Your writing prompt this week is
SHAPES
There are lots of ways of interpreting this week’s prompt. You might think about circles, stars, squares or triangles. Or perhaps moulding something into something else. Our clothes and figures can lose shape. With some work, we can get into shape. You might see a dark shape in the distance. What does this week’s prompt word mean to you?
Fact or fiction, prose or poetry, I would love to read your thoughts on this week’s prompt, but there’s no obligation to share your writing. Here is the work you shared on the last prompt RED.
Red was the first colour I learned to fear
and the first I learned to love.
As a child, it lived in scraped knees, frozen cheeks, and woollen mittens drying by the heater.
It tasted like lingonberry jam, smelled like iron and snow, and sounded like laughter cracking through winter air.
Later, red became warning.
Voices raised.
Doors slammed.
Lines crossed that could not be uncrossed.
But red is stubborn.
It refuses to stay only a bruise.
Now it returns as courage —
the pulse that keeps me here,
the lipstick I wear when I choose myself,
the quiet flame that says I survived.
Red is not just anger or danger.
It is blood remembering how to flow.
It is love that learned to burn
without destroying the house.
Red, finally, is mine.
The Red High Heels
When I saw them in the store,
one half classy and one half whore,
the Crocs I had on seemed a bore.
Those heels were strappy, cut low, red.
I knew those heels would knock men dead.
As I left the store in them,
I was feeling oh so femme
until one shoe caught on my hem.
‘Twas then that I went tumbling down,
wrenched my ankle and tore my gown.
This fall was just a quirk, I thought,
with no regrets for what I’d bought,
for I was feeling oh so hot
that men would surely all be gawking.
I’d be more careful with my walking.
In Mexico, young girls or crones
go tripping over cobblestones
with no risk to their ankle bones.
Moving with sure-footed grace,
they never fall upon their face.
They chat as they cross streets together
even in inclement weather––
Their four-inch heels of strappy leather
negotiate each slippery rock,
barely noticing where they walk.
So I just got up from the floor
and sauntered once more towards the door
onto the street outside the store.
Where, once I got into the swing
I knew those shoes were just the thing.
My car was just one block away
but it was such a lovely day,
I thought that I would just sashay
up to the plaza for lunch and booze––
a trial run for my new shoes!
I belted up my dress a bit
so I would not trip over it.
Once more I felt sexy and fit
as I accomplished no small feat
negotiating each walk and street.
I must admit that I felt hobbled
as I walked over roadways cobbled.
Perhaps I grimaced, winced and wobbled.
But at the time, I was enthused––
thinking only of my new shoes.
When I reached the plaza and I walked by
a table of men, I felt each eye
peruse my legs from toe to thigh.
I knew that those new shoes were why
I held the gaze of every guy.
Maneuvering towards an empty table,
I walked as well as I was able,
but overlooked just one small cable
as I glanced over for their reaction.
That’s how I ended up in traction!
Lovely Light, Bright and True
Whether red, maybe blue, lovely green,
it is light. It is bright and serene,
but I wonder if you
know that light can be true?
Well, I do and it’s true. I have seen.
When media sells mobs seeing RED,
Listen closely to what’s being said.
Riotous “protests” sometimes,
Far worse than ‘said’ crimes.
Turn off the TV and go back to bed.
Tooth and Claw
Time for doggies’ flea pills; I forgot them with their meal,
but they’re chicken-flavoured. Dogs’ll think they’re treats.
I’ve just sat down. A dog has settled each side for TV.
If I move now, the dogs will pinch my seat.
But how am I supposed to get into this blister pack?
Packaging for these is armour-plated.
Scissors are in the other room and nothing I pull moves.
There’s no pull-tab, and no way in is stated.
That last jerk broke a fingernail. It’s too far down to pull,
and now it’s started bleeding. What a to-do!
I used to break off threads and open packets with my teeth,
but they don’t meet in front the way they used to.
I’m fed up to the back teeth – maybe I’ll try those instead,
growling like a dog… Hey! that one jogs.
I didn’t realise it was that loose. Now it’s bleeding too.
I’m red in tooth and claw, unlike my dogs.
Rall:
roses
are red my love
violets are blue oo oocorny love songs are great when you
grow old
age hits you like a ton of bricks
makes you see red sometimes
it happens just
too fast
Pegged
I’m the luckiest man in the world
For so long just giving things a whirl
My fun meter has been pegged in the red
Repairs are bound to cost some serious bread
Lifetime full of overdriven sounds and surrounds
With ringing ears and palpitating heart out of bounds
There’s only one thing left to be said:
“What?”
