Esther Chilton

Your prompt word this week is

MEMORIES

What comes to mind when you think of memories? Happy memories? Sad memories? Something poignant? About people? Places? Animals? You don’t have to share your own memories – you can create some for a character. It’s up 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 DRIVE.

Utahan15:

drive to feel alive

driven to tears

by absence and fears

Susan Batten:

Driving I drove through the night just to get here, you drove off the tee in disdain. you drove all the nails down into the wood, while I walked in cold, driving rain.

You’re driving at something I can’t see when you laugh at my efforts to write. You drive me to give up in loneliness You drive me away in the night.

You say I am driven to waste time when I write it all out in my book, whereas I feel the drive that’s behind it, you need nothing more than a cook.

Frank Hubeny:

Talking While Driving Me Nuts

I could drive, but I’d much rather walk.
I could fly, if I could, like a hawk.
Since I know that a lie
makes a mess, I will try
not to lie, but beware when I talk.

Therapy Bits:

Engine Light On

Some mornings
my mind is a room with the lights flickering,
wires exposed,
a low electric hum of doubt
threading through everything.

The mirror asks questions
I don’t have the language to answer.
The bed is a magnet.
The ceiling, a sky I orbit
without moving.

But somewhere beneath the static
there is a small, stubborn engine.

It coughs.
It stalls.
It remembers motion.

They call it ambition,
resilience,
grit—

I call it drive.

Not the glossy kind
advertised on billboards of perfect people,
but the quiet drive
that puts my feet on the floor
even when gravity feels personal.

It is the hand on the wall
guiding me down the hallway
when my thoughts are louder than sirens.
It is the breath counted—
four in, four out—
a contract with tomorrow.

Some days success
is answering one email.
Some days it is stepping outside
and letting the sun touch my face
without apology.

I am learning
that progress does not always roar.
Sometimes it whispers,
“I am still here.”

And that is enough
to turn the key again,
to let the engine shudder and start,
to steer this trembling heart
forward—
even with the warning light on.

The Afterlove Voice:

Drive has many meanings.
It can be the rumble of wheels on asphalt at dawn.
The urge that pushes us forward.
The whisper in our blood that says keep going, even when the map runs out.

I learned about drive not on highways —
but in the quiet spaces between questions.

When I was young, drive was literal:
waiting in the backseat as the car sped toward new places,
the world sliding by in fields and hills,
my hands warm on the window glass,
wondering what waited around the next bend.

Later, drive became something inside me —
not about distance, but direction.
It was the voice that kept me writing when words refused to form.
The quiet insistence that justice matters when silence feels safer.
The choice to move forward, even when every cell wanted to stay still.

Drive is not always a roar.
Sometimes it’s a steady hum.
A breath that says one more step.
A heartbeat that says yes, still yes.

What drives us isn’t always visible.
Sometimes it’s love.
Sometimes it’s loss.
Sometimes it’s just the ancient hunger to be seen —
to be true —
to arrive.

Drive sends us down the open road,
and sometimes straight through the heart.
But in every mile —
we are becoming.

Sillyfrog’s Blog:

Utopian Funk

I’ve heard it said a hundred times,
“If dogs ruled the world, it’d be great!
Their hearts are better than peoples’
Joyfully unconcerned about their own fate.”
That concept may not seem stupid
To simpletons who have no plan to survive.
But your utopian funk will crash into reality,
Once you start trusting your sweet pet to drive.

The Limerick Guy:

I don’t get it. Driving is hard enough. A 3000 lb. vehicle going 60 mph is a lethal weapon. There are a million things going on around you. WHY WOULD YOU TAKE YOURSELF AWAY FROM PAYING ATTENTION TO THE ROAD??? But it’s much more than just endangering yourself. You are putting other innocent people’s lives in jeopardy. You can destroy the lives of innocent people for what??? Meet me at Starbucks. HOW STUPID AND INCONSIDERATE CAN PEOPLE BE???

I grew up in my dad’s auto salvage yard. I have seen first hand the fatal force of an automobile. I’ve seen mangled steering columns and crushed seating compartments.

