Poetics: Holy Places – Within

Posted on April 3, 2018 by Michael

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In an irreverent world

It is not easy to find

A place of solace that calms your heart.

There are shrines that beckon

Places the righteous suggest

You should visit and feel the love of God.

But they are empty in my mind’s eye,

Rather the holiest of places

Exist within me.

When I sit in nature, in the early morning

The sun waking me to its nourishing warmth

And around me beauty flourishes

Birds and animals doing what they do

Uninhibited by what society may say

Infusing me with gentleness and vigour.

Its there I taste the holiest of places

Leaving me content, a little more centred.

 

Written for: https://dversepoets.com/2018/04/03/poetics-holy-places/

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Twittering Tales #78 – 3 April 2018

Posted on April 3, 2018 by Michael

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He was sure he’d left the car right where he was standing.
Looking left and right he knew he was in the right place.
How could his car not be here?
He thought of the embarrassment of calling home to say it was gone.
Then he remembered level two, not level three.

 

Written for: https://katmyrman.com/2018/04/03/twittering-tales-78-3-april-2018/

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Haibun Monday: Faith

Posted on April 2, 2018 by Michael

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Its cold out today and I’m stepping back into the church of my childhood.

Its grand edifice stands as it always did, intimidating and yet majestic.

Inside the cavern of its supposed holiness still fills me with foreboding and I wonder why I have travelled so far to once again subject myself to the Church of Fairweather Friends.

Today I’m sheltering from the elements, but I still feel the age-old chill of indifference run through me. Around me, the symbols of faith stare down on me, long forgotten saints and the torturous Stations of the Cross just where I left them. A priest enters and bids us welcome, his piety on display, and I recall the friend of my youth who stood in the same spot saying the same things, and we believed. Later I stood beside his grave, his conviction bringing about his pre-mature death. I wonder as I observe the faithful how many will suffer my fate when difficulty arises, no caring, no compassion but loads of denial.

 

the walls that surround

ache with the sins of the past

forgiveness wanting

 

Written for: https://dversepoets.com/2018/04/02/haibun-monday-faith/

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Wordle #190 – The Bride of Learning

Posted on April 2, 2018 by Michael

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This week’s fab words: Unthinkable Thread Bend Minatory (adj.)) menacing, threatening) Social Pen Impasse Bride Erudite (adj.)) characterized be great knowledge, learned, scholarly) Underneath Scatter Thirst. 

She was the bride of learning, and it was unthinkable that her thirst for knowledge would in any way dry up.

But it did.

She sat pen in hand, her mind at an impasse it had not previously been at.

Her mind was suddenly without a thread of direction as if all sense and scholarly learning had been scattered to the four winds.

In the dark recesses of her mind, she sensed a predator, a minatory thought threatening to undermine her entire sense of self.

She was deeply troubled that her usually reliable erudite self had deserted her. She was struggling to put two thoughts together as if her mind had been bent out of shape and no amount of bending was going to rectify her current situation.

She thought she would go to social media as surely there she would find some possible solution.

She called for help, some assistance, some guidance to help lift her from her current non-eruditedness. It was all to no avail as underneath it all she felt the presence of the minator of knowledge working its way with minatory precision to dry up all sense of knowledge and understanding.

The unthinkable was happening, she was descending into urban ignorance.

 

Written for: https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2018/04/02/wordle-190/

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First Line Friday – March 30th, 2018 – Seth and Habit.

Posted on April 2, 2018 by Michael

The horse came back alone. This wasn’t unusual in itself and didn’t raise a lot of interest among the drinkers on the veranda outside the pub.

To a man they turned and looked towards the west for out of the setting sun they could make out the lame figure of Seth Johnson, the town drunk and a man known as the worst horseman in the district.

Seth’s horse, called Habit, because he had a habit of dumping Seth on a regular basis stood at the hitching rail awaiting the return of his rider. He wasn’t a horse that ran off but rather knew Seth’s miserable riding habits and could only tolerate them so far before they parted company and both walked home.