Wilfred Leahy:
Red I called her because of her skin and hair,
yes she was fair
Those red freckles that went up to her hair around her chin and on her
nose that really stood out when she gave a grin,
I married this lady I loved her so but there were things she could not let go
You see this lady had been to war ,
The scares of which you never saw,
I knew the signs I knew them well
When she stood very still and looked into hell
In my arms I would hold her and squeeze her tight
Sometimes for all the night
But like so many who suffer this terrible plight
She must never give up the fight.
With all our support and with all our might we must make sure they never
give up the fight.
Dedicated to all the men and women who suffer this terrible scare on the brain.
There once was a ruby nosed reindeer
Who lived at the top of the world
His footsteps were light
His nose was so bright
His red nose brought kids of the world cheer.
Red roses hold a special place in my heart as we placed two on my Dad’s casket almost 30 years ago, two on my FIL’s 22 years ago, and four inside my Mum’s eight years ago come Jan 18th, one from each of us, and one each for Bro and SIL in NZ.
Red roses are for love, not just on Valentine’s Day, but all year in my book.
Boating friends gave us the In Loving Memory rose bush which lasted well and produced the most beautiful huge fragrant blooms. We sadly lost it last summer, heavy rain waterlogged and rotted the roots and it didn’t survive.
Our other bushes still thrive though, so there will be photos of those later in the year, but for now, Red Roses are for our departed loved ones.
Traffic Light
Between green and red,
a world of danger
and uncertainty lurks
Between green and red
danger hovers up and down
guiding traffic jams
Between green and red
warns our yellow vehicle
for the fast transport
Entre vert et rouge
le jaune montre le danger
qu’il faut esquiver
Between green and read,
one sees the wrong light
that warns you
Susan Batten:
Reginald Thornton, the up and coming film director who had been making such waves in Hollywood, had agreed to attend the first showing of his short documentary film in his home town of Stockbury.
In recent years he had grown out of his own camera phobia but as his taxi drew near the town centre, Reginald was seized by a sudden, paralyzing fear. This event would be on his own turf.
“Loser!” they’d yelled at him, as they tripped him up. “Hollywood boy!”
They had never missed an opportunity to taunt him about the ambitions he had foolishly confessed. Now they had promised him a grand reception, the “red carpet”, no less.
He was sick with nerves.
But there it was! Perfectly lit, the red carpet did extend from the doors of the cinema to the edge of the kerb.
But he needn’t have feared the welcoming committee.
There was nobody there.
Don’t Worry About What’s Said About You, Strut on in Your Red Lipstick
Surely the color of our lipstick should be a private matter.
But be careful if your shade to wear is a wonderful bright red.
It’s like a neon sign that announces your most erotic desires,
And the more generous the layer, the more hate you must dread.
The negative talk about women’s bad reputations seems to grow
As they sashay around town looking fabulous in their chosen hue.
Some know by the nasty looks that they are being judged unfairly,
But sail on courageously, no matter how many lies people spew.
Streaks of red down my arm
tell a story I never learned how to say.
Each line a sentence swallowed whole,
each mark a question with no safe answer.
I thought the hurt would listen
if I carved it into skin,
that the noise inside my chest
might finally grow quiet.
But pain is a liar with a gentle voice—
it promises relief, delivers echoes.
The ache doesn’t leave, it only moves,
curling deeper where light feels far away.
Still, I am here.
Breathing through the shaking moments,
learning that scars can close
without erasing the truth of what happened.
My body is not a battlefield—
it is a witness, a survivor,
trying every day to keep me alive
even when I forget why that matters.
And maybe healing isn’t clean or quick.
Maybe it looks like choosing not to bleed today,
like letting someone see the mess,
like believing that my pain deserves gentler hands.
I know it has already been said
Nothing beats the color red
You can have your blue sky
Purple may make you sigh
Yellow daisies, oh my
Green fields make me cry
Orange tastes delish
Indigo promises a wish
Black gives me an ache
So I’ll savor and take
Red – roses, cheeks, berries and lips
You can have all the others, I quip
I want RED.
Seeing Red
Cardinal
in the scrub pine
bright contrast
red stop
cease
ooops missed it big time
what the hell?
i tripped and fell
confusion
reality was an illusion!
The Universe has a Redshift and it’s Expanding
Many people are aware that the Universe is expanding but may not know that this results in a measurable redshift. The faster a galaxy is moving away from us the redder it appears. This is called the cosmological redshift. Measuring these redshifts was how we discovered that our Universe is expanding.
