Day 5: January Mindful Writing Challenge

Door by Thomas Hawklead to the gate
the baggage door is closed
cicada shower

Ken Sawitri

*

We’re on the fifth day of the January Mindful Writing Challenge - please post your small stone in the comments below. If you’re not already signed up, our 31 Days of Waking Up daily email package was designed to accompany you during this (or any) month of mindful writing. Keep writing!

Door by Thomas Hawk

Comments & replies

131 thoughts on “Day 5: January Mindful Writing Challenge

  1. Catriona

    With softness in your voice you tell me your sadness as we roll the thundering bins up the long driveway. The kind eyes of strangers whose snippets of lives, and shed, we share.

    Reply
  2. Kylie Whyte

    Nan’s old chair, wisps of torn floral fabric, and the same old square brown cushion. No lipstick-stained cigarette graces its arms now, in remembrance of her. But I still see an echo of flannelette, concealed in the warp and weft of memory

    Reply
  3. Linda

    Two stray rabbits have taken up residence in our yard. One has been here for a few months, the other about a week. Are they fertile? Are we going to have a whole family of rabbits digging up the lawn that I have spent so much effort trying to grow?
    Anyone want a couple of rabbits to take home?

    Reply
  4. Brinda

    *****
    taking pictures
    the need to capture
    this essence
    …..
    time flows
    in between fingers
    once, a tiny seed
    ….
    a drop
    into the ocean
    now, a sapling
    …..
    dragging
    through the chores
    the backbone strengthens

    ……

    Reply
    1. Lindy Fly

      Must be Australia – haven’t seen a rainbow lorikeet in years. Northern Idaho – poor old ravens and bald eagles seach determinedly for the hungry mouse, stray fish. Cheers mate!

      Reply
  5. Paul L. White

    Oh Holidays! Sweet Holidays!
    Why must you leave so soon?
    ‘Tis only one more day that’s left,
    And we will then begin to moon:

    Another year, a whole long year,
    Before your sweet return.
    Unpack your bags, and stay awhile,
    So we can further mem’ries burn:
    *
    Those Fragrances, dear Fragrances,
    Which still the heart with Joy.
    Remain and waft your magic, please,
    That we might Bliss again employ.

    Reply
  6. oakhart

    I grasp at the gate
    but do not see its beauty
    just what lies through its keyhole
    fussy, lacking in definition.
    And that is the paradox,
    I want what I cannot see,
    Missing the beauty
    Laying beneath my finger tips
    And in front of my failing eyes.

    Reply
  7. Lizzie Carver

    Changing the light bulb at the top of the stairs
    One-handed
    The other, welded to the ladder.
    Once on solid ground, I press my hands to each side of my head
    To stop the wobble inside.

    Reply
  8. Maaike Klaster

    Dead weight. Me.
    Carrying around for a lifetime.

    or

    Creeking wooden floors
    annoying invisible neighbours.
    Teaching a man how to dance.

    Reply
  9. Andree

    I sip coffee and review philosophy
    My mind at once focused and restless.
    Every day, I practice detachment:
    “Not my circus”
    I remind myself of the old proverb
    “Not my monkeys.”

    Reply
  10. JulesPaige

    a tanka:
    cheers
    *
    friends have a skill we
    can drink, homebrew and laughter
    mix well; loosen tongues
    *
    as we part; crisp banana moon
    guides us safely to our home
    *
    ©JP/davh

    Reply
  11. Lindy Fly

    Sandpoint, ID 9:20 a.m.
    Twilight to my sunny frozen morn.
    Hours difference inferred, half a day
    you’ve lived, yet really
    You dance
    instantaneously
    I sense a swirl.
    You smile
    the sun or star twinkles brighter
    all things connected.
    XOX

    Reply
  12. Litsa

    Baritone, soprano and ancient words blend, they soar in perfect harmony. My eyes close and I am carried on the wings of praise, heart open.

    Reply
  13. beverley

    As astonishingly strong as the spider’s silk that has been cast between the fence post and the shiny laurel leaf, I feel the fine thread of her life. No pattern to admire, just the simplicity of the solitary leap across the unknown; her life lived and living yet.

