Esther Chilton

9 responses to “My Weekly Writing Challenge”

1. 

   Jason Moody

   June 2, 2016

   You in Bognor again?

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   1. 

      esthernewton

      June 4, 2016

      Was it the 35 degree heat that gave my destination away? 😉 Yep, was in Bognor – the Dubai of Britain 😉

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2. 

   Keith Channing

   June 3, 2016

   Published today as Books, like the aardvark, never killed anyone.

   My love affair with books began
   Ere ever I could read
   The sight of mother, head in tome,
   Was what first sowed the seed.
   The words she read, sat up in bed
   Fulfilled a deeper need.

   She always seemed to be relaxed,
   Content and fully rested
   The house might well have been a mess
   But we never protested
   Because we knew that if we had
   We could end up molested.

   When Dad came home from his day’s work
   And looking for his dinner
   He’d often phone for pizza,
   Always a sure-fire winner.
   He had a special name for Mum,
   Called her a lazy sinner.

   But we kids knew that was a lie
   She really was a saint
   It’s true! It said so on the book
   In letters bold, not faint
   And when our father did complain,
   She said, “Your slave, I aint!”

   Thinking back across the years
   I come to realise
   The evidence I should have seen
   Was right before my eyes
   Twas not the book she carried
   That led to her demise.

   She always held the self-same book
   To read it took her ages
   And when she died we came to know
   How she got worse in stages
   Twas the bottle, not the words,
   That hid in hollow pages.

   I know what you’re thinking, but I never claimed to be a poet, did I?

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   1. 

      esthernewton

      June 4, 2016

      But you are, Keith! Very good and you’re showing your varied talents here.

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3. 

   Bindu

   June 3, 2016

   Books mean the world

   A column-full here, a laden shelf there
   A heap on the side-board, a pile on the floor
   They are housed within, multitude surround me,
   Books are what define me, for they resolve my doubts.

   Adding to my knowledge, helping me learn more
   When over many different kinds of books, I decide to pore.
   The fragrance of their print ink, the crispness of the page
   Creates a heady feeling, which no wine or drink can make.

   The yellow-white pages that constitute all books
   Bound by hard or soft covers that give it’s pretty look.
   Are slowly disappearing from the now declining stores
   As youth are caught up elsewhere and seek books no more.

   The pride of a library, a prized possession once,
   They made their presence obvious and were oh so distinct.
   Sadly, paper backs and hard covers may go out of fashion soon
   Maybe they are on the highway to becoming extinct.

   Many series, volumes and brilliant manuscripts
   Are now going digital, oh goodness what a slip!
   What is reading if not with a crispy book in your hand?
   Not for me the internet, it gives not the taste nor sound!
   Book me a Book!

   Limerick with Plonker:
   The good looking dashing plonker,
   Makes all the girls go bonkers.
   When he smiles his enigmatic smile
   His stupidity the box head does disguise.

   Short Story:
   In his dalliance with Daisy, Dougal employed a plethora of enchanting elixir words that made her gambol like a lamb.

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   1. 

      esthernewton

      June 4, 2016

      What a great poem! Love the limerick and story too.

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4. 

   Rajiv

   June 6, 2016

   Hi Esther, while you enjoy 35, we are being slowly baked in 46! My mongrel verse requires work, but here it is along with the 20 word.

   Story
   A plethora of fairies. A bit of elixir, and Dougal wants a wooded gambol, and a dalliance with a pixie!

   Poerm: I wanted to write a sarcastic one about how business people cook accounts books, butdecided to be sentimental instead. Still, it needs work.

   Come gather round friends, a story for thee;
   Tales of the mountains, and of the sea.
   Songs of the deserts, and rivers that flow;
   Odes to the winds that continue to blow.

   There are tales of Gods, women and men;
   Along with those of goblins, demons and flames.
   Stories of bravey, cowardice and vice,
   Love betrayal and hearts of cold ice.

   In days of old, beneath the stars of the night,
   Sitting around the campfire’s warm light,
   The Minstrel would sing, of Nature Divine
   The stories would travel to friend, kith and kin.

   Now found in bound books, these tales of yore,
   Thrill and enchant us, sadly no more.
   These tales and traditions continue to fade,
   Books themselves may soon pass into shade.

   Sounbytes replace the story teller’s craft
   And books shall soon feel Twitter’s cruel shaft.
   But all is not lost if we slow down a tad,
   To lose the stories that bind us, would be very sad.

   Come gather round friends, a story for thee;
   Tales of the mountains, and of the sea.
   Songs of the deserts, and rivers that flow;
   Odes to the winds that continue to blow.

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   1. 

      esthernewton

      June 6, 2016

      46 degrees?? You really are being baked! That;s soo hot. Thank you for the super poem and funny story. Greatly appreciated 🙂

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      1. 

         Rajiv

         June 6, 2016

         Glad you like it! Yeah… we are being baked!

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