At the end of the 1990’s it was also discovered that the Universe’s expansion was accelerating. This discovery came from measuring the redshifts (and apparent dimness) of distant Type Ia supernovae. I should add that measuring the increase in the cosmological redshift directly is difficult. However, it is expected to be possible when the Extremely Large Telescope (ELT) starts gathering data in 2027. I can add that there are also other types of evidence showing that the Universe’s expansion is accelerating.
Another surprising aspect is, if the Big Bang was like an explosion, gravity would pull back the galaxies making the expansion slow down and perhaps eventually even reverse. However, the opposite is happening. A common explanation is that a repulsive force, a sort of anti-gravity, referred to as dark energy, is responsible for this acceleration.
I call this a super fact because this is an observed phenomenon, it is important knowledge for how we view the world, and it is surprising. Many people have heard bits and pieces of this but do not have the fuller picture.
To find put more about it, click here
Cloaks, Circles and Critiquing Critters: A Woodland Symposium
Once upon a Tuesday, the colour red decided it was done being serious. Red was tired of traffic lights, roses, warnings, and wine-stained carpets. It wanted chaos, reflection, and maybe a latte. So, red hopped off a sunset, rolled down a hill, and crash-landed into a forest.
There it met Red Riding Hood, who was wearing… red. “Finally,” said red. “Someone who understands me!” Red Riding Hood blinked. “I didn’t choose red for deep reasons. My laundry’s late. Also, it makes me look like a warning sign.” Red frowned. “Existentially speaking, you are a warning sign. But I admire your honesty.”
The wolf appeared, as wolves do, trying to look menacing. But red glowed on the cloak, reflecting sunlight directly into his eyes. He squinted. “Wait… am I supposed to eat you, or… rethink my life choices?” Red shrugged. “Depends. Are you hungry or bored?” The wolf, who had recently discovered mindfulness podcasts, opted for introspection over predation.
Grandma peeked out of her cottage window, wearing sunglasses and a bathrobe. “Honestly,” she said, “you both look ridiculous. But I respect it.” Red handed her a sandwich anyway because reflection is always better with snacks.
Then the huntsman arrived, dramatically swinging his sword. He froze. Nobody was screaming. Birds perched on his shoulder. A squirrel winked at him. “Is this… some kind of metaphor?” he asked. Red Riding Hood nodded. “Yes. Also, you’re late for tea.”
By the end of the day, red had realized something profound: it wasn’t its job to cause trouble, signal danger, or be poetic. Its job was simply to exist vividly, to show up, be absurd, and remind everyone that life looks ridiculous if you take it too seriously.
The wolf opened a small cafe in the forest. Red started a podcast called Reflections in Vermilion. The huntsman became a part-time barista and amateur philosopher. And Red Riding Hood? She finally did her laundry but kept the red cloak, because sometimes, visibility is the only truth that matters.
Moral of the story… If you are going to be seen, be absurd, be reflective, and always carry snacks.
Red (A nod to Coldplay)
Look at the Wolves
Look how they stand by you
And everything you do
Yeah, they were all
blood red
I came along
I wrote a poem for you
And all the the shit you do
And it was called, “Red”
So then we raised
our fists
in solidarity,
And it was all
fiery red
Your skin,
oh yeah, your skin,
and bones
Turn into something
so nasty
you hide behind
layers of makeup
And you know,
you know
We fucking
hate you so
You know
you
delusional
heartless
piece of shit
We won’t back down,
just wait and see
Oh, what a thing to do ?
Cause you
and your cronies
are all yellow with fear !
We drew our guns
We drew our guns at you
Shouting the 2nd Amendment still rings true
(THOSE OF US WHO BLINDLY FOLLOWED YOU)
Oh, what a thing to do
And it was all red !
