Ted Felix than she ever wanted to feel again.

“Oh,” she muttered, “oh…”

Ceru sat them both down on the seafa and nuzzled into her neck. “You don’t have to feel bad, Adrianne. I’ve been watching you too. In fact, I even prepared a bit of a lagniappe to give you for when you screwed up your courage to approach-“

Suddenly defensive, Adrianne burst out, “Well, why didn’t you approach then?”

Ceru just laughed and leapt to grab the lagniappe. When she returned she resumed her place in the crevasse of Adrianne’s neck and handed her the gift. Adrianne’s mouth opened wide again as if to protest but was stopped short by Ceru’s finger.

“Now, now, Adrianne. Let’s not have us an imbroglio shall we?”

Adrianne swallowed her discomfort, pride and expectations and decided things could be worse. She leaned in and quickly began undoing Ceru’s breather-head and with fast response, Ceru began to undo Adrianne’s. As soon as flesh was freed, their lips were intertwined in a passionate gambol of movement and joy.

(time's up! so, the end?)

Write three pages (you may use as much or as little of the page as you want) in any format (fiction, non-fiction, play, screenplay, poem, etc.) You may use the image above as a descriptive scene on one of the pages, or not- your choice!

Page 1. is titled "IN THE BEGINNING"
Use the words: Brood, Dastardly, Dulcet

Page 2. is titled "IN THE MIDST"
Use the words: Ebullience, Felicity, Inglenook

Page 3. is titled "IN THE END"
Use the words: Inure, Penumbra, Woebegone

Give yourself 30 minutes to write/create and 30 minutes to edit/re-write. 

-----------------*DO IT!
I am going to start posting these writing exercises regularly- maybe every day or once a week- most likely sporadically, whenever I think of it so check back often or watch your Facebook as I'll also post it there, too. I would like to invite everyone who wants to participate to join in! I would also love to feature everyone who does these exercises work so we can all read each others. You can participate and keep it to yourself, obviously, but think how fun it will be to do this together! So, when you are done e-mail it to me: andiebottrell(at)yahoo(dot)com and I will start posting them under the exercise's description with the Title and Author of the piece (you may sign it anonymous if you are shy). I will also post my own. Happy writing! 

*Oh, and you definitely don't have to consider yourself a "writer" to do these, if you're just a geek who likes having homework, or an artist of another kind looking for new ways to unlock inspiration, or if you just want to practice your writing and grammar skills or expand your vocabulary- these are all great reasons to join in!

------------------*
"On This Intermission"
by Andie Bottrell

IN THE BEGINNING

I brood, I admit. Can’t help it. I feel and it shows. I’m transparent. This dastardly move has brought me closer to a game I never wanted to re-enter. This game of “life conventional.” Seemingly dulcet creatures greet you with teethful smiles and trustworthy handshakes and talk your ear off when you just want a quick transaction for a cup of coffee, black.

IN THE MIDST

Felicity eludes me- replaced with lethargy, but don’t worry- I’m fighting it. I am armed with St. John’s wart and energy drinks and internal pressures of failing. These great motivators pull me out the inglenook when my sleepy head falls too low and for too long. I may not have yet found that same old ebullience I once and at times have had the pleasure of living with, but I strive, dammit, I strive on.

IN THE END

I dream about the end of this when I’ve become inured- a deadened paste, calloused and withered, but retaining inner moist and garden. Eclipses of the sun occur to frighten, delight and re-introduce us to our sight. I’ve lived through several in my life and can say this one only qualifies as a penumbra- partial in every way, though not light enough for me to stay to the end of my day to days. No, I require my woebegone to be woe gone away for good and to lay roots in the inspired land that makes my inner garden grow.

The beauty of an empty room
is that there are zero expectations
on what you are to be doing
but for your own

This empty space- this blank page
begs you to create upon, up, down,
around, on the floor and walls,
through every atom of it

Dance, sing, paint, recite,
beg of the gods, 
curse your demons,
relentlessly and unabashedly
do your living loudly!

