Microfiction: Spring – Darcy

Posted on September 17, 2016 by Michael

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Image: Harald Slott-Moller

Darcy loved the coming of spring. It meant for her an end to the confinement of winter, the cold and the sickness that struck her each year. She’d be ordered to stay in bed, rest and stay warm and in her head the solitary prisoner in her own home.

Her parents fussed over her, they had a doctor come in every few days to monitor her health, prescribe a continuation of the hideous medicine she was on or insist she begin a new and usually more distasteful potion.

It also meant she fell behind her class mates and so this year her parents were bringing in a tutor to help her catch up on her schooling.

The tutor was young and handsome and Darcy was immediately drawn to him. His arrival brought the silence of her life to an end. They engaged in conversation, they explored the written texts her teachers had sent home and they discussed the philosophy behind each one.

After class she invited him to go on walks around the property, showing the vast wealth her parents had to indulge in statues and gardens, tended to by devoted gardeners whose work she always admired. At the far end of the property was the pond where she would go on days when no one was around, take off her shoes and splash her feet in the icy water watching the small fish dart and find refuge in the depths of the pond.

Over time they grew close and Darcy looked forward to his coming and the sessions where just the two of them would converse on whatever subject she moved the conversation to.

Her schooling improved and her parents satisfied the tutor had done his job told him he would no longer be required as Darcy would return to school and carry on with her class mates.

The tutor was thankful for the opportunity they gave him and bid them farewell.

Darcy was not told this and waited all day for her young tutor who didn’t arrive at her door.

She asked her mother who informed her that the tutor was no longer needed and that she would be resuming school the following Monday.

Darcy felt devastated and argued the merits of having the tutor long term. Her mother dismissed her pleas and told her he was only ever a temporary measure.

That afternoon Darcy, sad and solitary once again wandered down to the pond where she ruminated over the state of her life. Her parents expected so much, they protected her from most things but the tutor had opened her eyes to a world she only read about. She was hungry for more and very hungry for the tutor.

 

Written for: https://janedougherty.wordpress.com/2016/09/16/microfiction-spring/

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Friday Music Prompt #60: The Log Driver’s Waltz by Kate & Anna McGarrigle Dance of the Kitchen

Posted on September 16, 2016 by Michael

The kitchen came alight

When the kids came to visit.

It was a lively discussion

It went on all night

No topic was too sacred

We joined in, argued our case

The dance of the kitchen

While our words beat the melody

Our actions waltzed at times

Jived at others, sometimes we boogied.

The noise was what we sought

The healthy interaction

Opinions spoken

The back and forth, of do we, don’t we?

All the while the dinner prep took place

The peeling in time with Aunties logic

The boiling in response to Uncle’s rhythms

Mum always tapping her foot

Shooting us down and building us up.

We loved those quiet moments

When dancing cheek to cheek

Was listening to focus on dad’s proclamations

That this was the way, it had to be.

Then we twirled and shimmied

Spun on our heels as the dinner appeared

We all gave thanks, listened once more

As the refrain began, a syncopated down beat.

The dance as we sat, chorusing each other

We enjoyed those nights

When all we did was share our viewpoints

Stress where we thought the argument might go.

The job done, washing up over

Time for a reprise, a revisit once more

When resolution was reached

We all headed home, the song,

That song we loved.

That echoed the love of Mum and Dad’s place.

 

Written for: https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2016/09/16/friday-music-prompt-60-the-log-drivers-waltz-by-kate-anna-mcgarrigle/

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Thursday photo prompt – Gate – #writephoto – Memories

Posted on September 15, 2016 by Michael

gate

The gate was a sign of the times. In disrepair, broken and neglected.

Like the garden it once protected, it too lay overgrown, discarded by the ones who once valued and treasured its beauty and magnificence.

There was a time when the garden was a place to meet. Families walked there, enjoyed the fruits of the labours of the many gardeners who took pride in the rose beds, the shrubbery, the trellis’ resplendent in spring heralding the end of winter and the hope of warmth and plenty.

I walked there recently. The memories came flooding back, the swing that hung from the giant jacaranda, its purple flower hanging from every branch and covering the ground underneath is a most luxurious mat of the same. My neighbour’s children always with a ball, throwing it, batting it, they loved the play space and many an important game of cricket was played.

Now everything is overgrown, the swing, the garden seats, the green open space all reclaimed by nature as if there was never any significant past.

