Your prompt word this week is
GAMES
This week’s prompt came to me after hearing the song ‘Wicked Games’ by Chris Isaak. Sadly people do play nasty games on others. But there are lots of other, happier games, such as sports games. What about board games? I used to love Monopoly and Cluedo. Then there are computer games. And what about playground games at school? I remember one called ‘What’s the time, Mr Wolf?’ What does this week’s prompt 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 SHAPES.
Shape Shifter
“Can I help you with those bags, love?”
“That’s very kind, but I can manage.”
“You’ve just moved into the old cottage at the edge of the village, haven’t you? I saw you moving in. You don’t wanna be lugging these heavy bags all that way. I’ll give you a hand.”
“Err… thank you.”
~ ~ ~
“Where do you want them – Vicky is it?”
“Close enough. There, in the hall is fine Billy. Nice meeting you.”
“How about in the kitchen? Shall I put the kettle on?”
“Thanks for coming all this way, Billy, but it’s getting dark, and I don’t want people getting the wrong idea.”
“I won’t tell ’em if you don’t, eh?”
“Billy, you seem young to be on your own on a Saturday evening. Don’t you have friends? A girlfriend who’ll be missing you?”
“Nah. I’m a bit of a lone wolf.”
“Go on home now, Billy. Maybe some other month.”
“That’s a nice garden you’ve got out there. Look, moonlight… isn’t that romantic?”
“Urrr.”
“Come out and give us a kiss under this full moon, Vicky. Vicky?”
“Hrrr.”
“Vicky, where… ? Oh, you’ve got a dog… He’s a… big boy, isn’t he – she? Sorry girl, no offence meant… G-good girl. Goo ggg…”
…im
Life taught me shapes before it taught me words.
Circles of safety, broken suddenly into sharp edges.
Squares we tried to live inside.
Lines we were never meant to follow.
As a child, shapes were simple —
footprints looping in snow,
the round mouth of a bucket,
the soft curve of a sled’s track down a hill.
Later, they grew complicated.
Corners appeared where there had been flow.
Walls disguised as structure.
Boxes called normal.
Now I see shapes everywhere —
in the way grief bends time,
in how love refuses straight lines,
in the spiral of becoming who we already are.
Some shapes are meant to be outgrown.
Others return, gentler, wiser.
And the truest ones?
They don’t confine.
They hold.
If You Came Back
they say when you’re gone,
you return as something else—
another form,
another shape.
i wanted to believe it was true,
hoping you would come back
not as a memory,
not as a sign,
but in the shape of my heart.
Wilfred Leahy:
I listen to her every word. This was not a lecture on the shape of things to come. No it was like an hypnotic verse shaping my mind. No, no must not get dragged into this web that is trying to shape my life.
Humans come in all shapes and sizes
Society dictates what that should be
But what if we all could break free
From the need to wear disguises
To be ourselves, stop aiming for prizes
Shape our daily lives
In a way that thrives
The Shock Of Shapes
I’m shocked that there are shapes at all
for me to touch or see.
I’m grateful, too, for me and you,
two shapes, two ways to be.
I hate to admit it, but the first thought the word shapes popped into my mind was bodies. Ever since I was told my 155 pound body was too big, I tried to fight to get down to my high school weight of 120. I was always the skinny kid and entered high school at 80 pounds. Then I grew up and out and ended up at 120, normal weight for my skeleton. Then pressure to get back down to 125 was a goal after three babies under five, accomplished with a 300 calorie a day strict diet, ketones in urine check at a facility every day, etc. At that time people observed my body saying I was too thin. The fight was never ending. The extreme weight loss accomplished with that diet, walking three to five miles every day after always standing at my job from 6:30 to 3:30, aerobics, yoga, etc. My point here is that body shape is not just what you eat, exercise, etc but inheritance also. I have the duplicate shape of my mother. Maybe AI really is the answer. A perfect body shape no longer required.
“Sir, I think you are finished.”
“It has been a long hard road.”
“Well, you have been a great client.”
“You have been a great trainer. I love my new shapes.”
“Be careful on the beach. You are now a magnet.”
The Shape of Emotions
Emotions arrive as geometry,
not knocking but forming—
a square of patience settling its corners
against the floor of the day.
It is steady, it is weight-bearing,
it holds the furniture of routine
without complaint.
Joy is a circle.
