OpenLinkNight #189 – There’s Nothing You Can Do.

Posted on February 9, 2017 by Michael

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There’s nothing you can do

When she reaches down to take your hand.

She floods every pore of your being

Your sense alight, she rolls over and says,

Do it again and again and again.

 

There’s nothing you can do

That lessens the thrill

Of knowing she is leaning on you

You like the way her head finds rest

You want her to stay, stay, stay.

 

There’s nothing you can do

When she whispers your name

Sings the magic only a heart can sing

She encloses you unto herself

You love being hers, hers, hers.

 

There’s nothing you can do

When she cries in your arms

For pain and hurt from long ago

You want so much to take it away

So you hold her, hold her, hold her.

 

There’s nothing you can do

When understanding her smile

Her allure melts you in every way

Repeatedly she finds reason to

Give herself to you, you, you.

 

Written for: https://dversepoets.com/2017/02/09/openlinknight-189/

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Tale Weaver No 106 9/2/17 – Touch

Posted on February 9, 2017 by Michael

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She came to see me the first time and looked so sheepish I wasn’t sure what I had to offer would sit so well with her.

I explained remedial massage as best I could to her saying it was deep muscle massage and often could feel painful. She said her neck to her waist hurt and she’d heard I was good at what I did.

So agreeing to the massage I left her to ready herself, laying out towels to use as cover once she had undressed.

And so the ritual began. Every three weeks we went through the same routine. I explained everything I was going to do, what I discovered as I worked my way around her neck and shoulders and finally the small of her back.

She had the smoothest of skin and for me it was a delight to touch and feel my hands gliding over its silky texture.

Her neck and back were a series of knots, muscles contracting and needing to be released. Each time I would unclip her bra, and work my way down her back manipulating her muscles as I went all the while marvelling at the softness of her skin.

She said very little other than to gasp from time to time as I pushed hard against her tightened muscles trying as best I could to release the pent up tension.

Conversation wasn’t something she was interested in, that became clear, so my hands had to do all the communicating with her. There were moments when I needed to go deep into her muscle and I’d urge her to breathe deeply against the discomfort I knew she would be feeling. I would hear her dragging in deep breaths as my fingers found the trigger points I would linger on as they slowly let go their grip on her.

It was common with massage for the skin to be bruised for a day or so after but she never complained about any of that. At the end of each session, I would gently rub her skin in a flowing action to try and relax her and take away the tension I knew she was feeling.

I’d wipe the massage oil from her skin, re-clip her bra and leave her to dress. She always paid in cash and made another appointment three weeks away.

On the last day, she announced she would not be returning and thanked me for all I had done for her.

As she was about to leave she turned and said: “I did all this to try and appeal to his sense of me being ok. That I wasn’t a dead fish as he called me. In the end, it didn’t matter. I wasn’t good enough. Try as I did he found a younger woman and now I feel useless. All this, all the hard work you put in has come to nothing. Do you know what it’s like to wake up knowing you just aren’t good enough? There’s nothing more to live for is there?

He hadn’t touched me in years. Do you know what that means? What it says about you?

You made me feel again. The pain of it all made me feel alive. I’m grateful for all that.”

With that, she left and I never saw her again.

 

Written for: https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2017/02/09/tale-weaver-no-106-9217-touch/

 

 

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Write Anything Wednesday #105

Posted on February 9, 2017 by Michael

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It wouldn’t have been any sort of surprise now would it to let him go untethered into the world of words.

Write anything and off he would go pouring out words in some sort of fashion that might and more than likely would not garner a lot of attention because after a while you’d begin to wonder what he was on about. Or if he was on about anything at all.

So he thought maybe I should use this opportunity to write about what interests me or maybe say something about himself.

“I’ve enjoyed my writing today. I had a plan for my Tale Weaver prompt which will appear around 4pm my time, living in Australia puts me in the future so I have to understand I am a day in front of everyone else. So first thing today I drafted a response to the prompt. It’s about touch today. I’ve planned a series of prompts asking writers to explore the sense that I have singled out for each week.

Most of my writing is character based in one fashion or another. I have created some characters whom I like to play with. Miss Marble is one I do enjoy playing with. She is a witch, lives in a suburban street and tends to make things to overcome any evil. She has a dog called Sal, short for Salivate, and is very long lived having begun life in Medieval times and created a potion some aliens found useful and they in turn have given her an elixir of life.

On other days I like to write about two angels, Wayne and Greg, they are representatives of Hell and Heaven and after so long working on the earth they have formed a good friendship. I do admit to borrowing the idea from Neil Gaiman’s Good Omens, one of my favourite books.

I have another character called Cyril Rum who is an angel on a sabbatical on earth. He looks like a middle aged accountant and that suits him fine as he is just wanting to take life easy.”

So you see what happens when you say write about anything, he did. Sad isn’t it. We’ll see what next week might hold for him.

 

Written for: https://writerishramblings.com/2017/02/08/write-anything-wednesday-105/

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Writing Wednesday. – Silence

Posted on February 9, 2017 by Michael

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There was nothing golden about the silence

all around me.