    Reply
    1. SM Jenkin

      This is astonishing. I love the simplicity of it, but there is also the strong image of the spiders silk attached to the laurel leaf. I would love to hear more of this story…

      Reply
  14. SM Jenkin

    Grey chimney above a fractured skyline; at the zenith the red light blinks its eye, a staccato warning watching over the maritime hospital. In the twilight, robins and thrushes serenade the hushed roar of the approaching Fiat. The fresh wind brushes my cheek, caresses the trees beside and behind me and leading down the hill past the Victorian houses in formation along the avenue.

    Reply
  15. Pam Niles

    Fine bone china teacup, how many lips have been tipped to your scalloped rim in the time before your gold gilt and flowered trim became faded and worn, ignored now, never used, your crown logo stamp as faded as the memory of the era in which you were formed? Fine bone china teacup, may I dust you off?

    Reply
    1. SM Jenkin

      What an interesting piece! I can see the cup in my minds eye, and who hasn’t asked themselves this before using a “nice” cup… Beautifully described

      Reply
  16. Brian Hasson

    Tomorrow was to see the start of a new Journey for me, but a delay means that taking the first step is going to become harder, but the Journey doesn’t start without that step.

    Reply
  17. Brian Hasson

    Tomorrow was to see the start of a new Journey for me, but a delay means that taking the first step is going to become harder, but the Journey doesn’t start without that all important first step.

    Brian

    Reply
  18. Helen Lewis

    Number six

    It stands alone on the street corner, perfectly rectangular, its front door central and bright blue, its square windows evenly spaced, its roof featureless apart from a chimney at one end. A child’s drawing brought to life.

    Reply
  19. Hajra

    The Rose was in its full bloom
    Majestic with its rich silky soft petals
    Yet sadly its existence was short lived…
    As after a few days I noticed that it had started to fade away
    The petals became arid…
    And at a gentle touch, they all fell to the ground
    Leaving it exposed to the harshness of Nature…

    Reply
  20. Joan

    http://gollygee1.wordpress.com/

    #smallstone 5

    Quiet,
    Early dawn,
    Sun not yet risen.

    Everyone’s still asleep
    but me.

    I feast on the silence,
    the stillness that fills me
    with peace,
    even though knowing
    that it is only temporary
    and will be broken

    Utter chaos will erupt all too soon
    but for now,
    there is quietness within.

    The stillness of the dawn
    surrounds and fills me
    with Serenity.

    Reply
  21. Sherilee

    Moving again.
    Quickly and joyfully,
    making lists and ticking items off.
    Such satisfaction.
    One day, some day, I dream
    of the putterer’s paradise, a middle state
    ‘tween neutral and high gear.
    For now, I revel in the stroke
    of pen to paper,
    Another box checked.

    Reply
  22. Morgan

    His mouth is like a bow. He sits opposite me in the bath, listing the names and powers of all the ‘Turbo’ snails. I listen, determined, in hot water. I feel my heart open out and extend to him, back from his dad’s after the weekend.

    Reply
  23. Sharon Black

    We push a snowball up the bank,
    then another.
    Sheep scat for eyes,
    stone for a nose, broken twig
    for a smile, a grass tuft fag.

    You add bunches of bleached grass
    under a granite pillbox hat,
    fashion two pneumatic breasts
    with acorn nipples, resist the urge
    to add a pubic thatch.

    Reply
  24. Catriona

    From the passenger window I glimpse through grey; a tiny pink raincoat walking on a wall, hand holding tightly to her Mum’s.
    “Do you remember that?” I ask.
    Then across the road; a small hooded boy grins from his Dad’s shoulders, giving life a double thumbs-up.
    We smile.

    Reply
  25. laurie granieri

    W. 75th St., Feast of Epiphany, tomorrow is trash day, Christmas trees tossed to the curb, dry needles pricking last week’s snow.

