You may, if you wish, make some kind of link between the Haiku Challenge prompt of (COMFORT and Erupt). and this Décima Challenge of CAUSE in the A rhyme line. This means you could write a haiku post using the prompt words. Then do a Décima post using this week’s prompt uniting the two with a common message.
The 2 CHALLENGES are SEPARATE but CAN BE combined if YOU CHOOSE to do so. I have chosen to combine with my haiku which can be found here.
If you eat behind a closed door. Pretending to the world your not. You may bloat and your skin erupt. Sadness or whatever the cause. Comfort eating expands your flaws. Dirty plates tell the sordid tale. Of how you’ve tried and how you fail. It makes no matter how you try. The calories just multiply. Losing weight makes you want to wail.
KL Caley at Novel Ideas has offered to take on Sue Vincent’s #writephoto weekly challenge now Sue has moved on to a higher plain.
For visually challenged writers, the image shows a pair of comical glasses shaped like a rabbit’s ears and whiskers, the glasses are in a hedgerow.
Bunnies lead busy lives.
“Look” shouted Ben as they went past the park on the bus. “What?” asked his startled mum. “Look the Easter Bunny is hiding in the bushes.” Ben replied at the top of his voice.
“Where?” said his mum “I can’t see.” “Never mind” said Ben, “I definitely saw it! ”
Well really Ben’s mum thought to herself all that bluster of yesterday, the big row with his friends about there being no Easter Bunny 🐰. Opening her mouth she said, “but you don’t believe in the Easter Bunny?”
“That was yesterday mum , today I have seen the evidence of my own eyes. “
Further down the bus sat Emma, by day she worked as city banker, by night she was an assistant tooth fairy. At Christmas one of Santa’s Helpers and of course at Easter she was the Easter Bunny. Smiling smuggly to herself she thought, leaving her sunglasses and Bunny whiskers all over the place for children and adults to see was the best promotion idea she had had since the Easter Egg.!
In the near darkness, the woman’s right hand came gently down on my shoulder from behind. It was the signal that she was ready, that we could begin either the bravest or the stupidest thing we’d ever attempted.
It was April 2013. Sue Vincent and I were about to sing the opening of a temple ritual drama. Sitting on a small stool in front of her, I took a breath and let my fingers rest on the nylon strings of the Spanish guitar…
We were on our own, as Troubadours had often been, in history, conveying their truths as songs.
Around us in the half-light, lit only by a few electric candles and one small real flame in a glass lantern, around thirty people were pretending to be asleep, their heads nodded downwards, The hoods of their robes were pulled up…
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