It has no beginning it can remember,
no ending it fears.
It rolls through the chest,
a sun, a wheel, a child’s chalk line
closing perfectly on itself.
You step inside it and find
there is no edge to fall from.
Anger is a triangle—
sharp, efficient, impossible to ignore.
It points.
It insists on direction.
Its three sides argue about which is longest,
which cuts deepest,
which deserves to be the blade.
You can build with it,
but bleed if you lean too close.
Sadness is a long, thin rectangle,
a hallway with no windows.
It stretches time,
makes footsteps echo longer than they should.
You walk it slowly,
hands brushing the walls,
counting breaths like doors
you choose not to open.
Fear is a fractured shape,
a polygon with too many sides,
never the same twice.
It keeps rearranging itself
so you cannot memorize the exits.
Every angle is a question,
every corner a flinch.
Love is not one shape.
It is an intersection.
A circle trying to soften a triangle.
A square learning how to bend.
A thousand lines crossing,
saying stay, saying grow,
saying I will not be simple for you.
And we—
we are the paper they’re drawn on,
creased by living,
erased and redrawn daily.
Our emotions overlap in pencil ghosts:
anger cutting into joy,
sadness leaning against love,
fear hiding inside a careful square.
Nothing stays pure.
The circle bruises.
The triangle dulls.
The hallway opens a door.
In the end, we are a moving diagram,
a proof written in feeling,
showing again and again
that even the sharpest shape
can learn to curve
when held long enough.
Museum Visit?
Solid
Haphazard, hexagon
Apparition, antique, alarming
Puzzle pieces, poses pondered
Exciting!
Several of my classmates had mothers who were always immaculately dressed, made up, and hair perfectly styled. They were willowy, slender, mostly very nice and made me welcome in their homes, but they were nothing like my Mum.
I once described my Mum as Mum-shaped, a warm cuddly woman who would hug at will, treated our friends as if they were family, and had a ready smile, listening ear and shoulder to cry on when it was called for.
I’m not saying the other Mums weren’t like that, but then I didn’t really know them.
Everything is in the Shape of a Bird, a Fish or a Woman
ook how they frown in the old photograph:
my grandmother, her sister,
her two daughters and her granddaughter.
All of the women are very stern.
Grandma looks out of her element,
her eyes shielded against the sun.
In the yellowing photo,
“Taken at homestead” written on the back,
They stand, stark house behind them.
From the porch overhang, a sparse vine hangs,
but on the hidden tendril of the vine,
in the dead tan prairie that surrounds the scene,
in the summer grass bent low, I imagine birds.
It is a drying photo—brittle, cracked,
of three generations of prairie women.
Although none there knew it,
a waterhole is in their near future,
and in this stock pond that my dad would someday dig,
would swim perch and crappies,
sunfish, northern pike.
And although none there will ever see it,
in my house, everything is in the shape of a bird, a fish or a woman.
On the wall hangs an earthy goddess–
stolid and substantial.
Birds perch on her shoulder, arm and knee.
On the hearth, a crow formed out of chicken wire.
A soapstone fish swims the window ledge
beside that aging photograph
and on another window ledge
are two ancient terra cotta figurines.
The small one kneels in her kimono, playing pipes.
The large one stands wide-hipped
with arms narrowing to points
above the elbow.
In my studio,
a still-damp terra cotta figure
holds a fat plum.
On drying canvasses,
Women recline in their vulnerable states–
layers of wet flesh tones, yellows, purplish reds.
The house in the photograph
has been long-felled by rot and fire and rust.
All of the people shown here are now dead.
Yet still in the grass, the meadowlark.
and in the muddy pond the minnow.
In the glass of the photo frame, I see my own reflection–
thinning lips pulled into one straight line.
around me is their house, their sky, their prairie grass.
In the glass, my face
turns into the face of my grandmother.
I flinch but do not falter.
I look deeper.
Reflected in one eye, a perched bird.
in the other eye, a swimming fish.
One lonely night in a small town, there lived an old man named John. His life had been a quiet one, spent in his cluttered cottage surrounded by nothing but a vast expanse of fields.
One fateful evening, as John sat alone in the dimly lit room, he began to notice something strange happening around him. Dark shapes would appear out of nowhere, almost like they were following him with their shifting presence.