The closer Seth came the more audible he became. The inaudible mutterings that came their way soon became audible threats as he promised he’d take Habit to the glue factory the first chance he got.

But it was a familiar scenario, and once Seth had a few drinks in him, he’d have forgotten every promise he’d ever made, and he and Habit would be best mates, at least that’s what we heard from Seth. From Habit, we got a series of disdainful snorts before he drank from the trough in front of him.

We all considered the situation from Habit’s point of view. With Seth being such a dreadful horseman and so often having had a good skin full his lack of skill and consideration for his mount meant it was only a matter of time before Habit got sick of him pulling on the reins, sticking his spurs in and cursing him. We all agreed we’d dump Seth if we were his horse.

Later that night as the bar was closing up the drinkers all helped Seth onto Habit and pointed him towards Seth’s tiny hut where with a bit of luck Seth would find his bed before his body gave out and he landed on the dirt track.

Tomorrow would be another day and in the local vernacular we’d all experience ‘the same old’.

 

Written for: https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2018/03/29/first-line-friday-march-30th-2018/

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Saturday Mix – Opposing Forces, 31 March 2018

Posted on April 1, 2018 by Michael

Our words this week are:

– guest and host

   liquid and solid

Across the crowded restaurant, the guest eyed off his host. She was a solid girl but moved with liquid grace.

The host caught the eye of her bewitched guest and saw an opportunity to solidify the man’s, liquid heart.

The guest thought he had the measure of his attracted host but wondered how his solid intentions went askew when he found himself liquidated.

 

Written for: https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2018/03/31/saturday-mix-opposing-forces-31-march-2018/

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Sunday Writing Prompt “It’s All in the Title” – The Day the Willows Shrieked

Posted on April 1, 2018 by Michael

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When I answered the door, Sunday had that grimace on her face that always meant bad news.

There had been a murder, a gruesome one as it turned out.

Sunday had an order from the Chief for me to go and look into the crime scene.

Shrieking Willows was the sort of place best described as being out of town. It was a popular place to picnic, which meant it had its fair share of picnickers on the weekend.

By the time I arrived there were cop cars everywhere. People were still at their picnic sites refusing to leave, as they believed the murder had nothing to do with them.

Through the glare of the flashing lights, I made out Detective Debtman, an old adversary of mine from my days on the force.

Debtman was an oaf of a man, clumsy and not always as diligent as he could be when investigating anything that came his way.

I went over and asked him what the score was. He wasn’t pleased to see me, then again he never was. Reluctantly he told me there was one dead woman, a Priscilla Catscore, a mother of two, wife of Bernard Catscore the town’s chartered accountant.

I immediately thought of a few reasons for doing away with an accountant. My accountant wasn’t called Sleazy Joe for no reason.

The deceased was lying under a picnic rug; she had been shot several times. Her husband was sitting under an oak tree a few feet away but said he heard nothing.

Just as he uttered those words of innocence, a breeze moved through the willows giving rise to the term shrieking willows.

As the wind picked up the shrieking became louder, and the unmistakeable sound of Bernie seemed to echo from the waving willow branches.

I looked at Bernard Catscore, and if ever a man looked guilty it was at that moment.

Before I said anything, I remembered Sunday’s words before I left to investigate: “Listen to the willows, they always tell the truth.”

I fronted Bernard Catscore, and I soon had him a crumpled mess, confessing to his wife’s murder. She had it coming he said for spreading vile rumours about his accounting practice.

As they took him away, I wondered if everything would add up in this case.

 

 

Written for: https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2018/04/01/sunday-writing-prompt-its-all-in-the-title/

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Weekend Writing Prompt #48 – Glimpse – Lester the Bunyip.

Posted on March 31, 2018 by Michael

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Prose Challenge – Write a story in 250 words about something seen out of the corner of the eye.  Choose from one of the following genres:

  • Fantastical – about a fairy or other mythological creature or
  • Horror – about a monster or ghost etc

We’ve always known there was a bunyip* in the creek behind my house. It’s a very isolated spot as the creek winds its way between properties on one side and the farm on the other.

You wouldn’t know the creek was there unless you lived here.

