#ThrowbackThursday Poetry: October Thin

Happy Throwback Thursday! I originally published this poem on July 31, 2015, looking forward to a skinny October. Well, two years later, and I’m still trying to lose those pesky pounds. I recently told my best friend I wanted to be Aaliyah for Halloween. So . . . *clears throat* . . . it’s time to get to work!

October Thin

I want to lose at least thirty pounds by October.
Odd month to set a weight loss goal, I know.
No one aims to have their bodies bikini ready
by October. The water’s cold by then. The beaches
empty. No one’s there to see your smooth wax,
your carved abs, your lifted ass. There’s no use
in being scandalous under the water, pulling off your
bottoms, brushing up against a fellow swimmer, spreading
your legs and peeing in the waist deep ocean where the kids
boogie board. It’s hurricane season. Those rip currents
will snatch those bottoms right out of your hand,
pull you under with them. No, October’s the wrong month
to get skinny. But it’s possible there’s a skimpy Halloween costume—
equipped with fairy wings, a tutu, a lace bodice and pushup bra—
waiting for my newly thin body when the clock strikes midnight October 31st.

—Nortina

Above the Ocean Breeze

Lately, I’ve become obsessed with the Japanese poetry form. My favorite are the tanka and haiku, though I’ve been exploring other forms to try too.

Recently, I hooked up with new blogging buddy and Nigerian sister based in the UK, Amina (Check her out at Ameena’s Musings) to collaborate on a renga.

Renga (meaning linked poem) is meant to be written by two or more poets. It consists of alternating three-line and two-line stanzas. The three-line stanza should have a total of 17 syllables (similar to a haiku), while the couplet has seven syllables per line.

I think the collaborative poem is definitely our thing. This one reads as if it were written by one person. Enjoy! 🙂

beautiful-sexy-blonde-girl-walking-on-the-beach-sea

Above the Ocean Breeze

Walking down the beach
Foot impressions in the sand
Music in my ears

Waves rush ashore ferrying
Seashells across vast oceans

Pondering on my life
How? When ..did it all go wrong
Why did it all change

I touch a dead hermit’s home
To my ear, listen for you

You…I loved you so
But you left when the tide changed
Now here I am – sad!

Standing on edge of earth as
Sun sets where water meets sky

Feeling overwhelmed
As the colours seem to fade
Memories distant

Three thousand breaststrokes away
Reunion makes me seasick

I try to jolt back
To a time I was stronger
I, my own person

When love neither made me nor
Broke me; bearer of my own

A time where my strength
Brought some hope to the hopeless
Where I could stand tall

With my unwavering voice
Part seas; sand feels like concrete

I need to reclaim
All the bits of me I’ve lost
Patching piece by piece

Like sediments of rock build
New structures out of the old

The new and old merge
Creating a stronger bond
Redefining me

No longer bound to life with
You beyond the horizon

Finally I can
Look forward to a new start
Where I love myself

I wrap my arms around my
Body, tight like rip currents

At last, I can breathe
And have freedom like the birds
This is my new start

—Amina & Nortina ❤

Honeymoon Skinny Dip

Even in summer, the water was freezing at night.

“Don’t shrivel up on me.” I slipped out of my bikini bottoms, dangled them above his head.

“Let’s not flash anyone.” He winked and took my hand, drawing me further out to sea.

Morning Dive

When we were kids, they told us never to go swimming during a thunderstorm. The lightning could strike the water, fry our little bodies and stop our hearts. But what were the odds, right?

Russell is drunk again. He walked into our one-bedroom apartment at eight this morning, trailing a 40 behind him, wet hair clinging to his forehead. “The water’s swarm,” he slurred.

I didn’t mention that I had to walk the kids seven blocks to school because he took the car, that my checkbook was missing, that Breen’s cleats for football would cost $160—$160 we don’t have; $160 Russell manages to find for beer and online poker.

“I’ll take a dive,” I told him.

The water is freezing. Silly me for believing a man whose blood boils in alcohol. The waves sweep around my feet as I squat and splash my face, the salt from the ocean burning my eyes. Better to be blind than to watch Russell mold our son into his likeness.

Rumbles of thunder approach from behind. Better to be struck by lightning.

word count: 175

—Nortina


photo-20160118105818411Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers is a weekly challenge where you write a story in 75-175 using the provided photo prompt as inspiration. Click the froggy icon to read other stories inspired by the photo and add your own.