Intrigued and yet terrified by these inexplicable occurrences, John could no longer ignore them. The darkness seemed to pull at him, compelling him to investigate the source of these mysterious shadows.
As John delved deeper into this enigma, he discovered that his own perception had been distorted by the isolation and loneliness that had defined his life for so long. The dark shapes were not some malevolent force, but mere reflections of his inner turmoil.
John had learned a profound lesson about the nature of existence and the power of our own perceptions. Though his lonely life would always carry its shadows, he now carried within him the light to navigate even those darkest passages.
Shaping
Dive in
like a whale
in the vast expanse
of the ocean
– splash, I dive in
swimming through the waves
sucking through my lips
filtering out the waste
hoping to find sweet morsels
to discover something to chew over
until my appetite is satisfied
until I am content, happy
so happy I sing out my song
to whoever will listen
Susan Batten:
Familiar Shapes
If we look at these muddy prints and calculate his stride, we’ll understand how tall he was – that pattern’s a sure guide. And over there, those tyre marks left – they’ll soon tell us their tale. We’ll make some casts and look them up. With those we cannot fail. These blood drops here show he was hurt as he hurried away. I’m glad his victim made his mark. At least he had his say.
Sillyfrog’s Blog:
That’s a Fact
People come in all kinds of shapes.
But there’s one thing no one ever escapes.
Whom you choose to idolize
Can’t be judged through others’ eyes.
Color, sex, or fancy bling
Don’t amount to anything.
Make sure you watch for good intent.
Don’t count on what some say, “They meant.”.
Results are truer “tells” than “hype”.
Leadership doesn’t have a “type”.
So, if “TV experts” tell you how to think or act,
They’re full of sh*t, and that’s a fact.
Dawgy Daddy Responds:
“Sometimes, all you need to do is completely make an ass of yourself and laugh it off to realize that life isn’t so bad after all.” I re-read this last sentence of my journal entry before closing it for the night. My day hadn’t started out as a very good one after being fired from my job that morning. I stopped at ‘Murphy’s Tap’ and after more than a few Jack & Cokes I had gotten over my depression and made a left turn when leaving. As I walked down the street I noticed a tattoo shop with all kinds of shapes and symbols. Curiosity got the best of me and I went inside. The hum of the tattoo machine was relaxing and as I looked at my new ink I threw up all over the mirror. The ‘Ink Spot’ wasn’t to happy about it but I left happy with my new tattoo.
My name’s Val and I’m a Pareidoliac.
There, I’ve said it.
I’ve just found out there’s a name for it,
what I’ve got.
And I’m not the only one.
I feel like a cloud; s been lifted,
and talking of clouds…
Pareidolia:
Pareidolia is the psychological phenomenon of seeing patterns or images that are not really there, such as a face in a cloud.
I’ve had it ever since I can remember, car journeys as a young child with the family would have me seeing every animal going in the clouds.
And now my grandson has inherited my gift (that’s what it is, I’ve decided), and we both see the same magical images in the sky. There seem to be an awful lot of dinosaurs!
Hubby, however, thinks we’re both mad as he concentrates on the driving.
But my most memorable vision occurred with my mother, on one of the many occasions she was waiting in A & E to be seen by a doctor.
Anyone who’s been in that situation knows what it’s like, lying on a trolley for hours on end, curtains closed around you, with nothing to do but stare at the four walls.
Oh, and the ceiling…
Glancing upwards, I spotted, at first glance, what was simply a rather ugly stain, but then, a vision emerged; smiling down on me was the face of Jesus!
I wasn’t hallucinating, honestly.
‘Mum, does that stain look like Jesus to you?’
‘Ooh, yes!’, she agreed.
Of course, when my husband arrived later, he thought we’d both gone gaga, rolling his eyes.
It seemed to mum and I, a fitting place for Jesus to be, and thankfully she came home after being admitted for a few days.
There were a few further visits for Mum, until the time came when she didn’t come back home.
I like to think that Jesus was looking down on her that particular day.
Foggy
Mist covered hills
Clouds all shapes and sizes
The whole place disappeared so quick
Cloudy
Conic Sections are the Shapes that Shape Our World
A conic section is a shape formed by slicing a cone with a plane. There are four such shapes, circle, ellipse, parabola, and hyperbola. The conic sections universally describe motion under gravity. The orbits of planets around their stars are circles or ellipses, comets fly around space in elliptical orbits, or parabolic or hyperbolic paths. Objects thrown up in the air follow parabolic paths. They are the basis for a huge amount of engineering applications.
