Time to Write!

It will soon be November 1, and with that comes the annual writing frenzy known as National Novel Writing month (Not to be confused or equated with the organization by that name). After over a decade of writing with a particular group over this month, I once again have found myself being rejected and denied participation with said group. Despite that, I will be writing this month — and, with a group of others who have likewise faced their senseless censure.

With that off my chest, I feel free to open my notebook and write the first word. Yes, I’m starting today — as soon as I post this. Don’t know where the journey will lead, or what story will emerge. Then again, that is the fun, the mystery, the love of the November write! So, if you’re one of the rejected, or just one who likes to write with a smaller, more supportive group, then feel free to come and join us: https://www.facebook.com/groups/351645278350381/

Friday Fictioneers… The Memorial…

98 words. Thank you, Rochelle ( http://rochellewisofffields.wordpress.com/ ) for another excellent photo prompt! I hope you enjoy this week’s submission! More poetry than prose, but seriously deep.

Copyright -B. W. Beacham

Copyright -B. W. Beacham

Every year,
we come.
the scene the same.
we stare across to the white poles on the opposite shore.
Father would watch the execution ceremonies, watch the old ones die.
we stood and watched them led out, chained up, silent.
the scene the same.
Every year,
we come.

This year,
we come.
the scene the same.
we stare across to the people on the opposite shore.
You watch the execution ceremony, watch the old ones die.
we stand silent before we’re lead out, chained up.
the scene is the same.
This year,
we came.

Next year,
you come.

“The Mask”

The Mask

This image of me you see
a woman of strength
of character and maturity
this woman, this image
it is not of me.
It is a mask
created in your mind
of what you think,
you hope,
you tolerate me to be.
The real me
you do not see
the real me cringes
in the face of responsibilities
the real me is afraid
in the face of reality
The real me is a coward
a shivering pacifist at heart.
No,
I am not the mighty red warrior
your heart and mind
has painted my mask to be
I am not the sainted soldier
toughened, roughened
in the sands of mediocrity
I am merely what I am
I am what Creator made me to be…

I am ME!

BSM
2014

“Image of Me”

I cannot be this image
this person you’ve painted me to be
I cannot be this image
of brave warrior woman
when inside my soul cries
I cannot be this image
of stoic adulthood laden with responsibility
when inside my soul longs to escape
I cannot be this image
anymore than I can be
the tree in the forest or
the fawn playing in the meadow
I cannot be this image
this person you’ve painted me to be.

BSM
2014

“Crash”

Tangled, mangled montage
shattered glass, blood
seeping cracks, bones
screaming terror

Images of pain
too great to bear
scattered like the sands
amid the storm.

BSM
2014

“Within the Sword”

The sword
strong, brave, sharp
forged in blood ore
hard volcanic slag
worthless
smelted
melted
molded in form
the sword
within the stone.

BSM
2014

Friday Fictioneers… The Red Cross

This week’s picture really didn’t do it for me, but instead, the quote from Henry David Thoreau hit the nail on the head.

“It’s not what you look at that matters, it’s what you see.’ Henry David Thoreau

borrowed from Google Images

borrowed from Google Images

The vehicle pulled up to the orphanage, the large red cross emblazoned upon the side. The symbol, standing for the medicos who brought life-giving medicines to those in need. The orphanage had a need, attacked as it had been by the very ones who opposed the murdering of innocents. The vehicle pulled up to the orphanage, the back doors opened. Inside, soldiers who’d exchanged their Khaki and digi-camos for scrubs and white jackets, stood up and began to pile out into the street.

Snipers and soldiers held their fire. They were doctors and nurses of course. They were here to heal the sick, the wounded. It was against the Geneva conventions to fire upon them.

The soldier-docs entered the orphanage at a run, afraid that they would be fired upon despite the emblems that marked them as non-violent participants in the war. Inside, they finished their mission…

Today is the First day in the rest of your Life!

August 2017
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