Every day I see people texting and driving. On the freeways at high speed and driving through my neighborhood where there are kids playing. I have to rage out against it.

It’s more dangerous than Russian roulette.
It will kill – that is dead set.
Arrive alive.
DON’T TEXT AND DRIVE –
It’s something you might not live to regret!

Mark Fraidenburg:

We are invited this week to write a post containing and about what the word drive means to me. This is where the word took me.

You know the sound the second you hear it. That thundering, opening guitar riff a raw, snarling blast of pure adrenaline. Before Sammy Hagar even sings a note, you know exactly what you’re in for: an unapologetic, foot-to-the-floor anthem of defiance. This is “I Can’t Drive 55.”

But the song is so much more than a complaint about a traffic ticket.

Written in a fit of rage after being pulled over for doing 62 in a 55-mph zone on the Northway near Albany, New York, the song was born from a very real, very relatable moment of frustration. Hagar wasn’t just angry; he was inspired. He transformed a mundane speeding ticket into a roaring manifesto against being held back.

The “55” was never just about a number on a sign. It was a symbol for every rule, every regulation, every well-meaning but ultimately suffocating limitation placed on personal freedom. It’s about the feeling of having a high-performance engine under the hood but being forced to putt along in the slow lane. Hagar captured a universal spirit of rebellion that speaks to anyone who has ever felt boxed in, whether on a highway or in life.

Musically, the song is a perfect reflection of its message. The drums pound like a piston, the bassline churns relentlessly, and Hagar’s vocals scream with a reckless joy. It’s the sound of speed, of liberation, of breaking the chains. It doesn’t just tell you it wants to go fast; it makes you feel the need for speed.

Decades later, “I Can’t Drive 55” remains a staple because its core message is timeless. It’s a three-minute escape. A reminder that sometimes, the most important thing you can do is push past the limit and claim your own freedom. So the next time that iconic riff kicks in, roll down the windows, turn up the volume, and remember the feeling. It’s not just a song; it’s an attitude.

Jules Pens Some Gems:

Hitched

Remember me
The vows
We made
For life

Respect, honor
Compromise, drives
Our love

John W. Howell:

“You were away so you can drive on the next hole.”

“Can I drive the cart there?”

“No, you’re going to drive the ball. I’ll drive the cart, and buy you a beer from the refreshment cart.”

“You drive a hard bargain.”

Poetisinta:

All on Board

ardour in his eyes

a burning fire fuels the drive

city bus at dawn

The Bag Lady:

How I would like to drive

Along an old dirt road

Where the colors are alive

Sheltered in a maple grove

Autumn came and went this year

No dabble in the leaves

The absence of this drive so dear

Causes me to grieve

Cathy Cade:

Driven

This puppy drives me up the wall.

I can’t get him housetrained at all.

Now I’ve a chewed dog bed to mend.

His antics drive me round the bend.

I’ve paperwork but I can’t think;

tax forms are driving me to drink.

Now that’s the best idea so far.

Better not drive; I’ll book a car.

Pensitivity101:

I never really thought about learning to drive as a child, but in later life it was obviously a necessity, so at 21, I took lessons in my lunch hour three times a week and passed my driving test four months later on February 15th 1978.

I didn’t tell anyone, apart from my works as I had to take time off and there were five of us each sitting our test on a different day that week. I was the only one who passed.

My husband of the time’s birthday was on the 18th and I saved my pass certificate until then to surprise him. That same day, I gave my Mum and MIL my L plates torn in half, but the meaning behind it wasn’t recognised so I said nothing by way of explanation.

I played darts once a week, and my sister was pregnant with her first daughter, so it was pointless announcing my success as she was the centre of attention for what I thought was a more exciting reason.

I passed first time, the same as my then husband had, and he allowed me to drive his car on occasion until we found a suitable runaround for me, a 1965 mini I called Little Min.

I can honestly say passing my test was one of the few good things to come out of my marriage.

When I left, I got custody of the second car and bank loan to pay for it, plus the dog of the time.

iMartist:

Driven to the Brink

Taken from a page in my life.

