I got nuttin’

an inexplicable or mysterious transmuting

That’s the challenge definition and the word to use is Alchemy. This is for Trifecta Week 72.

For the life of me I cannot think, I have attempted 5 times, I have walked up and down the length of my house, rubbed fingers on knotted brow, I have gazed to the ceiling and the barren walls, splashed my face with water, had a straight scotch, stood outside in the cold night air.

I am perplexed, bamboozled terrified – writers block has hit fiercely, nothing that enters my pea brain at the moment makes any sense.  No words of wisdom…pace..no deep and meangingful pearls…pace…nothing that strikes me…no story…. no prose not even a Haiku…. hang on a minute!  Don’t move…. here it comes…my freeze has been defrozen …no actually defrosted…


I started off as an egg
then into lava I did grow
then I was a pupa
my morph to butterfly was slow

nope,  that’s not working either, can’t get the word alchemy into it.

what about?

you started off as Clark Kent
then into phone booth you did went  (I’m a writer I have a license to write this stuff)
the alchemy transmute was grand
for you emerged as Superman

ok it’s not working for me, so clearly it won’t be working for you either.

Well,  I’m sorry my fellow Trifectians and readers, I have nada, zilch, or as us Aussie would politely say ‘bugger all’.

Alas I do not hold the power of alchemy, mystical or otherwise to transform
what I have written into something, profound, beautiful, containing imagery, be thought provoking or otherwise.

If you do read, please don’t let it spoil your activities, you may now get on with your day.

For the wonderful ever so popular and inspiring TRIFECTA http://www.trifectawritingchallenge.com/


maybe next prompt I’ll have my ‘zing’ back


My 100th Blog – 18th Century

Courtesy of Google and 123rf.com

I walk upon these cobblestone streets, the soles of my shoes thin & bare, but I do not complain for they protect me from the cold & damp & I step one foot in front of the other

Carriages drawn by horses pass my way, their heads held high exhaling steam from open nostrils with reins held tight, they hold their strength to pass with clacking sound of hooves upon the street

& splash my rustling skirt and petticoat which touch upon muddied brick

Houses either side of me, old & decaying with heavy latched doors that are weathered from the seasons & light from oil lamps glow through windows & fireplaces give warmth to those within

They are the most blessed, for there is laughter in these times

Skivvy my occupation, though the coins I receive are little

I cannot take place in my masters fine home & talk of worldly matters

For he is of upper class & I am but his servant & should be gracious for being so

But I walk the cobbled streets of London & dream of a life where I can speak

My brother works in coal mine, he’s young, 10 of age his face & soul are blackened by his daily work, an infant in my eyes

But he shows no annoyance for doing so & is glad of the penny he receives for his toil

My sister sells her body to men to feed her child so young, I wish her life like mine

It’s dark & cold this night of nights as I step one foot in front of the other

My dress is wet & muddied from dirt off bricks, muddied like my heart & the cold night air chills me to my bone

But I wear the shawl my master gave me & draw it closer for the warmth

My master he wears fine breeches & white stockings with buckled shoes so grand

In my bag a kerchief, that my mother now gone, gave me, it’s white with lace on border

I walk the cobblestones in cold of night & step one foot in front of the other

I dream of another existence where I am free to talk of life & what I wish to be

But I know that I cannot, I can only dream, I am a young woman… there is no future for me

A girl of 15, alone without a family by my side, so I walk these dark and narrow cobbled streets & show no fear of the darkness that surrounds me, the bodies that lay still & silent from starvation

Though I cannot voice my words, I hold my head with pride that yes I am but a skivvy to such a nobleman

Who provides the shelter & roof & a coin to line my threadbare purse, I won’t complain

My life may change one day of that I dream & pray, but for now I walk these cobbled streets & have hope that things will change

I live as the privileged do & I should not find cause to object, I must give praise for the life I live & have a place where I can rest… a home

But for now & for the future, I walk along these cobbled streets, upon the rank and murky ground & I am so very alone