You could say it was deafening.

I sat beside the phone waiting.

They said to stay near the phone.

They would call.

Call if there was anything to say.

I had a lot to say.

No one to say it to.

So I sat, and around me

Nothing.

Not a wrong number.

Not a knock on the door.

No TV no music

for fear of not hearing the phone.

It was three hours of torture

Waiting, thinking the worst

Wondering why, where, when?

Then a tinkle, a single ring

The silence shattered

Startled I sat up

Looked at the phone

Inside was dread,

What if? What if?

I was used to the silence

This rude intrusion troubled me

I hesitated, unsure,

I wanted the silence back

At least in my head

The world was contained

I had some control

Now I suspected chaos

I reached down silenced the ring,

Spoke the fearsome words

Hello!

 

Written for: https://angietrafford.wordpress.com/2017/02/08/writing-wednesday-8-february-2017/

 

 

 

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Whiteout Wednesdays #2

Posted on February 9, 2017 by Michael

Here is what I have done with the article Pat. Below is the original piece.

Cultivating Tranquility  (an excerpt)
written by Marty Ross for Country Gardens Magazine (hardcopy Early Spring 2017)

Sheep might seem like the dedicated gardener, but Bromley and Jobey help out on the farm, their straw bedding and manure enrich the soil in the flower beds. They walk on weeds, stepping on the garden plants. Sheep don’t eat plants with fuzzy leaves and they don’t like herbs.

the property – a collaboration with nature – that Mother Nature knows what she is doing.” She tolerates weeds.   “I see their amazing medicine and it is nurturing.”

valuable lessons about nature,   Beauty isn’t something you have to leave home to discover

 

Cultivating Tranquility  (an excerpt)
written by Marty Ross for Country Gardens Magazine (hardcopy Early Spring 2017)

Sheep might seem like a threat to the dedicated gardener, but Bromley and Jobey actually help out on the farm, Cindy says. They take care of all the mowing and trimming, and their straw bedding and manure enrich the soil in the flower beds. They walk among the flowers, nibbling on weeds, without stepping on the garden plants. Sheep are selective eaters, Cindy says. They don’t eat plants with fuzzy leaves, they won’t touch the hydrangeas, and they don’t like most herbs. When she introduces a new plant in the garden she takes it over to the sheep. “They may take me by surprise and eat it,” she says, but if they don’t show any interest, she plants it in the garden.

Cindy describes the property as “a wild garden in a sense – a collaboration with nature – with a lot of faith that Mother Nature knows what she is doing.” She tolerates many plants such as purslane and dandelions that other people might think of as weeds. Cindy doesn’t view them that way. “I see their amazing medicine,” she says, “their persistence.” Over 20 years of living and working at Saturday Farm, Cindy has developed a deeply satisfying relationship with the garden. “You become a part of it,” she says, “and it is nurturing.”

Saturday Farm has taught Cindy valuable lessons about nature, the passage of time, and local lore. Beauty isn’t something you have to leave home to discover, she says. There it is, right outside your door, and maybe even in the cracks of the sidewalks.

Written for: https://blackcatalleyblog.wordpress.com/2017/02/08/whiteout-wednesdays-2/

 

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100 Word Weekly Writing Challenge —Week 5

Posted on February 9, 2017 by Michael

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Image Credit: Stephanie of La Photographie

The proposed changes to health care meant my partner would no longer be covered. I wasn’t going to see her shrivel up and die. There needed to be a protest and when changes placed a loved one in peril that is what you did.

I left her at home with instructions to keep the TV on as there would be coverage during the day. She was not well we both knew that and it was only a matter of time before hospital would be the only option.

I joined in, determined to have my say, always clinging to hope.

 

Written for: https://bikurgurl.com/2017/02/08/100-word-wednesday-week-5/

Posted in Uncategorized, Writing prompt | Tagged , , , , , | 17 Comments

Twittering Tales #16 – 7 February 2017

Posted on February 7, 2017 by Michael

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The cat trained me well. I knew when to fed it when to nurse it when to leave it alone.
It purred contentedly in my lap when happy with me. (140 characters)

Written for: https://katmyrman.com/2017/02/07/twittering-tales-16-7-february-2017/

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Wordle #141 “February 6th, 2017” – Cactorum Juice

Posted on February 6, 2017 by Michael

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This Week’s words: Escape Exulansis (n. the tendency to give up trying to talk about an experience because people are unable to relate to it—whether through envy or pity or simple foreignness—which allows it to drift away from the rest of your life story, until the memory itself feels out of place, almost mythical, wandering restlessly in the fog, no longer even looking for a place to land.) Diabolist (activities designed to enlist the aid of devils, esp in witchcraft or sorcery, worship of devils or beliefs and teachings concerning the nature of devils, character or conduct that is devilish or fiendish; devilry) Polite Likeness Fanfare Seethe Soften Adroit (expert or nimble in the use of the hands or body.) Drown Mess Accelerate

Miss Marble loved nothing more than a morning at the cauldron mixing and making any variety of spells, potions and elixirs. If you lived in Grimace Street, No 46 had the best aromas coming from it and there was no escaping them as they wafted up your nose and more often than not stayed overnight resulting in whatever the concoction was, a fabulous might’s rest or one nightmare after another.

