This blog is for all who desire to create with words and images.
You are encouraged to participate in any way that is meaningful to you.

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All prompts beneath the photos are only suggestions.
You are free to use the photo to be inspired to write any way you desire.
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There is no deadline on posting,
you may offer your writing to any prompt anytime.
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Write and you are a writer.

Saturday, February 7, 2009

Looking Up

Photo by Dan Felstead
Wood and Pixels Narratives - http://www.woodandpixels.blogspot.com/
ETSY Shop: Wood andPixels - http://www.woodandpixels.etsy.com/
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Suggested Prompt...
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Offer in your writing today a creative hint about why
you are looking up at this building.
A story about a job interview, a poem about the lover who is up there,
a story from the perspective of the hot dog vendor there in front.
However, whatever.



_______________________

Now she sits on the curb
her face just as pale and gray as the city
that surrounds her

she glances up towards the neon ads
through the snow white petals
which fall on her hair
staring blankly through the yellow flashes
which quickly pass her by

and the dimly decorated people
without a glance to her slouched body
which sat on the dirty pavement
and stared
and reminded herself

this is not how i planned myself
so many years ago
she lost everything she ever had
even her mind and her dreams were taken

now she sits alone,
staring past the pale red awning
of the cart selling pretzels
then something catches her eye through the rushing cars

an orange peel
which had been blown to the gutter
opposite her
and it rocked in the gentle wind
waving at her
teasing her under the windows of the dimming buildings

a discarded orange peel
just as useless and insignificant as she
abandoned and trapped in the womb of this dark city
she felt a silent sense of harmony
with the object

and then the wind changed
and the orange peel turned
it rushed through the traffic to greet her worn shoe
where it sat
and rocked,
patting her comfortingly

and after she smiled down at it
she looked past the colorful city
to the sky
as she wondered to herself
since when did poetry
have to rhyme?

~
Cynthia




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9 comments:

Frankie said...

I always like to look up at things and wonder if anyone, at that exact moment is looking down on me. I do it whenever a plane passes overhead. I often wave. I wonder what they are thinking about. I like to think that there is someone doing and thinking the exact same thing. Wondering what I'm up to in my day.

When I look up at that building, I wonder who is looking out of the glass window and staring down to the street below, at me.

septembermom said...

Sandy hair boy clutching mom's hand.
All of you seems to want to scale that non-Lego structure.

Wide eyed boy stretching to point.
All those grownups zigzagging past you missing that great mountain of steel.

Smiling boy directed by mom.
Your eyes snap that picture to inspire a fridge masterpiece.

Peach Street ~ Jamie said...

Every time I look at one of these I think about that day....those towers. I'm always tempted to feel sorry for myself, for my losses and then I remember I AM looking up. No need to hang my head in defeat. I don't live in a country where that is necessary. I can look up at this building today the same way I can look at my future because when you're nearest to the ground the only way to go is up....

Dan Felstead said...

Thanks to everyone for your interpretations of the photograph. It is fascinating how each of us can view an image and feel a different experience. I am looking forward to everyone's take on the Hancock building.

Dan Felstead

I.N.Kwell said...

For 12 years Frank ran his one little stand, Frank's Hotdogs, outside the building. He politely served tourists, hungry passersby, and employees at the building. About the time Frank set up his stand, a dynamic young man had been hired at one of the companies housed in the skyscraper. He'd confided in Frank all those years, for all those lunches that he didn't have to take with clients or colleuges. In rain, snow or 99 degree temperatures, he'd always tipped Frank well. A few times he'd mentioned turning the stand into a franchise, Like McDonald's? Frank had asked. Better than McDonald's, his friend said, all everywhere was serving burgers, and no one served hotdogs. They'd fantasied about the money and luxary they would live in.
For the first time in 12 years Frank was outside the building without his cart, and he was wearing the only suit he owned. His friend met him at the doors, "Hey, man! The guys upstairs are real excited about this! The only promblem might be the product." he said, taking Frank inside the gleaming lobby.
"What's wrong with it?" Frank asked, confused.
"Nothing, you dogs are great! Its just that nobody serves hotdogs. How are you at making burgers?"

Cynthia said...

Brother and Sister Sparrows laughed
Mama smiled and sighed
When the smallest sparrow looked up and said
"Some day I'll fly that high!"

Cynthia said...

Now she sits on the curb
her face just as pale and gray as the city
that surrounds her

she glances up towards the neon ads
through the snow white petals
which fall on her hair
staring blankly through the yellow flashes
which quickly pass her by

and the dimly decorated people
without a glance to her slouched body
which sat on the dirty pavement
and stared
and reminded herself

this is not how i planned myself
so many years ago
she lost everything she ever had
even her mind and her dreams were taken

now she sits alone,
staring past the pale red awning
of the cart selling pretzels
then something catches her eye through the rushing cars

an orange peel
which had been blown to the gutter
opposite her
and it rocked in the gentle wind
waving at her
teasing her under the windows of the dimming buildings

a discarded orange peel
just as useless and insignificant as she
abandoned and trapped in the womb of this dark city
she felt a silent sense of harmony
with the object

and then the wind changed
and the orange peel turned
it rushed through the traffic to greet her worn shoe
where it sat
and rocked,
patting her comfortingly

and after she smiled down at it
she looked past the colorful city
to the sky
as she wondered to herself
since when did poetry
have to rhyme?

Stu Pidasso said...

SCREAM LIKE A BANSHEE!!
Howl through the wind swept oak tree!!
Air with direction,
carry my voice of frustration,
to Miles, my wonderful son!!

stu pidasso
from "Trainride Tankas"

Louise said...

@Cynthia
Just wanted to say, I really was gripped by your contribution. I was really there with her, with the orange peel poem. I felt for her, saw what she saw. How well you conjured that moment. Fantastic!