a stream of unconsciousness written with word counter . . . :
she packed her tapestry cloth bag
her portmanteau of words and phrases in world languages
streaking dawn, she travelled full noon to evening-tide
cross skies of transitional blues and hues of steel grey
shadowing clouds, stalking shadows
star-blankets, moon-crests on quilts of ocean waves
passing equinox to solstice; then repeat
home: where she is not
journey: when she isn’t
for: sammi scribbles weekend writing prompt: 228: portmanteau
portmanteau:
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a large trunk or suitcase, typically made of stiff leather and opening into two equal parts.synonyms:
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a word blending the sounds and combining the meanings of two others, for example motel (from ‘motor’ and ‘hotel’) or brunch (from ‘breakfast’ and ‘lunch’).“podcast is a portmanteau, a made-up word coined from a combination of the words iPod and broadcast” ·[more]
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consisting of or combining two or more aspects or qualities.“a portmanteau movie composed of excerpts from his most famous films”
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September 30, 2021 at 2:35 am
Oh! Lorraine this is so amazingly evocative 💜
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September 30, 2021 at 10:14 am
Thanks Willow. It was one of those “moments” The first line popped into my head, then I needed to find the rest to follow.
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September 30, 2021 at 2:46 pm
It’s excellent 😊
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September 27, 2021 at 12:14 pm
Love the paradoxes of imagery and thought. Fantastic.
pax,
dora
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September 28, 2021 at 3:12 am
Thanks, Dora. The image of a tapestry-fabric bag stuffed full of words came first; the adventure (with prodding and pruning) followed. I like juxtaposing.
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September 27, 2021 at 11:16 am
A very charming write, Lorraine. I enjoyed reading your lovely poem. Well done.
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September 28, 2021 at 3:10 am
Thanks. Dabbling in prose poetry again. The first line came to me in a flash — the way responses to prompts can — and the rest flowed (with some prodding and pruning).
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September 27, 2021 at 6:54 am
Dear Lorraine,
Weekend or not a lovely write in it’s own right.
Shalom,
Rochelle
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September 28, 2021 at 3:08 am
Thanks, Rochelle. I’m dabbling in prose poems again. Feeling my way along.
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