Suddenly everything turned dark. Night surrounded them as the train kept rolling down the track. It made Henry uneasy, but as he looked around young Purrlin was still shoveling coal into the firebox and Simmi had now crawled up on his lap for comfort!
Purrlin’s voice seemed clear above the noise of the train. Don’t let the dark night bother you. It only lasts for a short time and soon you will see the light again.”
Henry looked out the window at the full moon peaking above the clouds. He knew as long as the train stayed on the tracks he would be fine. The train’s black smoke billowed back across the engine, and blended into the night sky!
The dark got even darker as the train charged into the mountain tunnel.
At the far end, Henry saw the morning light welcoming him.
Henry only paused a few seconds. When he heard the voice saying, “If you are a dreamer, come in.” he could not resist. He always had a vivid imagination and loved the mystery of ‘what comes next?’ in the books he devoured.
As Henry stepped from the bright stoop into the dark hallway, it took a minute for his eyes to adjust. “Come in my child, it has been such a long time since I had visitors other than Simmi! As his eyes adjusted to the light, he saw a stooped old man holding Simmi on his lap. There was nothing fearful about him as Henry anticipated.
“My name is Purrlin. I can make dreams come true. Do sit down and tell me your dreams.”
Henry moved to the rickety old chair by the table. Should he tell the old man about his dream?
Painting: Dwight L. Roth
D’Verse Prosery prompt: “If you are a dreamer, come in” from Shel Silverstein’s poem Invitation…
Henry followed the big yellow cat down the block, wishing to pick her up and hear her purr. He continued across the street to the next block. She showed up before on the door step of his old brownstone buildings.
His mother told him not to wander off, but the cat seemed to want him to follow. Henry’s mother’s words faded away. He would only go a block or two.
The cat paused in front of a long winding stair case, then scampered up and through a large open door at the top. Henry thought perhaps he could meet the cat’s owner, so he slowly climbed to the top. As he peered into the dark opening, Henry heard an old man’s voice, “If you are a dreamer, come in my child.” He froze, uncertain whether to go in or run back down the steps.
Painting: Dwight L. Roth
Today at d’Verse, Lillian is challenging us with a prosery prompt. Prosery is a flash fiction piece, of exactly 144 words, that includes a line from a poem given by the host. The line is from Shel Silverstein’s poem, Invitation, as published in his wonderful book, Where the Sidewalk Ends. The line is, “If you are a dreamer, come in“.
“Why would anyone believe in God?” Or for that matter, “Why would anyone not believe in God. ““I prefer keeping in mind even the possibility that existence has its own reason for being.”
Such were the conversations between the old preacher and his grandson. His son did not follow in his steps and had left the church at an early age. Grandson Charlie, now a university student, decided to challenge Grandpa’s long held faith.
“Why do you believe such nonsense, Grandpa,” he asked. “You can’t begin to prove any of it.”
“Well, son, take a look at that daffodil blooming in the sunshine. Do you know anyone who could make a living breathing flower that is as wonderfully complicated as that?” “Some say it all just happened over time, but I believe the God of creation brought everything into existence for a reason.“
Photo: Dwight L. Roth
Today at d’verse, we are writing Prosery. This is where we are giving a line from a poem and asked to write a story of exactly144 words that includes that line. Merril gave us this line: “I prefer keeping in mind even the possibility that existence has its own reason for being.” from polish poet Wislawa Szymborska’s poem, “Possibilities”
My parents always told me I was an unusual child! When I began seeing visions at the age of six, everyone passed it off as childish fantasy.
As I grew older the visions became more detailed and urgent! There were visions like the time my grandmother was sick with cancer, and I saw her complete and whole again. Within that year she made a complete recovery.
Other visions were not as measurable, such as the time I spoke to my grandfather who had died the year before. He assured me all was well and not to worry.
Yesterday, I went out to the hazel wood, because a fire was in my head. I had an unusual feeling of anxiety and fear. It was New Years Day, 2020. The sun was bright, the trees were bare; but, there was this ominous dread like never before.
Painting – Dwight L. Roth
Today at d’Verse we are writing prosery, which is a flash fiction piece of 144 words that includes a given line from a poem. Kim gave us this line: I went out to the hazel wood, because a fire was in my head–from The Song of Wandering Aengus, by William Butler Yeats.
“Helen, where are you! When are you coming home. I miss you, please…let me know when you return. I will be down in Bruce’s room watching Wheel of Fortune.”