And your skin, oh yeah, your skin, and bones
Turn into something…
And you know, for you,
They’d (Corporate Democrats too) bleed For you,
Sadly it’s true
Look how they
follow you
Look how
they manipulate
for you
Look how they…
Look how they…
Look how they…
Look at the Wolves
Look how they fall
with you
Because of all the things
that you do
Poetry – Cabbage After Christmas:
The Red Tree
Generation after generation
one son after another
and women as well–
blood of criminality runs
cool through their veins
violence is nothing to them
merely part of day’s routine–
conscienceless, they drink
the dregs of others’ lives
who matter to them not–
No mystery trust
has vanished, become
a dusk mist tinged
with copper, reeking
of rust…fear, dread
and viral suspicion…
predators surround–
across globe red rain
drips like weeping
from neighboring trees
since Cain, in cursing rage
murdered his brother…
deep root of the red tree
Deeper Reds
Symbolism in deeper reds
Canvas colour capture spreads
Abstract yet educated
Rhythmic patterns illustrated
Leaving be the ugly things
Elevate what this beauty brings
The fusion of knowledge
Spiritual movement college
Aims towards enlightenment
Grittily honest experiment
Evoking the scarlet sage
Dancing eyes across the page
And so the paintings change view
Now that the painting changed you
Creativity in meditation
Invitation to interpretation
Nearer to the stormy sea
Goes the light blue nursery
Animal instincts of segregation
Wisdom rises beyond illumination
Hanging our pictures on these walls
In the museum, how history falls
Risen to rhyme and rearranged
Look at me now, times have changed
In search of happiness and beauty
No submission to customs of duty
Greedy and grim, not another one
Death and frenzy have all been done
Ever since, and so it will be
Raise the tools to stave off misery
Vanquish fear with canvas maze
Inspired to passion with its praise
Spun out a web of dream delight
Hanging on the deeper reds tonight
Blood-Red Roses
plant a bloody,
blood-red rose
upon my grave.
no fancy flowers,
no pearly white tulips.
i want bloody, blood-red roses—
for they signify my power,
my pride,
and the wars
i fought
and won.
each petal
a testament to a life
lived well.
though in silence
there was noise;
in peace,
there was chaos.
yet my life was nothing
but a steady calm
amid
a raging storm.
Definitely Maybe
red throbs
in a moment
deeply mixed with white heat
a warm embrace like the moon’s glow
so cold
true lies
from a far closeness leaving a
definitely maybe
rippling behind
stars’ dust
All the Colours of Red
lying comfortably
on soft summer grass
sun shining through
closed eyelids
I see a crimson ocean
seaweed strands waving
in tendrils of carmine
streaked with Venetian red
jelly fish
large and small
pulse up and down
and across
blobs of vibrant colour
in coral, vermillion,
and scarlet
warmth suddenly fades
landscape shifts
to darker burgundy,
maroon, and chestnut
and then
brightness returns
Trellises
winter’s groundskeepers:
frost— the expectant gardener,
red berries trellises
Down The Readers’ Lane
As far as I remember my earliest readings in English were from two books: The Pancake and Careful Hans. The stories that I read and re-read were:
Little Red Riding Hood where the little girl in a red hood goes to meet her granny and gets waylaid by a cunning jackal.
Goldilocks And The Three Bears where Goldilocks gets lost in a forest (picking berries?) and lands up in the cottage of the three bears – mother bear, father bear and their child – the young bear. The house has bowls of food and furniture in three sizes for the mother, father and the child. Goldilocks tries them all one at a time and goes off to sleep on the child’s bed where the three bears find her eventually.
This Is The House That Jack Built is a poem where various characters (and elements like malt) like a cat, a rat, a dog, a cow, a maiden, a man , a priest, are introduced in relation to the house that Jack built. It is a cumulative nursery rhyme where the previous lines of the poem are repeated again and again with the introduction of the new entrant. It’s peculiar repetitive rhyme is great fun to read.
Then, of course, there was such others like Snow White And The Seven Dwarfs and The Sleeping Beauty. As I grew up I was introduced to the Classics – abridged or translated versions. I was fascinated by The Three Musketeers and Ben Hur and read them innumerable times.
Alongside, followed Enid Blyton – The Famous Five. At once I wanted to be the tom boy George with her dog Timmy snooping and sniffing for mysteries. In the classroom we girls competed with each other for Nancy Drews and Hardy Boys. Who could read first the latest.
In my teens I was more into murder mysteries. But for my class mates Mills & Boons and Barbara Cartland were the craze. I loved Georgette Heyer though – historical (Regency) romances and thrillers with an added dash of wit and comedy. Victoria Holt was an exciting mix of romance and suspense too and Evelyn Anthony , although could not replace Christie, had good measure of suspense and thrill. Daphne du Maurier was another writer we chased. But it was Agatha Christie I thrived on.
The reason I am going down memory lane is that I have recently become a grand aunt and I wish to make my grand niece read all the fun books that I have grown up reading. I still love to read kids’ story books and books for young adults. They always transport me back to my childhood days.
I do wish I am able to inculcate a reading habit in my grand niece too though I know she will have many other tempting means of exposure in this fast age of information and technology. But is there any greater pleasure than holding a book in hand and reading? More so when the books have attractive illustrations which can tickle a child’s imagination more than anything else and take her uphill and down the river, through the forests and meadows and fly like a bird with the clouds ?