The year was 1989, and I was about a year into a bad relationship that would last for three years, mainly because I had low self-esteem and felt like I wouldn’t meet a better girl.

I was 19 and JoAnn had just turned 17. JoAnn had a lot of emotional issues as did I. We were both undiagnosed basket cases. JoAnn was Puerto Rican and lived on the rough side of town with her mom and younger sister. She also walked with a bounce from a mild case of cerebral palsy. Aside from being attracted to her, she was also a creative soul who played guitar.

She had decided that we should take a drive; unfortunately for me, she was in one of her emotional meltdowns (she was ALWAYS contemplating suicide) that she kept hidden during this drive.

So we head to a local park, she decides to drive along a road through the park at a fast speed, but then slows down at a tight curve that, had we kept going straight, we would’ve barreled into a brick wall.

She did this a few times and it drove me to the brink that I insisted that she let me out of the car. I decided to hike it home on foot, it would be a hell of a long walk, but at least I wouldn’t be a casualty in a murder suicide.

She begged for me to get in the car, she started crying and saying she was sorry. I ignored her and she yells “Get in the fucking car or I’ll run you over !!!” She nearly did had I not jumped out of the way.

Seriously, this was only year 1 of 3. The fact that I didn’t end things after this experience totally blows my mind to this day.

She stops the car and starts sobbing. She slides over into the passenger seat (ya know back when some cars still had bench seats) and insists that I drive her to the park. So, I do and she gets out of the car and stands near a small 10 foot bridge over the lehigh river that leads into one of the parking lots. I stand with her and she looks at me and says, “Do you think you could break your neck from a 10 foot drop ?” I look at her and knocked her out with a right cross. It’s a regretful decision, I have to live with. It is by far the only time in my life when I was driven to an act of violence towards another as a means of taking control of a really bad situation.

Cell phones weren’t a thing for everyone back in ’89 like they are today.

After that, I carried her to the car, took her home, and put her in bed. When she awakened, she asked what happened. I lied and said she fainted, so I drove her home.

Rohini:

Hard Drive, Soft Life

I woke up with a drive to conquer Earth,
Or at least to conquer laundry… since my birth.
My motivation’s loud, my spirit’s alive
Until I see the sink. Then I… don’t drive.

I took my drive for a drive down the lane,
Because inner ambition needs outer terrain.
But the car had opinions, the clutch had pride
And my confidence stalled like my Wi-Fi when guests arrive.

At work my boss said, “You need more drive, my dear.”
So I smiled and said, “Sure,” while dying in fear.
I went home, ate chips, and then I cried
Because apparently “drive” means “work,” not “vibe.”

My mom said, “Girl, you’ve no drive in life.”
I said, “Ma, I have one.” She said, “Where?” I said, “Wi-Fi.”
She said, “No, I mean passion.” I said, “Oh! That kind.”
She said, “Yes.” I said, “Need to update my mind.”

My laptop has a drive full of files I ignore
Old resumes, memes, and a folder called “Important_Sure.”
It holds dreams, receipts, and one PDF titled “How to Thrive,”
Which I downloaded once… for emotional drive.

I joined a gym for the drive to get fit,
But the treadmill and I had a mutual quit.
It said, “Run.” I said, “No.” It said, “Try.”
I said, “I am trying… to not die.”

Then romance arrived like a dramatic tide,
My heart found a drive it couldn’t hide.
Suddenly I’m poetic, I’m brave, I’m alive,
Until they text “k.” Then I lose my drive.

My friend said, “Let’s go on a long drive tonight.”
I said, “Yes,” for the vibes, for the city lights.
We drove in circles, no plan, no guide,
Just two lost adults and our existential ride.

And sometimes, late, when the world feels wide,
I feel that strange inner engine inside.
Not the car kind, not the file kind, not the boss kind
Just the quiet kind that says: “Keep going, you’ll find.”

