Category Archives: The Stories

Weekly Writing Prompt 17: Prophetic Song For the New Year

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It is time to write my last poem of 2015. Using the Secret Keeper’s list of words I am choosing to use the Shadorma form  to sing my way into the 2016.

My necessary words this week are:  | PART | STONE | FLAW | STRICT | NOTE |

Prophetic Song For the New Year

100_1786

by JE Lillie

Still as stone

The old year sounds dead.

Flawed strict notes

Cannot be

Played again. Their parts undone,

I sing a New Year.

Flaws begin

With new notes unheard.

Unrehearsed

Parts falter.

Strict rhythms fall apart like

Water crumbling stones .

A cycle

Then more than a song

Symphony.

Flawed strict notes

My new theme a stone in place

 Part  of larger work.

Weekly Writing Prompt #16: While They Slept

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THE SECRET KEEPER has released our 16th writing prompt. This week our poetic forms are:

Haiku (5 – 7 – 5)
Tanka (5 – 7 – 5 – 7 – 7)
Shadorma (3 – 5 – 3 – 3 – 7 – 5)
six lines – no rhymes – multiple stanzas [your choice] – just follow meter
Nonet (9 – 8 – 7 – 6 – 5 – 4 – 3 – 2 – 1) progression downward of syllables
Cinquain (2 – 4 – 6 – 8 – 2) five line poem on any theme with the earlier mentioned syllable pattern

Our buzz words are:  | COMFORT | HEAD | SPACE | MELT | WICKED |

After you have read and made your comments on my Nonet please check out the other submissions at the underlined link above.

While They Slept

by JE Lillie

“Comfort! Comfort my people!” He said.

Space  melted time and memory.

Spirits slumbered. Sleepy saints

Mistook the Living Head

For just another

Among wicked

Masses bent

To a

Cross.

Friday Fictioneers:Reflection

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Friday Fictioneers time folks! The time of the week when 100+ authors share 100- words with the world. We base our stories on a photo prompt given by our A number one hostess Rochelle. Check out all the stories by following the little blue frog at THIS SITE.

Here is the prompt and my story is below that.

Kitchen Window

photo by: © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

Reflection

by JE Lillie

The sun is setting again. She is at the sink doing dishes. I am at the table in my usual spot drinking coffee after dinner.

We are stuck, she and I, in this maddening loop ever since the day I sent him away. We eat dinner in silence. She does the dishes. I drink my coffee. She looks out the window. I catch the longing in her eyes turned outward. Then I see her glaring back at me in the window’s reflection. It echoes my own thoughts, suggests what we both think. I should have gone.

In Other Words: Take It Out On the Tree

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This piece is written in response to Patricia’s IN OTHER WORDS CHALLENGE. You can check out the other posts in the challenge by clicking on the underlined link and following the little blue frog.

In Other Words

The quote of the week is…

“The Christmas tree is the dot on the “i”.”
Frank Taylor

Take It Out On the Tree

By JE Lillie

Things that send you over the deep end. Straws that break camels’ backs. Mole hills that become mountains. It’s the story of my life!

It is never life’s tragedies that break my spirit. I can handle the heart attacks, the sudden deaths and the out-of-nowhere divorces. Personal bankruptcy or the thought of national economic collapse don’t even make me bat an eye.

But let me burn the rolls for the turkey dinner or let the cat knock down the Christmas tree and break just one glass bulb, suddenly my world is coming to an end. I am ranting and screaming. I threaten the cat with a tennis racket future. I promise certain death to anyone at the table who might comment on the state of the dinner rolls.

Christmas is never ruined by the caskets or the court cases. It’s the slanted star and the broken bulbs that set me off. I spend more time grumbling at the Christmas tree than commiserating with the relatives who are screwing up their lives. Maybe that is the point! If I yell at the tree or threaten the cat, if I burn the rolls to a crisp they can’t yell back. The Christmas tree is a safe place to put my anger, my fury at how others are messing up the holiday. That means it’s not about the tree at all. The broken bulb is just a stand in for the brokenness around me, the brokenness I feel I cannot address because it’s Christmas after all. It’s supposed to be a season of peace on earth, good will to men.

I leave you with a thought this Christmas. If the people around you are just plain ruining the holiday for you, stay sweet. Smile when the family’s around and in your private times take it out on the tree!

Friday Fictioneers: My Father’s Secret

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Welcome to Friday Fictioneers the place where more than hundred authors come to share less than a hundred words regarding a photo posted by our hostess Rochelle. Check out all the stories HERE.

My own story is posted below the photo:

PHOTO PROMPT © Luther Siler

photo by Luther Siler

My Father’s Secret

by JE Lillie

My father looked like any other man. He acted big like any other man. Drank beer, smoked and cussed like any other man.

He often said, “The day’ll come Buddy when you have to stand on your own. I won’t be around to save you.”

The invasion came. They called themselves them the Purrex. Humanoid cats.

They found my father. Sawed him in half with some laser sword. That was when he transformed into his true form, his bird form.

The stress of it all brought my own wings out. They carried me to the mountains. Now Purrex are hunting me!

Okay a little weird this week. Maybe I have been watching too much ScyFy.

Friday Fictioneers: The Garden At Life’s Edge

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Here is another episode of Friday Fictioneers, the post where 100 authors share 100 words off of a photo prompt provided by blog-hostess Rochelle. Check out the diversity in the stories shared by clicking the link above and by following the blue frog to the stories.

Here is the weekly prompt and my story:

Photo by: Roger Bultot

The Garden At Life’s Edge

By J.E. Lillie

We used to climb the stairs to the roof every weekend. She would hand me the garden claw and I would bend to weeding her roof-top garden while she deadheaded the flowers. We were both younger then.

It’s been years since we made that climb together. She barely reaches the last step. I can hear her weeping as we step into what’s left of the ruined roofscape.

I place my hand on Nana’s quivering shoulder.

“We’ll fix it, Nana.” I say.

But she knows there is no fixing this garden at life’s edge.

Friday Fictioneers: The Waves Won’t Wait

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Welcome to Friday Fictioneers, the place where 100 authors gather to share 100 words apiece to describe a photo offered by our hostess Rochelle. My story is below the photo prompt but you can find 99+ other stories by going to Rochelle’s blog HERE

PHOTO PROMPT © Sandra Crook

Photo by: Sandra Crook

The Waves Won’t Wait

by JE Lillie

Every day I scrabble up to the top of the cliff. I sit on the ledge and let my feet dangle over the waves crashing below. They are like the people in my life: Angry, noisy, promising a nasty end if I let them touch me.

I sit alone at the top of the world beyond their reach, sealed away by the emotional distance I have placed between us.

I wait until sunset then clamber down the slope. As I hit the beach I can hear my parents screaming at each other. I go home anyway. The waves won’t wait.

Friday Fictioneers: A Place To Play

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It is time for another episode of Friday Fictioneers. My 100 word story taken from the photo prompt is found below the photo. You can see how others interpreted the prompt by clicking on the underlined link above. Once you are at the Fridays Fictioneers site follow the little blue frog. 🙂

JHC5

PHOTO BY: J Hardy Carroll

A Place To Play

By JE Lillie

Momma died in April. The whole village came out for the funeral. She was the Pastor’s wife after all.

The whispers started that day.

“Poor man. Left a widower at such a young age and with two daughters. How’s he going to raise them?”

Daddy did just fine. Some days he would pack up our tea set and bring us to the church with him.

While he worked on his sermon we were shuffled out to the graveyard alongside the church.

He would wink at us and say, “Go see if mommy wants to play tea party.”

She always did.