Paul wrote these notes carefully and neatly on the back of the napkin he brought back from the dinning room. His mind smoky, his focus clouded, he thought to himself, “Reading what I have just written, I now believe she may be gone for good.” His mind soon clouded again as he leaned back in his recliner.
In the time since he moved into his new apartment, he had not seen his wife Helen. He could not imagine where she might be. She might come through the door at any time. Day after day he waited and wondered. He left notes for her, in case she returned, while he was out, but to no avail.
Today at d’verse, Lillian is guiding our Prosery. Prosery is where we take a given line from a poem and incorporate that line into a prose piece of only 144 words. Today she asked us to include the line: “Reading what I have just written, I now believe” taken from Louise Gluck’s Faithful and Virtuous Night and her poem Afterwards.
I decided to write my piece about the emotions and feelings of one with Alzheimer’s disease. Eight years ago my father-in-law had to be confined to a care facility in the weeks following Christmas. Although he seemed to adjust well to his new environment, not being with his wife was very traumatic for him. This is a glimpse of that time. Although we took him to see her, he did not remember after he was back at his residence.
“You know,” he mused, “Some folks don’t believe there is a God. They get all tangled up with religion and theological arguments about who is right and who is wrong, and miss the bigger picture.”
Grandpa always did have a unique perspective on life. He was wise beyond his years, but only shared his wisdom if asked.
“Aren’t your afraid of catching Covid and dying,” I asked?
“You know son, there are a lot worse things in living than in dying. Death is knocking on all of our doors!”
“I believe there is a God who is the source of all life, and that my life will continue on long after this old pain-ridden body is gone.”
I thought about what he said, as he continued, ‘We look at him through the wrong end of the long telescope of Time’.
“God’s Love is eternal!”
Painting By Dwight L. Roth
Today at d’Verse, Kim is having us do Prosery. This is when we write a prose piece of flash fiction (144 words) that includes a random line form a poem she chooses for us. She gave us this line from the D. H. Lawerence poem, Hummingbird: ‘We look at him through the wrong end of the long telescope of Time’.I decided to write my piece as a conversation.
A Dunkard Brethren church once sat at the top of the ridge overlooking Willow Run. Now in crumbles of brick and mortar, flowering honeysuckle invite bees to commune at their cups of sweetness. Blacksnakes slither through the rubble looking for a toad or rat residing there.
It was in this church where itinerant preachers on horseback brought fiery brimstone, forgiveness, and grace to the faithful who gathered. Souls were saved and dunked all the way under in Willow Run.
On the hillside the full moon reflects off of a few protruding graveyard stones. Most have long since been overgrown and broken. The names on the stones kiss the ground, above the deceased as “In their dreams they sleep with the moon.”
Tales are told by the ancients, who still live nearby, that at midnight’s full moon rise, horses pounding hooves echo through the night!
Today at d’Verse, Merril introduce a prosery prompt. This is a short story of no more than 144 words that can be flash fiction, true, or far out imaginary. It must include a random line from a poem that she shared with us. Her line was from a Mary Oliver poem, (Death at Wind River),“In their dreams they sleep with the moon.”My story is flash fiction, based on a little church from my home town. My two brothers and I visited there two years ago, and I took a bunch of photos. These are a couple of photos from there. The story is made up.
He called me just last week from his Shack on the mountain. Seems, his wife sold the house, left, and had gone to Florida. For him, the Shack was his place to get away from the heat of the summer. She stayed home by herself. Her daughter came up and helped. They liquidated all in just a few weeks.
When I worked for him, we always enjoyed long conversations filled with stories of growing up in Eastern North Carolina. He was strong willed, opinionated, and had done just about everything in his seventy plus years. Now, my friend was calling for a listening ear.
Sadly he shared, “When it was over said and done, it was a time, and there never was enough of it.”
Bunky had slipped on the side of the mountain and hit his head on a rock!
Today at d’Verse, we are writing Prosery. This consists of writing a short story, flash fiction or true, exactly 144 words, and incorperating a line of poetry given to us by Lillian. The poetry line is taken from a poem by, “A Time” by Allison Adelle Hedge Coke.
The lines we were given were:
“When it was over said and done
it was a time
and there never was enough of it.”
The story above is a true story from a few years ago, when my good friend died suddenly in an accident at his place in the mountains.