Woman Writers' New Year's Resolution---Musical Prompt

In two thousand eleven I could go to heaven.

So, in two thousand ten I'll pick up my pen. Again.

And again and again and again and again. And Again.

And again and again and again and again and again and again and again.

And then, I'll pick up my pen again. And again and again and again and

Again and again. And again. And again.

In two thousand eleven you might go to heaven.

So pick up your pen. Now.

In two thousand twelve the Aztec calendar will end.

Another reason to pick up your pen.

In twenty thirteen, write where you've been.

Write what you've seen

And in two-oh-one four

Just write some more.

Collaborative Sonnet

Note: I've indicated the changes in writer with the font changes below.

The crown of fire pulled her on
She grabbed her stick and moved
Her flame tiara was like a dawn
Shouting out that she was proved
That she was valued, honest, pure
And should no longer have to endure
The harshness of the world
She could remain a sweet and innocent girl
And sing and dance and skip and play
And awake sweetly for yet another beautiful day
"So hark, oh crown of fire, heed what I say!
A phoenix I am, not a lump of clay!"
Honest, pure and valient I shall be
With my passion make a tempest of the sea!"

Collective Collaborative Sonnet

She was a bride whose soul was shrinking.
The magnificent sunset of gold-orange left her feeling flat.
She pondered what it was she had been thinking
To marry a man who always dressed like that!
She chided herself-- so petty! So particular!
Why did she care what the poor man wore!
His sex appeal was more vehicular
the Mercedes coupe was a 4-door
His nose hair was a distraction
but knowing the Berkshires, a plus.
His invention of a new contraption,
and his large bank account a major bonus.
For lack of better choices, he'd do
Whatever the girl wanted him to

Animal Medicine Card Prompt

Of two minds, Rudie was a conundrum. Sweet Blackbird, mama's boy, played beneath the starlit sky. Hopped along the grassy banks, perched high in the cherry tree, swinging his legs and sending white blossoms down like snow. He was his mother's delight.

She made the cave which was most of their home warm and inviting. Rudie was free as a squirrel; played all day into the night, then crawled in between blankets and furs to sleep soundly. Simple boy. Simple Blackbird boy sleeping soundly. Soundly sleeping, this sweet Mama's boy, tucked snug inside cozy cave, his mother humming.

Dreamtime was not so kindly to Rudie. Inside his mind was bleakness and malice of every kind. Inside, behind closed eyes, below his boy smile, demons sought entry and gained access to his tenderness. Rudie was a Blackbird in his dreams, flying over field, tree top, brook. He'd wave to his mother far below, she'd squint her eyes as though looking at the sun, fear upon her face, and go inside.

Blackbird Rudie boy was terrorized by the deeds he did in his sleep. Dragon claws on his hands sliced tender creatures, his mouth of fire brought destruction when he tried to speak. Locked inside this dragon form, his mother fled, the small animals ducked underground afraid of his willful violence.

Prompt - Lost & Found

Lost and found, like a box under the desk at the office, full of children's coats and mittens, all unmatched of course. Like the woman who sists there, her legs tucked under the desk that hides the box. She is the gaurdian of lost things. When a child comes in, like with his mother standing annoyed and impatient behind him, but also with that look I am teaching you a lesson here, the woman, the guardian takes out the box, reaching down past her pantyhosed legs to her boxy, comfortable shoes. She takes out the box and goes through it with the boy. What color did you say that hat was, hon? Red? Is this it? Often she was the reuniter. Often she bore the sad news.
Maybe you left it on the bus? You could ask your bus driver. Which do your ride? The Thumpuer bus? Well, you ask Mrs. Peters, dear. Maybe she's seen it.
And, always, the child looked dejected. Even if they refused to wear the hat which is why it was lost as the mother reminds him as they leave the office.
Carol is always sad after these encounters. She wants to run after the boy, take his soft, warm hand in hers and say: Child, you will lose many things. There will not always be a box to come looking in. Hold tight to the things that matter.
But the mothers are there, their impatient, efficient heels clicking down the hallway.
Instead, Carol pulls out her calendar and flips the pages backwards and tries to remember what she's misplaced.

Oct. 30, Alida's Friday morning workshop

Prompt - FROG

Frog. Prince. Frog. Prince. Frog. Prince.

When you're young it's possible to love someone madly one day --- he's a prince! And to despise him the next --- the toad. Ideally your man will become a frog prince. Not because he's been transformed with a kiss and some careful instruction into what you want him to be or think he should be. But because you have learned to see him in his entirety. As a frog prince ---

warts and all.

Prompt: Lost and Found

"I once was lost but now I'm found," Carla sang, not loudly, at the back of the church. She stopped, let her mind travel from Uncle Bob's funeral. She thought about God's Lost and Found, wondered if He had a big box sitting next to Heaven's door, a box full of things people had forgotten, had left behind. What would you find there? Lost souls, of course. She imagined these must look like Peter Pan's shadow: flat and flimsy as silk, easy enough to scrape apart from a body, and then there's no telling whose is which. What would happen, she wondered, if somebody accidentally picked up someone else's soul, didn't realize it, just draped it on and went on living. Of course if you took someone else's soul on purpose, that's different. Of course you'd go straight to hell. But what if it was an honest mistake?

Carla looked down at her scrawny body, covered in black out of respect for her dead uncle. She wondered if this was really her own soul, or if a wild wind one night had blown hers off and down the road, if that wind had slammed her neighbor's soul right into her insides while she dreamed at night. Maybe that explained her naughty thoughts. Maybe that explained her confusion.

--Alida Thacher