Every Friday authors worldwide gather around the virtual fireside of Rochelle Wisoff and share stories of 100 words, prompted by a common photograph, and exchange constructive criticism. Readers’ comments are also welcome. This week’s photo has been provided by fellow Friday Fictioneer Dee Lovering.
Thank you, Dee.
Here’s the story Dee’s photo inspired, which is actually a poem.
The Bunting
The sun-bleached bunting rustles, brittle
as the bell of the abandoned village church.
Then, it recoiled rustling from the black-frocked
village tongues congregated to snip and snipe,
then hang the flayed red tongues in honour
of the day of the saint.
Now, the tongues abandoned hang languid, limp
as the pimps preying on the splay
of gay punters come from afar to tongue
abandonment out of bottles and under bellies.
(c) Ann Isik 2014
Coming in at 70/100 words this week.
Poetic Mapping: Walking Into Art 
This made me go “ack” as it smells of human greed,decay and corruption in a town pock marked by passing time-don’t know if I got it right but liked the “slimy” feel of this poem Ann”:-)
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Thanks for your comments. Yes, you ‘got it’. Sorry about the smell of my pock-marked poem. 🙂
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Lol,no issues 😉
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Well done. I understood it better once I read the comments and your replies. It’s a sad state of affairs when poverty causes people to turn to those things in desperation. Good poem.
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Thanks, Patricia. It’s not really about poverty, though in fact, it is! It’s about poverty in spirit. Thanks for illuminating that dark corner of my poem. 🙂
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Places can change their nature just like people. In a couple of places I thought you could have avoided repeating a word and maybe strengthened the poem by doing so, but on the whole I thought it was a strong description of that fact.
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I love your concrit. It’s really triggered something. I think you might mean the variations on ‘abandon’? If so, I meant that, but you reflected it back at me (even if by accident) and I have since been thinking about the various meanings of abandon, abandoned, abandonment, etc. And I ended up with another word: insubstance. The word captures what’s behind what I’m writing about in the poem. It’s taking me a long time to achieve ‘substance’. I think ‘insubstance’ is Sorry about the speech, but I thought you’d like to know that your drop in the ocean has caused some nice ripples! 🙂
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Dark and distasteful? Never. Graphic? Well-written? With a clever use of language too. Well done.
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Thank you Sandra. You have boosted flagging morale, though scrubbing the deck of our boat under lovely warm sunshine has helped, too! Ann
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Poetry we need more poetry. This was really well crafted.
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Dear Ann,
I’m glad I’m not first to comment. 😉 Your answers clarify. Interesting way to look at tourism. Unfortunately not inaccurate.
Shalom,
Rochelle
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Nice images, I really liked “tongue abandonment out of bottles”.
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Thanks! Don’t know where this came from, but then I rarely do! Ann
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Ann, I read this as a decay of a village as their village is destroyed by prostiution and bars.. most likely not attracting the creme de la creme among guests…
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Yes, the trigger was the bunting. I conjectured that it was probably in the past made by ladies of the church to celebrate a saint day. Rather than prostitution, I thought tourism. But with some tourism there’s not a lot of difference between the two, excepting that money doesn’t change hands! Thanks for commenting. 🙂
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I can’t say I understand exactly what’s going on here…but I’m quite disturbed and very intrigued…
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I’m sorry for disturbing you, but thanks for persevering to the end anyway. You deserve a medal for bravery. 🙂
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Ann, a well-written, descriptive poem that has me sitting with my face twisted in an expression of distaste for what you portrayed. I think that will indicate success to you. 🙂
janet
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Yes, this is dark and distasteful. I’m sorry, but these things will out …! Ann
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Hi Ann
I love the “black-frocked village tongues congregated to snip and snipe” – and there are many many beautiful phrases squeezed into this little poem.
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Thank you! 🙂
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I’m sorry, but I’m not the smartest egg in our basket (that’s a yolk). I don’t understand this but I love the flow of the words. Does that make sense? I hope so, for I mean this truly as a compliment! Thanks, Nan 🙂
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Thanks Nan, you are eggstremely kind. 🙂 I didn’t expect to write a poem. Well, the stuff I am calling bunting looked like bleached frayed tongues with just a smattering of dried blood. And it developed from there. Maybe I need counselling:)
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