As I left I felt the rust on the gate, it refused to move when I pushed on it, stubborn now in its resistance to the changes around it. I walked along the wall on my way home remembering the day we climbed it and my brother Jack fell and broke his arm.

Everything in my life now seems a series of memories, I cling to each one, they are what I am today.

 

Written for: https://scvincent.com/2016/09/15/thursday-photo-prompt-gate-writephoto/

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Tale Weaver/Fairy tale prompt #83: September 15 – Frozen in Time

Posted on September 15, 2016 by Michael

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Image Google Images

Artichoke Norman hated being a garden frog. It was all the doing of the Psycho Wicked Witch of the West who out of sheer spite because he had spurned her advances had turned him into a ceramic frog. Not only that but she had caught him with his most gormless face destined forever to have the look at the startled frog looking into the approaching headlights.

The Psycho Wicked Witch of the West was an ugly woman. Even in disguise as a princess she was hideous and what was worse, was, she knew it. If she looked at anything long enough there was the danger of paint peeling from nearby walls and small children being traumatised with life long nightmares.

But Artichoke Norman had found himself in the garden of a grey haired woman who tested his patience as well. He hadn’t quite understood the notion that as a garden frog patience was all he had.

He found himself in the garden of a grey haired woman who kept everything neat and tidy including him. Once a week she’d pick him up and give him a jolly good dusting and scrub all over. By all over he meant all over. The indignity of it all he thought as she’d turn him over and gently rub the little bumps between his back legs, the sensations were amazing but as he was ceramic on the outside there was no way she would ever know what impact she was having on the inside him. All it did was generate memories of better days when the girls in his neighbourhood were more than willing to experiment and play with all Artichoke had to offer. He had, he was told a lot to offer.

Once she’d finished with his underbelly she’d chat to him about her garden, her plans to put a few every greens in here and a few succulents in there. Artichoke couldn’t have given a rats to be honest, it was all the same to him though he did dislike the ferns growing over his face and tickling his nose, which was irritating.

At least his owner moved him about the garden.

It was now autumn and the leaves were turning in colour which he thought was always pretty to behold but soon he knew the winter would be setting in and it was likely this year like every other year so far that the Psycho Wicked Witch of the West would call by and laugh at his predicament of being either up to his neck in snow or sitting in an pool of ice, his rear end numb from the cold.

She’d come by, look him up and down, lick her lips, cackle as only she could and ask him if he had changed his mind about becoming her life lover. Inside his ceramic shell Artichoke would vomit, never a pleasant thought or action and refused to engage with her. He was happy to be freezing his tiny bumps off in the cold. It was in the winter that his owner became his one great love. She’d come out, pick him up and gently rinse off his rear end with warm water warming up what he had left of his precious bits.

Artichoke was determined to never succumb to the Psycho Wicked Witch of the West under any circumstances. And he didn’t. The little old grey haired lady who tended to him was far better than the alternative. After all despite his ceramic nature inside he was alive and she knew how to keep him that way.

 

Written for: https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2016/09/15/tale-weaverfairy-tale-prompt-83-september-15-frozen-in-time/

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Photo Challenge #130 – Life’s Compartments

Posted on September 13, 2016 by Michael

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Image: – Rob Woodcox

So there I was boxed up

Compartmentalized

My life is such neat bundles

I recoil in horror of it all.

There was childhood, timid, afraid, isolated

The games of children, the dreams of fantasy.

There were my school days, timid, fearful, exploring

The games of fantasy, realisations of truth.

There were the days of study, revelations upon revelation

The games of adults confronting my reality.

There were the days of marriage, random moments of uncertainty

The games of sporadic love and consistent abuse.

There are the days of parenthood, support, encouragement

The games of sport, dance and enthusiasm.

Here are the days of aging, timid, fear and isolation

The games of wisdom, new love and expectation.

 

I wake up to my reality

I live in a box, one I treasure

But I look way outside it most days

I see a world I am embracing

My words taking me places I never dreamed.

