Take Two...

by Fiona Brehony

Sunday 7th March 2010 3:52 pm

OK so you didn't like the first six! So here are six more photos to make some sort of creative reaction too... whether it's a poem, flash fiction, short sentence, a short story, six words describing each image, a poem, screenplay, or if you've got the time, use all the pictures in the Picture this series to create a novel the easy way!

Whatever, write something and put it in Comments box below this article to share with the world.

The rules are:
Whatever you want them to be!!
You can use just one photo or them all!

The choice is yours!

◄ Dear Dermot

Huddersfield Literature Festival 10-14 March 2010 ►

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Comments

Gus Jonsson

Sun 21st Mar 2010 12:53

Pretty pictures
Painted scrawls
A myriad of colours on city walls

Spelling out her name

Rose
A pole dancing Queen
Only Seventeen

Can’t your hear the drums?

Fernando is keeping up a good face

Listen
It’s just jazz

Julian (Admin)

Sun 21st Mar 2010 09:30

All across the city
The writing was on the wall
For the Pole, who
Between her fingers,
Rose to such heights
That, war-blushed,
He could turn
The other cheek
At their finger pointing.

I prefer a single image when stimulating free writing. The idea, for me, is to trigger a single spark from which their own ideas flow. Having more than one feels less like stimulus and more like trying to satisfy the tutor’s choice of photo. But perhaps that's just me?

<Deleted User> (7790)

Sun 21st Mar 2010 09:09

SCRATCHITTI

The toys have visited
Going cap cap cap like the OCDs they misruly are

Decisions are backjumps
They’re landfill in the lungs
Make one, break one, they’re neither heaven nor slam
Sh1t no,
You can commit them like stickers

Me, I was
Almost all city queen till, buff,
my gallery gets massacred
Holler props to the anti-hat for that.

Sunlight registered on the Mohs scale of mineral hardness
When I went racking for cannons

Restocked on potential,
I baled a soft rose/ bombed an epiphany –
Which was this:
All Nature is grafflage

So, me, I leaned into a wall till my face was a throw up
& went legal

<Deleted User> (7134)

Sat 20th Mar 2010 11:58

The idea here is not to become frustrated... but to merely have fun with what you see!
No one (I hope..) is judging, but 'interested' to see what the mind can find from glancing at the photos!

... there's blood on my face, please hand me a rose to wipe the sins from my fore....
..oh and on the topic one's nose does not appreciate such an embrace - please hang me some place empty of people; full with words, disarmed yet bright.
Then sing me a song a five-pence not six and be sure to make HIM dance, if HE is to see the reality of my now, petal stained fod.

(I chose free-writing)

x

<Deleted User> (7790)

Sat 20th Mar 2010 07:55

Two Fingers

Hey, Graffiti Exchange Rate:
how many daubs to the doodle or dribbles to the spurt?
How much quantum to the chromatic sub atomic tag?
Me, I took my spraycan palette to the Broadway ticket office,
Knocked on the glass divide like the Spectre of the Rose I am,
Twisted a pink jet into the cashier's face
And hosed her till she was cockeyed indistinguishable,
For which she gave me tickets to the show.
At its conclusion I
Went onto the street where Pigment was manifest and bold,
Imagined the room inside the spraycan cooked up to bodyheat,
Saw the savage sepia genie inside
Attempting to snap the feed tube, the one
Drawing colour from the well into the nozzle.
Of course I had to stop him or lose the shade,
So I shook him till his body splattered into spectra.
His infrared face and chrome yellow conversation loitered
Till I tampered with his breath.
Two Fingers did it.

Hatta. Early morning off-the-cuff spieling. Back to bed, now, with a cup of tea!

kath hewitt

Fri 19th Mar 2010 05:08

This was as far as i got with this one.

Graffiti

insults and appraisals
colours bright emblazoned
in amongst a mass of
other scrawls
names and declarations
of love and admiration
cover all the spaces
on the walls.
A new way of expression
for a younger generation
of which most people
are apalled.

Ann Foxglove

Thu 18th Mar 2010 18:16

His thoughts were like an explosion in a paint factory.

He said he never meant to massacre the entire audiance of Mama Mia.

He returned home for a little pole dancing, just to relieve the pressure,

but his face just got redder and redder.

He bought a wreath of pink roses for the audience for Mama Mia,

who included his mother, Mia.

If only he'd gone to Ronnie Scotts instead!

Isobel

Thu 18th Mar 2010 08:39

Oh - I've got the wrong end of the stick then. Perhaps Fiona should treat us to her creative reaction at some point. Always interesting to see how other people's minds work.

winston plowes

Wed 17th Mar 2010 22:22

I don't think that the sole idea is to connect them Isobel. win :-)

Isobel

Wed 17th Mar 2010 22:18

These are proving no easier to connect Fiona - as Win's valient attempts prove. The best I can do is:-

The writing's on the wall for the West End as the youth of today stay at home to pole dance, practise horticulture and pick their noses. Meanwhile somewhere in America a bald pianist breaks wind on the side of a building.

Sorry it that's a bit weak but at least I tried....

winston plowes

Wed 17th Mar 2010 22:08

scrawl / wall / street
slide / my / rose
nose / blown/ freeze

Win

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