Today’s exercise, pulled from the salt-pig’s mouth is: Clocks/Timekeeping – something I’m not particularly good at, but here goes:

Clocking

It is current and will fizzle complacently like Sauerkraut on a windowsill, but return, always return, there is really nothing for it. Seasonally speaking it’s an idiom of flaccid syllables but enough loved to hang around, spillage of habits from the nunnery, coincidental as all. Tethers of emancipation tighten to the cushion, the plump chair beckons idly but there is light now even in darkness there is no recourse. Measure of measuring for the pleasure of measurement, and the parsnips remain unbuttered.

Bookshelves
Fantasy corner.

Published by Eryl Gasper Dick

I am an artist and writer living in southwest Scotland. I freelance as a Literature Ambassador (for Wigtown Festival Co. who run the Scottish Book Town); as a creative writing teacher; and a content provider, populating people's websites and marketing materials with perfectly honed, clear sentences. When I'm not gadding about supporting writers, lit events, businesses, and students I write fiction, non-fiction, and the odd poem. I avidly believe that creativity is the answer to the problem.

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4 Comments

  1. I did, it’s the turbine hall at Tate Modern, I was there for the Miro retrospective some years ago now. I remember thinking I have to try and capture this atmosphere. Glad you like it.

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