 

Written for: https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2016/09/13/photo-challenge-130/

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Wordle #120 “September 12th, 2016” – The Feint

Posted on September 12, 2016 by Michael

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This week’s words: Codex (a quire of manuscript pages held together by stitching: the earliest form of book, replacing the scrolls and wax tablets of earlier times. A manuscript volume, usually of an ancient classic or the Scriptures. Archaic. a code; book of statutes.) Mineral Formidable Noun Glisten Future Cinematic Drift Feint (a movement made in order to deceive an adversary; an attack aimed at one place or point merely as a distraction from the real place orpoint of attack) Sehnsucht (yearning, longing, pining, missing someone intensely) Navel Choose

Noun McWordle was a tall man, taller when he stood. His one great love was Naval Gaze the most beautiful woman in town. She loved Noun McWordle because he was a big man. Not that she was short; she was the sort of girl that when she cuddled you she fitted neatly under your chin and when under Noun McWordle’s chin she was safe from the rain.

Their love flourished until the day Drift Wood drifted into town. He came with a mineral personality and a belt buckle that glistened with diamonds and as Drift Wood knew diamonds were a girl’s best friend. He became very quickly a formidable opponent to Noun McWordle for the affections of the beautiful Navel Gaze.

It was clear that there was going to be a showdown between the two men. Drift Wood took Navel Gaze to rare and exciting cinematic experiences while Noun McWordle saw his future slipping away from him as the sensation of sehnsycht overcame him leaving him a whimpering wreck in his pillow at night as he heard more and more rumour that Navel Gaze had chosen Drift Wood over him.

The next day Navel Gaze answered a knock on her front door and found a parcel addressed to her from Drift Wood. In the parcel was a rare and valuable codex a collection of once thought of extinct manuscripts in a dialect yet to be deciphered a sort of cross between hieroglyphics and Australian English. Drift Wood had discovered Navel Gaze’s one great love, ancient books and there was no book as ancient as this one.

She was dumbfounded and in looking through the pages was unable to recognise noun from verb, fox from grub, it was all a mystery to her. There was another knock on the door and this time Noun McWordle was standing there looking desperate. He saw the book. He knew the code. He translated. He read to Navel Gaze the richest poems of love and devotion, he read them with the right emphasis as he was schooled in Australian English was a fluent speaker and so his beautiful Australian accent melted the heart of Navel Gaze who was on the point of fainting from being overwhelmed by her one great true love.

They both knew the wannabe Drift Wood would soon be around thinking his latest gift would win Navel Gaze’s heart once and for all but Noun and Navel had a plan to create a feint so cunning to the pretentious Drift Wood it was sure to send him on his way. With carefully chosen selection of nouns, a rich mineral drink and a glistening thesaurus she would fool the over confident Drift Wood into believing he was no where near the man he thought he was…..and it worked, with Noun McWordle watching the feint take place urging his girl on, Drift Wood began as they suspected, to drift away caught up in his own codex of words and meaningless expressions he saw his future as one tied up in a pointless sehnsucht.

Noun McWordle and Navel Gaze rode off into the sunset to a place where words made sense and the cinematic experiences were always pleasant and predictable.

 

Written for: https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2016/09/12/wordle-120-september-12th-2016/

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Writing Prompt #177 “Collage 29” – For My Best Friend…

Posted on September 11, 2016 by Michael

collage-29

My friend Benny takes me flying.

From inside the bean-bag we are away

Across the rooftops, over the mountains

Down valleys where dinosaurs

Roam beneath ancient skies

And trees like the prehistoric Wollemei

Once thought extinct

Flourish protected by the secret of location. *

Along deserted coastlines

We weave in and out of the dancing penguins

Marvel at the sight of windblown fences

Thinking of nature and how it heals

Brings us closer, creates a perspective

We can only benefit from.

Benny tells me he is unwell,

That he doesn’t want go away,

We stop and make lasting handprints

A memory that will always be

On rocks that unlike us have survived forever.

Benny is wise I know he is

He’s my best friend,

He says he will always be here for me

And I know he will

Best friends are trusted aren’t they.

* The Wollemei Pine was once thought to be extinct for some two thousand years until discovered in a remote valley in New South Wales Australia. I stood beside one once and couldn’t help but be humbled by its ability to survive and its innate beauty. Now days there is a concerted action to grow the tree and encourage its survival. The exact location of the original trees remains a guarded secret….

wollemi-pine_devon-garden-trust

 

 

Written for: https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2016/09/11/writing-prompt-177-collage-29/

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Microfiction challenge #13: Woman in the sun – Sitting With Miss Marble

Posted on September 9, 2016 by Michael

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Painting, by Caspar David Friedrich

The theme words are: Dawn sunset worship magic power regal

My friend Miss Marble was a magical person. Well she was a witch so it was part of her persona. Her power was stunning when so moved and she had demonstrated it so many times to us on Grimace Street that she was not someone to be taken lightly as some had discovered to their detriment.