The bunyip we were always advised to stay away from as he has a bad temper when things aren’t going his way. We called him Lester, and I have been fortunate to see him a few times in my lifetime.

At first, he was a ripple on the surface of the creek, another time out of the corner of my eye I caught him scurrying into the water and out of sight.

The best sighting I had was one day I was sitting at my back fence looking over the creek when he came out and looked up and saw me staring at him. Our eyes met for a fleeting second before he vanished, his splash as he hit the water the best evidence I have of his existence. Let me say too, that bunyips are not the most attractive creatures with large heads covered in bulbous warts and webbed feet.

A few times I’ve left some food scraps on the creek bank, and every time they have vanished. One day I found a blue stone on my seat by the back fence. I know it was from Lester, his way of saying thanks and maybe his way of saying he was real.

 

* Bunyip – The bunyip is a large mythical creature from Australian Aboriginal mythology, said to lurk in swamps, billabongs, creeks, riverbeds, and waterholes.

Written for: sammiscribbles.wordpress.com/2018/03/31/weekend-writing-prompt-48-glimpse/

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#SoCS March 30/18 – bun

Posted on March 31, 2018 by Michael

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When Bunnykins Bunton woke up and saw the blood, he immediately thought, “Here’s another job I have bungled.”

On the floor beside him lay the baker, Mr Bunbury, covered in blood. What could have happened he asked himself?

He remembered his mother giving him a $5.00 note to go to Mr Bunbury’s and buy hot crossed buns for their Easter celebrations.

He’d left home with the $5 note bunched in his hand. On the way, he saw a bundle of old papers on the ground and wondered why it was laying there. But he didn’t dilly-dally instead he headed to Mr Bunbury’s to get the hot crossed buns before sold out.

Now his present predicament was a puzzle. Had Mr Bunbury caught his hand in the till and severed an artery? In one hand Bunnykins held his purchased buns, the other hand held a large knife, which suggested to him that some sort of bun fight had occurred resulting in the present scene of carnage.

What to do?

Mr Bunbury lived in a small bungalow in the rear of the bun shop so Bunnykins being a resourceful young chap gathered up the baker and bungled him into his bungalow. Beside him, he left a note saying: “Gone bungee jumping. Happy Easter. Jonas Bunbury, Baker.”

That ought to do it thought Bunnykins Bunton as he walked home with his hot crossed buns. Though the blackouts were beginning to bother him.

 

Written for: https://lindaghill.com/2018/03/30/the-friday-reminder-and-prompt-for-socs-march-30-18/

 

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Time To Write: Picture Prompt 15 [Creative Writing Prompt] – Silver Wonderland

Posted on March 31, 2018 by Michael

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She came out of the bedroom her camera hanging around her neck and announced she wanted to go walking and photograph the spectacular frost that had descended that morning.

I was already shivered inside and dreaded to think how cold it must be outside but her enthusiasm was infectious and as I loved being with her I readied myself for the assault the cold was going to make on me.

I grabbed my phone as I might as well take a few shots as well.

So rugged up we ventured out. Surrounding us was a silver wonderland. Every tree from top to bottom was covered in silver frost. As we walked along we saw icicles hanging from the fence railings and as we approached the river the surface was frozen over and some rather puzzled ducks were wandering over the frozen surface wondering where the river and their breakfast has disappeared to.

We had to cross the park to get to the spot where the river ran across a rocky rapid wondering if it too was frozen.

We laughed realising that with the frost so think our shoes didn’t get wet as they might normally do.

The river stream was in fact frozen and the water rigid over the rocks was a sight to behold.

Many photos were taken, selfies and ones of us standing in the middle of the frozen rapid, just to prove it was all true when we told our families of our morning jaunt.

As we walked back I wondered how the tiny platypus survived cold mornings such as this. I guessed they were smart enough to stay rugged up in their burrows in the riverbank in much the same way I was beginning to think I should have been rugged up at home as I began to feel my feet reacting to the cold.

 

Written for: https://rachelpoli.com/2018/03/30/time-to-write-picture-prompt-15-creative-writing-prompt/

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