This month’s Dark Angels of Merton brief was set by Thomas Heath. Here it is.
TASK
Before the end of October, capture a lost moment with a tweet.
CONSTRAINTS
- Must be written while you’re stuck waiting for something or someone to come or go.
- 140 characters only.
QUESTIONS?
Q – How’s this different from Twitter?
A – Context.
An almost full set of responses below.
Gardens of Granada. Pomegranate gleams in green leaves, BlackBerry dims. No more emails. No more Moors. A last sigh. Emails back to sender. John
Pin-striped legs, marching in time. Eyes forward, arms loaded. A red coat breaks up the City grey. She catches me watching. I look away. Anelia
Soldier shirt. leotard. fishnet stockings. cap over glint in your eye. stage call. slinking shrug. eyelash flashing. twinkling wink goodbye. Andy
O guru! O method! O teacher! O pregnant promise of learning! Burning figments of the mutual. “Read this” she said, “and let it spur you on”. Chris
I thought that you had kept me waiting, until I realised that you had, through waiting, kept me. Martin
Quite a character/Though notable by absence/Giving pause for breath/He’s the unseen guest/But it’s not hard to find him/He’ll be at the bar. Paul
‘Thoughts spin like crazy plates. Shadows at a circus. I wait, breathing…willing the din to die away. Waiting for you to come, and slow. Me. Down. Where are you, Mr Sleep?’ Heather
‘MMMaaa. Shlooo. Door. Door! Key! Key! Keeeeeeeey! Hoooovah. Bagga. Bagga. Bagga! Hahum. Hah. Car! Wayawaya. Bye-bye, bye-bye. MMMaaaaaaaa.‘ Claire
Taxi out: wait: taxi back: taxi out: wait: back: disembark: wait in bus: several bottle out: climb stairs: taxi out: take off: for starters. Stuart
Indian dawn. Half asleep. Luggage on platform. Train leaving station. Where’s the camera? Oh no…oh well…one happy sleeping car attendant. Jamie
The King & I. And me in the wings. I’m guard/peasant/priest; cloud, half a house and a guy called Phra Alack. Harborough Theatre needs men. Thomas
Neil Duffy has the last word from the angels
Cool clear cloudless. Soft sun. Tokyo London. Autumn’s Platonic conception of itself. Wouldn’t it be great if it was like this all the time?
She will. And it will be. Unless she’s not and it isn’t. Then I don’t want to know. Well, I do. What if it’s him and he has? Then I won’t.