I know nowadays children are more attracted to visuals like watching cartoons on mobile and laptop. But I hope our new member of the family can make a choice of her own between pictures that words create and a pre-designed visually depicted story.
The Secret of Homolastic Delights
“Which do you prefer? Snack 8816CAO coloured what we now call light red, or snack 10345HBX coloured what we now call deep red? Which one tastes the best and why?
“The second one, definitely the second one. And I love the colour.”
“But why?”
“Makes it look much more mouthwatering. Tastes better. Reminds me of a place I was once told about. A far-off place whose name I can’t recall.”
“Congratulations, you’ve chosen the best. It’s our own brand and is less expensive than the market leader you also tried. Can I tempt you to receive a few packets as payment?”
“Yes, please, but I have to ask. What’s the flavour and what makes it that…what did you call it, deep red colour?”
“Homolastic.’ It was discovered on a planet in the Malleable system. The dominant species on that planet is homo sapiens. They refer to it as a substance called plastic, something they think they created themselves, but unknown to them, did not. We planted it there.”
“Planted?”
“Yes, we found it on the red planet that neighbours them. That planet is now uninhabitable, although they believe that one day they can inhabit it.”
“And the colour?”
“Their blood, which, unlike ours, is liquid-form. When mixed with homolastic and the other ingredients, the majority of our testers agree it’s the best flavour. There are just under 8 billion homosapiens, and most are infested with homolastic, so we’ll never run out during our lifetime. And when their planet becomes uninhabitable, we’ll have a new home.”
Authentic Americana
They pulled off the highway just as the sun was dropping behind the mountains. The listing had promised “A lovingly restored Southwestern gem- Just off the famed Route 66- Authentic Americana with all the modern comforts.” And after eight hours of driving, much of it on switch backing mountain roads, they were exhausted- ready for some clean sheets and a hot shower.
What they found instead was a shack that looked like it had been abandoned sometime around the Eisenhower administration. The porch sagged. The paint- once a cheerful turquoise, if the flakes on the ground were any indication- was peeling now in long, curling strips. A single red shutter hung by one rusted hinge, tapping lightly in the breeze.
“This can’t be it,” she said, though the GPS insisted otherwise.
He held up his phone, comparing the listing photos to the structure before them. The angles matched. The shape of the roofline. Even the crooked mesquite tree out front. But the photos showed a bright, tidy cottage with flower boxes. This place looked like the ghost of that house- the skeleton of what had once been.
The key fit and they heard the click of the deadbolt when he turned it- but the old swollen wooden door wouldn’t budge. He gave the door a good swift kick- there was a sharp crack- and with a groan the door broke free and groaned open releasing an exhalation of stale air and heated dust.
A lizard darted across the floorboards.
He crossed to the thermostat immediately. The air conditioner whirred to life. “Well, at least it sounds like the air works.”
“It might have been nice once,” she said, as she ran her fingers along the wall, tracing the outline of where a picture frame had once hung. “In another lifetime.”
The sun was gone now, swallowed behind the mountains. The road back down was a ribbon of switchbacks with no guardrails and no streetlights. And the next town in the other direction- was nearly an hour away.
“We can stay one night,” he said quietly. “Just until morning.”
She looked at him, then at the sagging mattress. A long breath left her, half resignation, half surrender.
“Fine,” she said. “But if something crawls on me in my sleep, I’m burning this place down.”
He smiled, relieved by the spark of humor. “Deal.”
Fifty shades of red
Red, probably the boldest colour of them all, no soft pastel or boring beige, but big bright red. I almost want to write it in big bold letters with an exclamation mark. Even some of the shades to me sound striking; scarlet, vermilion,magenta, claret…
Red often makes a bold statement: a red triangle warning sign, The colour for stop in a traffic light, a red card for a sending off in a football match.
Red for anger, seeing red, the red mist…
Women wear red lipstick to denote power, affluence, femininity and glamour as well as rebellion.
Emily Pankhurst wore it to inspire other activists in the fight for women’s suffrage.
In ancient Greece, prostitutes were required to wear red lipstick as a form of branding and to avoid being mistaken for respectable women.
Ladies, who remembers Harmony hair dye,,, that came in a Tolberone shaped box? As a teenager in the 70’s, I used to dye my hair red, more like a reddish brown really, and my mum told me I looked like a tart.
Thanks mum!
But whenever I think of the colour red, all I see is the blood…
***
Photo credit: Diply
Esther Chilton 
Leave a reply to The Shock Of Shapes | Poet's Corner Cancel reply