    Reply
  26. julie daigle

    The signs of a day spent dozing in and out of wakefulness on an old couch, the kind that is longer than it is high: a rucked-up cover- it used to be white- and disarrayed chocolate brown velveteen blanket, the contrasting folds as telling to a hunter as individual grains of sand in a footprint. I was here. Follow me.

    Reply
  27. larry p

    The baby in the back pew,
    clothed in a “baby”-blue onesy,
    began dancing during our anthem.
    Or so it appeared, as his mother
    bounced him in time to the music.
    For a brief time we had
    a quiet, attentive, and smiling baby.

    Reply
  28. S.E.Ingraham

    BLACK BIRDS AGAINST THE SNOW
    So brave they look, lining up along the snowy wire,
    not hunched into themselves for warmth the way
    the sparrows and other smaller fowl tend to be – no,
    these large blackbirds – be they crows or ravens – it’s
    impossible to tell from this distance and through
    such a blizzard — they’re almost standing at attention,
    as if waiting for a signal, it seems. I find I cannot look
    away.

    Reply
  29. Julie Rogers

    We promised ourselves a date this morning and am eager to stare and feast my eyes on the dawn.
    My nature at one with nature
    Traveling up and Coming through the tombstone cold bone pneumonia with my grit pearls harvested deep in my fluid to wait in gratitude and anticipation for the dawning of this our day as one. Feeling in love and ready for our communion. I have made my own medicine and own it. A birth of acknowledgement and the sap gaining momentum.

    Reply
  30. Brinda

    *****

    she’s not dead yet
    the house emptied
    into gaping wagons


    travelling the continent
    her memories and stories
    hidden in each drawer


    her voice croaks
    with concern and anguish
    asks in broken phrase
    “I’m worried you did not
    have your share!”

    ….
    “No, Gramma, we didn’t,
    but we have you!”
    A blank silence covers
    the distance that
    deafens our ears….

    *****

    Reply
  31. Christine de Jong

    Feeling the calm and gentle care for my wellbeing by my guardian angel….reassuring me that all is as it should be….

    Reply
  32. Nicole

    Ducks on the river…
    Disapearing under the water
    Us, watching, waiting, waiting and waiting
    Where is he ? How is it possible ? Did he drawn ?
    Giving up and walking away
    Looking back and crying excitedly
    - There he is !
    No, it’s this one, coming out and looking
    just as if he hadn’t done anything special!

    Reply
  33. Nicole

    Ducks on the river…
    Disapearing under the water
    Watching, waiting, waiting and waiting
    Where is he ? How is it possible ? Did he drawn ?
    Giving up and walking away
    Looking back and crying excitedly
    - There he is !
    No, it’s this one, coming out and looking just as if he hadn’t done anything special!

    Reply
  34. Satya Robyn Post author

    a chunk of ice has escaped the puddle & lies on the frosted grass. the green shows through the pane. it has rounded corners, and is almost perfectly square.

    Reply
  35. Aleta Chossek

    The gate between life and death opens to this black haired son of Tanzania, Senegal, the United States and the world. Latino, midwestern Americans, Indian, African care givers midwife this daily miracle. The hopes and dreams of a world view encompass this precious babe.

    Reply
  36. kaye

    She overanalyzes the smallest decision. She is my oldest child. I am the oldest child of my family also and also a woman. I want to give her permission to break free of the mold that she thinks she needs to fit into, but this is not a piece of paper that I can sign, a “yes” that will set her free. She must give this to herself and I hope that she is able to much sooner than I did myself.

    Reply
  37. bob

    Recycled air fuels recycled memories.
    It’s a brand new flight,
    but I feel like I’ve been on this plane ride before.

    Reply
  38. Nina

    Another late post stone….
    Sitting at a sticky-edged table in a room full of writers

    writing silent scribbles across blank pages

    Atmosphere alive with open hearts spilling.

    I write a poem about walking up the volcano without you

    on our first Valentine’s Day.

    Reply
  39. Kirsten Cliff

    Monday morning after the holidays and the world seeps back to normal
    I take down the Christmas tree, leaving an emptiness behind me

    (posting ones I forgot to post here — all are on my blog though!)

    Reply
  

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