So here’s to drive, in every disguise,
In cars, in hearts, in hard disks, in lies.
It means ambition, motion, and sometimes… a vibe,
And sometimes it’s just me, lost on Google Maps, trying to survive.

michnavs:

A Steady Love

“you drive me crazy”
that’s what some loves do—
the kind that feels like a roller coaster,
the kind that bursts like a bomb across open space,
the kind that fills your stomach with butterflies.

it’s beautiful,
wonderful,
and for some, “oh so romantic.”
but i long for a love
that is steady,
peaceful,
silent—
the kind that feels like an evening hush,
looks like morning dew,
and lets me walk
safely through the world.

not loud,
not wild—
but honest,
and true.

Not all who wander are lost:

The outlook is unfamiliar

The origin is unknown

Sometimes in the end the journey is all that matters

As I delve into the interior

The truth at last is shown

Some much of life simply wasted blathers

But in spite of this we must ensure

That to the end we strive

Every day we must endure

And never lose our drive

Thomas Wikman:

Letting Your Dog Drive the Car

One thing all our dogs loved was going for a car ride. The big dogs loved sticking their heads out the window and feeling the wind in their faces. The little dogs loved going places. And they all loved looking at the passing scenery. Oh, the things you can see when you’re “ridin’ in the car, car,” as the Woody Guthrie song goes!

There were some sights that got the dogs especially excited. They would bark if they saw people working on roofs or riding bicycles, for example. They would become even more animated if we got close to a dog park or a McDonald’s drive-through window. (That might have been because sometimes we bought them snacks at the McDonald’s drive-through.)

For more and some very cute pictures, click here

1994ever:

Container Drivers (Version) – 14th November 2025

Let’s heighten tensions with China
We’ve got to keep them down
Grey caps and grey trousers
Sweatshops will keep them down
We are containers, we are the drivers

Sideways perception
Allied ascension
Maintained low wages
Increased production
Therefore profit margins
We are the containers, and the drivers

The rhetoric was for two days
Maintained headlines for two days
Militarised, cold and grey
And sold so many papers
We are containers, we are the drivers

This is not our town
Alienation came from the ground
Hard work did not keep them down
Hard work bought them the town
With their containers and their drivers

J. Ma’s a distant relation
Of 1 billion full-time workers
So they all said ‘no thanks’
In commune and closed ranks
With their containers and their drivers

A wound self-inflicted
Partnerships invalidated
FOIP – branded strategy
Diplomatic engagements ended
With AI containers and robot drivers

Peter Bouchier:

Staying on Course

At the helm of your life
staying the course 
is the most important goal.

*

Standing at the wheel of life
staying on course
is the most important drive.

Am Ruder your life
on the back remains
without everything is forgotten.

To your own life rudder,
oars remain
on course for the longest time to be transmitted.

Poetry – Cabbage After Christmas:

Crazy Beautiful Drive

Indeed how they

did drive me crazy

one by one all

again and then some

each in singular

yet similar ways

but had they not…

I would dearly

have missed rare

journey of travels

adventure unparalleled

beautiful, most blessed

jeweled canals of my mind…

not optical illusions

no, exquisite channels

leading me soon toward

river of heaven

flowing from throne

of God and the Lamb–

Dawgy Daddy Responds:

The raging storm made the drive impossible. As she pulled over and waited in limbo for it to pass Pam noticed a little bookworm crawling across the cover of her recently purchased used book. 

The Dog Lady’s Den:

A Painful Memory:

Should she break it off? Despite the compelling physical attraction, sex alone was no longer enough. An in-depth conversation would be nice on occasion, or a proper movie date instead of the drive-in; anything to indicate he liked her as a person, apart from her physical attributes. 

He laughed when she brought it up. “You love it as much as I do”, he grinned. True enough, but, it was getting tedious when all they did was drive around, stop for coffee or look at sports cars, and then park somewhere. 

She had been deeply in love with her previous boyfriend, but he broke her heart. This was supposed to be a rebound, no strings attached, “feel good” fling; her first “adult” sexual relationship. He had made the initial experience euphoric and she was hooked on the rush.

---

It was fun, for a while. Cruising around town in his father’s light blue Chevy Nova on a sunny, Sunday afternoon, the strains of Neil Diamond’s “I Am, I Said” coming from the radio. Singing along at full volume. Taking a walk, enveloped in each other’s arms. His touch ignited a fire in her and they were wildly compatible that way.

