Writing for 5: Week two writing prompt. Join in!

photo by Renaud Camus, Creative Commons, click image for details

Thank you so much for dropping by,

Welcome to Write for 5 week two. This is how it works. I post an image and we write for five minutes and then post our results in the comments up to 9pm on Sunday.

I decided to stick with just one image this week (above), not three like last week.

Take as long as you like to look at the bed above with that beautiful light on the pillows. When you’re ready to write, start your timer.

We have up until 9pm on Sunday, Mar. 5, to post what we’ve come up with but go ahead and post whenever you feel like it.

Our writing can take any form: poetry, creative nonfiction, flash fiction, experimental or erasure poetry, dialogue or whatever you like. Go for it.

If you have any questions, I’m going to be away from the computer most of the day but I’ll get back to you on Sunday morning. Let me know if you have any technical issues with posting.

I am so looking forward to reading what you come up with so don’t be shy.

And as I said yesterday, someone will get a book sent to them from me with a personal note for participating.

Thanks for playing. I hope you enjoy it!


  1. Write for fivers. Thanks for participating this past weekend in Write for 5. Last week I popped something in the mail for Candace Rardon who is in Montevideo, Uruguay. Who knew that it takes 4-6 weeks for something to arrive in Uruguay from Canada, surface mail. I hope she gets it.
    After careful consideration, I had to go with my heart and have decided that this week, the person who will be sent a book (although I’ve yet to figure out which one) will be Elaine Guillemin. I just loved her poem. Especially the second and third stanzas. It evoked so much for me with so few words. So thank you Elaine. I now have to choose one of my books that makes sense to send you. Happy Monday to each of you.

    1. Many thanks. I was really surprised you chose my poem. Each entry was imaginative and I’m always amazed at how many different directions a prompt can take one on. Creativity in abundance!

      1. Indeed. That’s the thing about poetry. Everyone, depending on what they bring to the poem from their own experience, will have it resonate for them in totally different ways. Some people, not at all, and others, won’t be able to stop thinking about the words and the images that were conjured up as a result.

  2. He knew they were clean sheets because they didn’t smell of old sweat, sinew and onions. No, instead they smelled of flowers, he could only imagine, and possibly candy, though he couldn’t be sure. Whatever it was, it was delightful and he quickly stripped off all of his clothes and darted under the sheets.
    The sheets were cold on his warm skin and the pillows too, comforted his burning cheeks. As he lay on his back, he couldn’t help but sprawl across the bed’s entire surface, taking up as much room as he could in starfish formation. The coolness beneath the sheets felt so good, he relished in their comfort as his limbs danced like he was doing snow angels.
    He let out a sigh as he remembered winters in New Hampshire with his parents when he was just a little boy, it seemed like only yesterday he was creating snow angels for his grandparents in their backyard. Suddenly, a sharp sting on his forehead startled him out of his distant dreaming. He slapped the mosquito and cringed at the thought of having murdered a creature. Tears welled up in his eyes not because he felt guilty about the insect, but because he no longer knew what his purpose was bushwhacking through the South American jungles.

    1. Dear E.B. Coffey, Thanks for participating. This conjures up images of Harrison Ford, Raiders of the Lost Ark, and now I’m showing my age. I wouldn’t mind getting in between the sheets with him, or the person he used to be when that movie came out, just as long as I never have to get in his plane (given recent events). I hope you had fun with this.
      I had a lot of fun reading these. Thanks again.
      There’s still 3 hours left to Write for 5 in response to the above image. Anyone else?

  3. The sheets were damp in that hotel room even though it was a warm spring evening outside. She liked that it was quiet though, and the way the weak sunlight lit the room naturally so that she didn’t have to turn on the lights. She fell asleep uneasily.

    That was the first night her dream lover visited her. His face a blur but she felt the weight of him heavy on her, arousing her, then enveloping her in a comforting embrace. He would visit her many nights over the years that followed, no matter where she was or what was happening in her life. Sometimes she would catch a glimpse of his face. Other nights, his features would change, but the feeling he left with her was constant, and he always seems to know exactly when to appear.

    After that first night, she woke up slowly, content to lie there, eyes closed, savouring the thin sheet of sleep protecting her before she had to get up, check out, go back to Jason’s apartment and start packing her things.

    1. Oh my. You naughty girl! Poor Jason. Always the last to know. Or maybe not…Aren’t we all craving a little bit of excitement? Not that I’m advocating cheating on anyone, not at my age. Still… That last sentence opens up the imagination now, doesn’t it? Can always count on my dear Michelle for a little spice.

  4. I want a magazine home
    with cotton blankets the colour of bone
    and bone walls and bone pillows
    to warm my bones
    to live within walls of stone
    marble, granite, rough rock
    made of plaster that you’d swear
    is stone, or bone
    My home is made of paper
    and ceramic and yellow dog hair
    those 100% boar bristle
    hair brushes from my childhood
    Those are woven through
    the blankets on my bed
    Down quilt with a wool throw, for show
    A throw I’ll throw
    off when I wake over-hot.
    A magazine home has no musk,
    no sex, no dust
    No litter box, no toast crust
    on a side plate on a bedside table
    No dog breath and cat dander.

    1. Who of us, women anyway, haven’t imagined the life we’d have, different from our current one, after flipping through one of those Home and Garden-type publications. Love how you’ve captured that. Still waiting for the sexy response to the image, a memory that I’d never dare write about, but maybe should reconsider. It would be interesting to approach this image from more than one viewpoint. Thanks for playing along, Tanja, a real, published poet.

  5. Sepia soft
    Afternoon thrall,
    Stone walls,
    silk coverlet,
    shadows over all.

    Queen’s head,
    Knave’s arm,
    Child and dog
    Warmed this bed.

    I slept with them
    until the sun
    brought me back to you.

  6. [okay. This week, I set the timer properly and yes, five minutes, especially when writing by hand on paper, is super fast. Whoa! Maybe I should extend it next week to 10 minutes. Here’s what I wrote. No editing.
    Trip to London, 2001
    last week of the journey
    overnight stay near Kensington
    Colonial façade so spotless and clean on the outside
    dark hallways after checkin
    wretched staircase
    stained red carpet to second floor room
    open the door,
    darkness, old, grimy
    Window view: Brick wall
    afraid to even look at the shower
    yellow, crispy shower curtain
    “Not going in there!”
    lift sheets to check bed
    “okay. good enough.”
    notice cigarette butt still in ashtray on sideboard
    Returning after an evening of dinner and sightseeing
    I pick up the remote with two fingers
    wondering about all the germs it might be giving me
    and sit on the bed
    watching The Proms
    from a TV, plastic and tiny,
    dirt in its mechanical seams,
    glad after a month away,
    that it wouldn’t be too long to
    catch the flight home.

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