Photo and Art Prompts to Inspire Creativity in all Forms
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Photo Prompt: Skipping Stones

Photo © Aline Smithson
Visit her website to see additional photos. And, her blog Lenscratch
The photographer lives in Los Angeles, California, and
specializes in fine art photography.
Writing Prompt Idea
Remember when you were young?
Recall a favorite childhood memory.
A simple moment.
One that sticks in your mind.
And, never goes away.
Photo used with permission from Aline Smithson.


WHY? said...
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WHY? said...

I had a crush on a boy in my fifth grade class. It was a lifetime ago, but I still remember his dark brown eyes, and his shy grin. He got into a bad accident. I forgot what happened, but I remember the day he came back to school. His face was all cut up and swollen.

We played this game in class, I forget what it was, but you had to pick the next person to go. I kept picking him. I guess it was really obvious how much of a crush I had on him. I don't think we ever uttered a word to each other. But, I still remember his face. His name was Adam.

I hope he's lived a good life.

Rinkly Rimes said...

I think my poem captures the same boy-meets-water mood.

Sarah-Paige said...

reflection is still,
the trees they are still
in this suspended moment,
like a rubber band
a life from morning to morning
lived and died

a boy no more than ten
(the director specified)
enters stage centre
more of an unwilling appearance,
he turns as if to say
this is for you sister,
a skipping stone he does let fly
from his bathed hands
to shatter all expectation
of a simple imitation

my name shall be indescribable
and I shall be boy

in the window of a rippling memory
the edges masked by uncertanties
a future self contradicts
linear time, as he whispers
a warning there
a nagging truth here
become that man my love
dissapoint your fathers
lay six feet under before your mother

my name shall be indescribable
and I shall be boy

Pat Jenkins said...

simple pleasures bring simple joy!

James Parker said...


I watch the stones go skipping.
Cross the water as they're thrown,
In a strange way they remind me,
Of the places I've called home.

The stones touch down an instant,
Then go zip along their way,
In life that's rather similar,
To where I've come today.

I seem to go from place to place,
No chance to settle down,
Home is just a lonely word,
Meaning something I've not found.

To the stone, it's just an instant,
In my life, it's years I've cast,
Timewise, they're both identical,
When they've slipped into the past.

Meandering Michael said...

It's a game I can't forget
A trick my father showed to me
A playful ruse called "Pull My Finger"
That brings forth great

It's a game I will soon teach
A trick my children won't forget
That playful ruse called "Pull My Finger"
That brings forth great
Olfactory regret

Marian Trasca said...

good one


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