To read more and for some great images to complement the story, click here

Suzette B’s Blog:

Closer

seasons changing lanes

winter; a rearview mirror

to what lies behind

spring closer than it appears—

shifting gears an inner drive

panaecea:

Over-Drive

Once my superior wrote in my yearly appraisal :” She has the exceptional ability to take up any assignment.”

This remark levitated me to unscalable heights and convinced me that I was a Jack of all trades till it came to driving.

My first (yes, I had many) driving lessons were on a Motor Driving School vehicle where the actual control (clutch, brake, accelerator) remains with the trainer. The trainee at best learns to balance the car and drive straight. The school’s curriculum also includes motivating the students to believe that they are born to drive. I believed them wholeheartedly and that was my undoing.

The second training (after a gap of a few years) was with a driver from Haryana. Haryanvis are known to be rough, tough and gruff. This was the phase when I was happily going to run over a side walker. On the concluding day of the training session he wrapped up saying ,”Aapko aata sab kuchh hai par aap kuchh kartey nahin ho.” You know everything but you don’t do anything.

The actual test was learning on my own car with the trainer by my side. I was to drive following his verbal instructions. He said he was a heart patient but smoked like a chimney. Much later he told me it was to deal with the stress of monitoring me at the wheels.

After battering a light pole, shoving the tyres into a parked SUV (please don’t ask me how), getting the bumper bashed in coupled with a mind that wandered into wonderland in any moving vehicle I realised I was not meant for driving. Moreover, the perpetual paranoia about all other vehicles on the road determined to have a collision with mine I finally decided I’d better be driven than being the driver.

Now that my Driving License (Well! I still have one)  needs renewal I am procrastinating. Considering the safety of the pedestrians, the durability of the light poles, the survival of the other vehicles on the road and the probability that I may have to showcase my driving skills to the RTO (Regional Transport Office) before securing a go ahead for the License I guess I should finally give the thought a rest.

What say you???

Thru Violet’s Lentz:

Povitica

Sylvie and Joe had come to a crossroads. There would be no going back this time.

Comfort food, she thought to herself as she threw the car in drive and headed for the small Slovenian bakery on the edge of town. What this moment called for was poppyseed roll- povitica, her grandmother’s family had always called it. 

She remembered all the women in the family coming together for povitica rolling parties. Each woman rolling a thick shiny poppyseed filled loaf to take home to their own family. She wondered what had ever happened to that old recipe- as once the last of her grandmother’s siblings passed- the much-loved povitica recipe had disappeared too.

Sylvie took a seat by the window. She took a bite, and the taste- sweet, nutty, threaded with memory- opened a door she hadn’t meant to walk through.

Aunt Pep and Uncle Lou, her grandma’s youngest sister and her husband.

Fifty years the two of them spent together- each one more like a war than it had ever been a marriage. They’d bickered endlessly. Came to blows often. In fact, Sylvie could not recall either of them ever saying a nice word about the other in all the years she had known them.

And yet- when Lou died- quietly, unexpectedly, in his sleep- Pep had folded in on herself like a paper lantern in the rain. Sylvie remembered the way her aunt had clutched Lou’s old flannel shirt to her chest, rocking as if the motion could rewind time. “He drove me crazy,” Pep had whispered, voice cracking. “But he was mine.”

Pep had loved Lou in the way a tree loves the driving wind- battered, yes- but unable to imagine stillness after so many seasons of being tossed.

Sylvie wrapped her hands around the warm paper coffee cup. It smelled dark and deliciously grounding. She took a sip and felt the heat move through her, steadying her.

She thought then of Joe- of the years they’d spent trying to create something that never quite materialized. There had been tenderness, yes. There had been laughter. But there had also been the slow erosion of trust, the quiet accumulation of disappointments.

They were no Pep and Lou. She thought to herself as she folded the remaining half of the povitica back into its crackling wax paper. 

And as she stood to leave, the realization settled with a clean, almost startling clarity- Pep had stayed because she couldn’t imagine another life.

Sylvie was leaving because she could.

***

Image credit: Pinterest