The four conic sections, circle, ellipse, parabola and hyperbola are fundamental and very useful shapes in mathematics, physics and engineering. Well, a circle is a special case of an ellipse, so it is really only three conic sections. The motion of the planets and other stellar objects are described by the conic shapes. Isaac Newton derived his law of gravitation from Kepler’s laws, which describe planetary orbits as ellipses.
The conic sections are all described by second degree equations (quadratic equations) and are in that sense the simplest shapes aside from points and lines. It is important to understand that there is an infinite amount of shapes that are almost conic sections and look like conic sections, but it is the exact mathematical properties of the four conic sections that make them so common in physics, mathematics, nature and engineering.
For diagrams and to read more, click here
Seeds
I carry many seeds within
Seeds of my soil
Seeds of my roots
Seeds of my soul
Each seed blooms redolent with fragrance
Imbued with hues unseen, unimaginable
I at times wonder
Whether these seeds shape me
Or I endow them with shapes
Hitherto un-envisaged , undecipherable
I carry many songs within
Songs of my heart
Songs in my thoughts
Songs on my lips
They burst into harmonious symphony
Making the birds chirp
Making the wind waltz
I wonder from where do these songs arrive
From the soil of my land ?
From the roots of my birth ?
That nurtured me, nourished me
Or from my heart ?
Which carries pagan tales
Or from my soul which “marches on”
Even when I am in broken shapes
Even when I recede into silence
(The phrase “soul marches on” is taken from one of Swami Yogananda Paramhansaji’s spiritual poems.)
whenever
life’s meandering road leaves
small pieces of dream
down the path
while
shaping the circle within the square
within your heart’s inner sun
time’s curves bend
as though to remind you of
the way all is light
at the stars’
core
softening edges
tranquility shapes perspective
peace prunes a safe space
The Long View
Professor Evan Salter, PhD set aside his dog‑eared copy of Simplicius Simplicissimus with the reluctance of a man parting from an old friend. The spine was cracked, the margins dense with decades of notes. It was the one book that never lied to him. It never pretended the world was gentler than it was.
He clicked on the news out of duty rather than curiosity and felt the familiar tightening in his chest- the tension between what people believed was happening and what he knew humanity had already proven itself capable of.
Midway through a university lecture circuit tracing the machinery of human cruelty across centuries, he had expected horror. Awe. Perhaps even humility.
Instead, the Q&A sessions erupted before he could invite them. College students- wired on caffeine and the conviction that history had finally reached its breaking point- launched questions like coiled springs.
“Professor Salter, how can you say this isn’t the worst era in human history? Have you seen what’s happening in Gaza?”
“And what about here? The political chaos, the corruption, the choreographed division?”
“Sudan has collapsed into genocide. Iran is executing protestors. What can we possibly gain by comparing any of this to what happened hundreds of years ago?”
If only he steadied himself, I didn’t know now what I didn’t know then.
Their voices rose in overlapping waves- fear sharpened by headlines, moral clarity shaped without a working knowledge of long-view history. Evan felt the familiar ache in his gut. They weren’t wrong- but they were standing on a tiny island of time, convinced it was the whole world.
“You’re asking good questions,” he said quietly. “But you’re asking them as if the present age invented suffering.”
He let that settle before continuing. “What’s happening in Gaza is horrific. The political turmoil in the United States is destabilizing. Sudan is enduring catastrophic violence. Iran is suppressing its own people. These are very real crises.”
“But they are not without precedent. And they are not the worst humanity has done.”
“You think this moment is unique because it’s the one you’re living through. But history is full of nights darker than this one. Entire regions depopulated by genocides that reshaped continents. Wars where cruelty wasn’t the exception- it was the mode of the day.”
He knew they wanted reassurance that their moment was special, that their fears were singular, that the world was collapsing for the first time and not the fiftieth.
He realized, with a pang both tender and tragic, that he was preaching to the Simpliciuses of the modern age- well‑meaning, bewildered souls who had never wandered through the ruins of history long enough to understand the scale of human possibility. They knew only the evils of their own lifetime, and so they mistook them for the worst.
If only they knew, he thought. If only they understood how far the human imagination could fall when given permission.
***
Image credit: Pinterest
Esther Chilton 
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