All the Boys

Arriving at the beach, she reflected on her life.

Her sister always told her she had terrible taste in men. It started in pre-school when she let Tanner Simon look under her skirt during snack time. Then in the third grade while on a field trip to Washington D.C., she snuck Mikey Colombo into her hotel bed while their chaperone smoked on the balcony. For four minutes, they pretended to be husband and wife, naming their children Mikey, Jr. and Connie, Jr. Mikey never took her virginity, though. That came in high school when she had sex with Rico Timmonds in the auditorium underneath the stage while the theatre students rehearsed Romeo and Juliet

Now, as the foam from the waves kisses her feet, her sister swears that her fiancé paid the stripper to suck him off at his bachelor party. Maybe he did. But out of all the boys she’d loved before, he was the only one who said he loved her back.

word count: ~150

—Nortina


This is in response to Mondays Finish the Story: a flash fiction challenge where we provide you with a new photo each week, and the first sentence of a story. Your challenge is to finish the story using 100-150 words, not including the sentence provided.

Click the froggy icon to read other stories and add your own.

2015-05-11-bw-beacham

Dreams of Paradise

I hate my job. The customer is not always right. In fact, the customer is almost never right. You can be damn sure that the customer will be wrong every single time.

And no, I will not give you that sweet deal; it will end up coming out of my commission; if you can’t afford the phone, don’t buy it. And yes, your data plan will still cost $34.95 a month. And no, that does not include the price of your phone, which is extra. And why on earth do you think you can get away with only paying $6.99 for an iPhone 6?

“We’ve had several complaints about you, Diane,” my manager says. “They think you’re rude and unfriendly.”

“I will not entertain stupid questions.”

“I think I’ll let you go for the day. Don’t bother coming in tomorrow.”

So this is how one gets fired, I think to myself as I sit on the bench at the subway station, waiting on my train. I gotta tell ya, I was kind of hoping he would go all Donald Trump on me—one eye squinted, lips half pursed, pointing his finger at me like a pistol. Pow! “You’re fired!”

I fall asleep and find myself transported to an island paradise where the water is as blue as the sky, the sand white as snow, and the plush vegetation a deep green, fertilized by the rich, volcanic soil. I stand on the edge of a cliff, hold my hands above my head, and dive into the clear water.

They found my body on the tracks after the #5 train passed through. I guess I was sleepwalking.

word count . . . let’s just say I went over 😉

—Nortina


This is in response to Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers: write a story in 100-150 words (give or take 25 words) using the provided photo prompt as inspiration.

I was inspired by one of my favorite Twilight Zone episodes: “A Stop at Willoughby

Click on the froggy icon to read other stories and add your own!

wpid-photo-20150410164052503

Losing My Beach

I wrote this poem in high school about a boyfriend everyone loved to hate. He was toxic, but he was my beach, a place where I could relax and forget about the worries of this world. Sometimes I would just call him and say, “Come get me! Let’s run away!” That relationship ended, and I learned the hard to never make a man my home (this concept is explored in another poem that I might share with you if you ask nicely 😉 ). Who is my beach now? J-E-S-U-S. Anyway, here’s some throwback poetry for ya!

Losing My Beach
I used to love going to the beach.
Walking to the ocean under the hot, summer sun,
Hopping on the scorching sand; though it burns, you’re having fun.
Jumping into the refreshing, cleansing ocean,
Tasting the salt in your mouth.
Oh how I wish I could go there because I need to find a way out.
Out of this place I’m stuck in,
Trapped with nowhere to go.
It’s just too unbearable to sit here and know
That the beach is so near, so close to my grasp.
Once I get it, I’m never letting go, I’ll never let it pass.
Because I love the beach. It’s my haven, a place that makes me so happy.
But whenever I get close enough to reach it,
My haven is pulled away and that always upsets me.
And so I’m trapped, trapped in the winds of a hurricane that is pulling me inland, away from my beach.
And as my beach becomes free
From this storm that carries me,
Someone else will get to enjoy the bright sun, hot sand, and cleansing water
Of the place I’ve always wanted to be.

Photo: Folly Beach, my dad's favorite beach to come and think.(Photo: Folly Beach, SC. My dad’s favorite beach to come and think.)

Nortina