Writers: A Challenge

Naturally Weird “In Five Words”

Mushrooms. Photo Credit: Tremaine L. Loadholt

What you see before you are mushrooms growing in several different spots here in my apartment complex. We’ve had far too much rain recently and the ground opened up and spouted Earth’s funky looking fungus, so . . . I took a couple of photos.

I am not a lover of mushrooms, not even the edible kind. I don’t care for the texture or how they feel when chewed. Ick! I’ve always found them naturally weird. So, that’s the challenge. Tell me about something you think is “naturally weird” but using only five words.

Here’s mine:

mushroom invasion
perfect funky
fungi


What about you, writers? Can you handle this challenge? Be creative. Flaunt those skills. Tell me all about what you think is naturally weird but use just five words. Let’s do this, beautiful people!


Feel like dancing? I do too. Outkast, Morris Brown

YouTube

Originally shared on Medium.

wild child

microfiction

My little wild child stands in the woods–blows the dandelion seeds into the air and captures them when they fall. I look on with a smile plastered across my worried face. How long will she have in this world living wild and free before this world comes for her? My little wild child–notices my frozen, frustrated face and collects her seeds–places them in my hands . . . “Better days are growing, we just can’t see them right now, they’re only seeds.” My little wild child . . . lights up my life . . . lights up my life.

Spring’s Mighty Grip On the Cusp of Summer

Musical Selection: The Isley Brothers|Here We Go Again

Another shot of my best friend’s plant therapy room. The Healing Space. Photo Credit: Tremaine L. Loadholt

An Audio Poem

Bugs, blooms, and birds are wild
with life, each pressing through their
own way of being.

I am gifted by the heavens to
open my eyes, spread out
my arms, and let the rain wash
over me.

Chirping pummels through my
windows, louder than I can
tolerate, but the harmony
is mesmerizing.

I won’t complain.

The dog and I walk around
our neighborhood at a fast
pace, picking up speed as
the wind howls on a subtle
spring day.

The sun plays hide-and-seek
with the clouds and every other
day is a race to beat the
grip of Winter while waiting
on the cusp of Summer.

“I have no fight left in me”
is what I tell a friend who
asks how I’m dealing
with death.
 
Death of a season
Death of a job
Death of a hobby
Death of family
Death of a friend . . .

“I have no fight left in me.”
And it’s part true and
part lie but she doesn’t
ask a follow-up question
and for this, I am grateful.

I spend most of my
vacation time away at my
best friend’s house lulled
by nature in her
plant therapy room,
losing who I was — 
finding who I should be.

I am changing with the
season and with every breath
I’m given, I look forward
to shedding this skin.

I want to see the person
under it.

I’ve been waiting to
meet her.


Originally published in Where Wild Things Grow via Medium as a response to the May the Seasons Change prompt.