After a hard day’s work, she looked forward to sitting on her front veranda with her good friend and neighbour Cath. Miss Marble liked to talk about her day and found in Cath a ready listener. After a glass and a half of Miss Marble’s Cactorum Juice, homemade I should add, Cath was in the mood for a good listen.

The trouble was Cactorum Juice tended to alienate Cath more than engage her. So it was long before Miss Marble realised exulansis had well and truly set in with Cath, as her glassy eyes betrayed her state of non comprehendo. She knew when to give up as Cath would start saying things like “Marbs, I say Marbs, I love you, did you know that?”

Miss Marble was among many things a very polite woman and never wanting to hurt her friend Cath, would allow Cath to fall asleep, always careful that she didn’t drown in her glass of Cactorum Juice.

Knowing Cath would be a right mess when she came round Miss Marble had over the years created a potion designed to soften the effects of the juice and this she had devised as a potion she rubbed onto Cath’s brow as she slept.

Cath would awaken none the wiser ever ready to once again listen to Miss Marble until exulansis began occurring just as Miss Marble would be chatting as to how she avoided creating the seethingly diabolical ‘Fiends Folly’ a potion/spell/elixir that in the wrong hands could be diabolical. Miss Marble wasn’t into sorcery or the dark arts just good old fashioned magic stuff. If you knew what was in it and the likeness it often had to a plate of lamb chops and three veg you’d probably be the one the next day accelerating away from Grimace Street.

But Miss Marble was very adroit at what she did. A dash of this and a nip of that, a pinch of that and a tap of this and there was no need for fanfare as she’d made something to make your hair stand on end, give your kilt a tilt like never before or allow you to cook a meal a king would knight you for.

So after another glass of Cactorum Juice Cath would bid her neighbour good bye and head off home to dream of peaceful places where the diabolical dared not tread for fear of the wrath of one dear Miss Marble.

 

Written for: https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2017/02/06/wordle-141-february-6th-2017/

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Microfiction challenge: Looking for pebbles

Posted on February 6, 2017 by Michael

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Image: Frederick Leighton

It was one of those strange rite of passage rituals that their father insisted on. Each daughter going to the beach to collect pebbles, storing them in the folds of their skirts all the while knowing that their success or otherwise of marriage hinged on the number they found and could carry back.

The eldest daughter collected with a purpose. To be married meant a lot to her even though she knew little of marriage or for that matter men. Apart from her father there were no men in their lives but her mother had been at her since she could remember saying it was the greatest honour to be married. She wanted to please and honour her parents so she worked diligently through the morning gathering all she could.

She was the dutiful daughter being acutely aware of her responsibilities to the family and to her sisters, for they did look up to her.

The second and third sisters were half hearted in their approach to gathering the pebbles. They knew their prospects of marriage were very slim. There was only one man on the horizon their father had selected and he was marked as being for their older sister. The second and third daughters saw themselves as being little more than old maids, left on the shelf and resigned to a life of caring for their parents as they aged. Neither looked forward to that aspect of living at all.

The youngest daughter was in no way interested in collecting pebbles. She discarded more than she collected. She was there because her father had insisted she go along and join in with her sisters.

For her there was the fishmonger’s son Athos. He was her age and like her wanting to explore both himself, his world and any woman he came across. The youngest daughter at an early age had discovered the delights of men and she and the fishmonger’s son had spent many an enjoyable afternoon exploring the ins and outs of each other.

As her mind was distracted by thoughts of a physical nature she did little to encourage her other sisters but complained the whole time asking if they had enough and could they go home. Neither did she care much for her father’s judgement as to her lackadaisical efforts, for after all Athos awaited and his pebbles were far more interesting than the dry old ones along the waterfront.

 

Written for: https://janedougherty.wordpress.com/2017/02/05/microfiction-challenge-looking-for-pebbles/

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Saturday Mix — Lorraine 04.02.17 – Anniversary.

Posted on February 4, 2017 by Michael

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Love with a twist: Craft a “love story” in 25 to 150 words, with an unforeseen twist at the end.

It had been three days.

She always said to worry if three days went by without any word from her. Our last correspondence was she was leaving and it was raining.

I had kept my ear to the radio for news of road closures and the like. There was no word. Her phone wasn’t answering, there were no replies to my messages.

Every worst case scenario flooded my mind. To make it worse it was our anniversary. Three years of love and care, she was the best thing that had ever happened to me.

I grew more and more desperate. My heart was breaking. I couldn’t sleep for worry.

Then around eleven that night there was a gentle knock on the door.

There she stood, wearing nothing but a ‘Happy Anniversary’ sash and the widest grin.

 

Written for: https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2017/02/04/saturday-mix-lorraine-04-02-17/

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