And if you ever forget the
incredible, malleable power of an empty room,
if you ever find yourself
with tears in eyes
clutching a pillow
diary-whining about loneliness,
may you remember this-

THIS MOMENT

When you discovered the absolute joy
of an empty room
a space for you alone
enough space for you
and all your
you-ness to
EXPLODE!

i am a woman
on the verge
i am pushing
and it's absurd
you'd think I'd be
farther around the bend
but it has been
slow going again
and again
pushing through molasses
stopped up by huddled masses
this city's full of angels
and they don't need another
trying soul 
to entertain them
but the sucker is
i need to be that soul
because though my hair
is adept at changing
my soul's not so much
and it yearns to be 
appreciated for the 
hard working, but oft rejected
little, stubborn, bruised and 
worn down, limping but not yet
worn out 
son of a gun
it is
(please take me as i am)
(if you cannot- please make me better)
(please don't overlook me)
(please take me as I am)
(for what I am is: always trying)
(hurt but always rising)
(a woman on the verge)

Grandma
-
“The Golden Years are Rusty,” she said
From the bed that held her head sideways
To ease the dizziness and pain

“Sue’s always asking me for a cigarette,” she said,
“Even though she already has one- says hers don’t have
Nicotine in ‘em and mine do. She’s crazy.”

“My old roommate was a drunk and hooked on oxytocin.
She was just a bitch- has four kids- all of ‘em disowned her.
Tells you how nice she is. I asked them to move me to another room ‘cause she would get up in the middle of the night and I was always afraid she was gonna attack me. So they moved her to another room. Now I can at least get some sleep.”

“This other one- she keeps pissing and pooping her pants.
And she’s proud of it! She’ll come in, pants soaked, brown stained,
And say, ‘I woke up in a pool of pee’ – I say, ‘why don’t you wear depends?’
But she wont. And they can’t make her, I guess.”

“Then there’s this other, they call her the escape artist. She’s always trying to escape.
The other day I caught her out back- there’s a fence and there was a chair next to the fence and she was up on the chair with one leg swopped over the edge. I said, ‘Norma! Don’t!’ and they ran and got her.”

“Most of ‘em don’t talk- one guy in here talks, one guy in here I can have a conversation with- the rest have lost their marbles. This one woman- every night, the same thing, she has the same conversation with the nurse boy- and it just repeats on a loop, over and over every few minutes.”

“I gotta get outta here, or I’m gonna lose my mind. I try to stay sharp. I would hate to have a stroke- I hope I don’t have a stroke. Get trapped like that.”

“They keep serving these meals- you know, I’m a diabetic- and they keep serving these meals- everything with gravy. They’ll have three carbs in one meal- no greens. I think we’ve had maybe two times- maybe two times green beans and that’s it. They’ll serve a potato with mac and cheese! And you should see the owners- the whole family- huge! The one guy I think is 6’4” and must weight 400 pounds. Just huge- all of them.”

“This one lady, she keeps asking me for a cigarette even though she already has one- says hers don’t have nicotine in ‘em and mine do. Just batty.”

“Some of these people- they’re in their 90’s- I don’t want to live that long. Why?  Just trapped. Confused. Waiting to die.”

“The Golden Years,” she says with a sad laugh, “are rusty.”


Grandpa
-
A grunt that sounds like effort
But quickly turns to pain
Emanates from the kitchen
Followed by a large
“GODDAMMIT!"

I leap up, “Is everything okay?”

“NO!” he shouts
Frustrated
“Everything is difficult.”

He pouts
I crowd while trying not to crowd
My presence playing yo-yo
To his

Moments pass
And then…

“You’ll have to excuse me.
I’m not very friendly these days.
Everything is hard.”

“It’s okay,” I say,
“Just tell me how I can help.”

He nods

I stay, go, return, pause

He struggles with the frozen lasagna

“Do you want me to get that?” I ask.

“No.” He says as he keeps trying to do it himself

I watch the struggle
But sometimes look away to ease the discomfort
For both of us.

“Okay,” he says,
“You do it.”

I take the lasagna

“Put it on the top shelf,” He says
And I do

He has temper tantrums
Often
He doesn’t want to live like this
But he has to
So he has temper tantrums

And when his son calls from states away
He puts on a smile
And says not to worry-
That everything is okay-
They’re managing just fine
On their own

Even though it takes 45 minutes
Just to get out of bed
And his feet are swollen
And he can’t walk, can’t drive
Is depressed and angry
And would frankly,
Rather die
Than live like this

Over lasagna he gripes about the state of
The States
The way the government and economy have all gone to
Shit
And all politicians are idiots
And that he’s glad he’s leaving soon
The way it is

“The Golden Years…” he says to me,
Trailing off with an ironic smile
And a spec of that old Harlan
Sparkle in the eye