To anyone passing by she was a little old lady living quietly in 46 Grimace Street along with her beautiful old hound Sal. She wasn’t exactly regal, more together within herself with a wicked sense of humour. She would have turned you into something decidedly nasty should you have suggested she be worshiped but rather was happy to be respected for who she was. As she’d say: “Respect me and I respect you.” And that worked perfectly for all of us long term Grimace Street residents.

I was lucky in that I could spend many an afternoon on her veranda and talk about all sorts of things from the weather to the happenings in the street.

She used to say to me it was shame I didn’t go further in school as she liked the way I thought. “You could have been a doctor,” she’d say.

“I like being your basic person.” I would say and she’d hrrump and go on about opportunity.

Miss Marble was always into learning new things. Technology fascinated her. Computers held her spellbound and I’m sure she wondered where she might have been had such a wonder existed as she grew up. As it was she spent hours writing up a digital record of all her spells. She also invented an anti-hacking spell which prevented anyone from trying to hack into her spells. Of course there is always someone determined to try and Archibald Johnson did try and discovered his computer turned into a hairy rat. He tried several times, computers aren’t cheap as we know but he was determined, you had to give him that, until Miss Marble knocked on his door and after a quiet word with him, he was content to research quantum physics.

She loved the dawn as it was an opportunity for her to stride down the street, Sal, at heel and take in the refreshing morning air. Sunsets were a time for sitting and reflecting, often with me and often with a glass or two of her own home made wine which she cheekily labeled “Witches Brew”. It was good stuff and two glasses were enough to get you relaxed and ready for bed. I always slept well after a sitting with Miss Marble. She’d never say what was in it but I doubted a grape was part of the potion she disguised in an old wine bottle. But we’d sip away, our heads getting lighter and our laughter more pronounced as she’d tell more and more stories of her past and she had quite an extensive past. She’d been around a while I have to say.

Then she’d look at her watch and bid me goodnight, go inside, lock the door and leave me to find my own way out the front gate and across the road to my house.

She may not be regal but she’s the most serene woman I know.

 

Written for: https://janedougherty.wordpress.com/2016/09/09/microfiction-challenge-13-woman-in-the-sun/

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Looking down my Backyard

Posted on September 9, 2016 by Michael

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Its late afternoon, shadows stretch across the lawn

The children gather at the back fence

Looking out over the farm

To where the cows munch the last grasses of the day.

My three girls and three boys

Are together on a rare day

Come to celebrate with me

The magic of being family.

Over the forty years of their lives

They remain firm friends

Rejoicing in each other’s company.

Unique and resourceful

Beyond any dreams I had for them

I watch them in that moment of union

Engaged and committed to each other.

Can a parent ask for more?

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Thursday photo prompt – broken #writephoto

Posted on September 8, 2016 by Michael

broken

Granny’s arm slipped into mine as we neared the old ruin. Every time I visited she insisted we go for a walk and every time we came down near the old ruin. We did I learned as the ruin was all that was left of her home from all those years ago.

A night that changed her life. Each time we ventured down here I would feel her arm tighten on mine as the memories came flooding back to her.

She remembers only sitting on the front lawn holding my mother as her world burned away in front of her.

She lost not only her home but her husband and a son. They found him in the little boy’s room his body over the top of his son.

“Lenny was a good man you know. He made me laugh, he loved life and he loved what we were making as our home. He’d get so excited over the smallest things and the two kids we had were his proudest achievement. He used to say let’s have a few kids while the mould is right.”

Granny told the same stories every time. Those were the only ones she had from a life that was broken and cut so tragically short.

“He used to go the football matches each Saturday afternoon and one Saturday evening he came home so excited as he’d won the raffle prize. A brand new woolen blanket. It was one we’d never be able to afford and it kept us snug and warm on cold nights.”

Once again I would feel her arm tighten against me as her mind went back all those years.

“Anyway,” she’d say. “ Enough of my memories we’d best be getting back you have given me the best news in a long time.”

Mum and I had made the trip to Granny’s to tell her I was pregnant and she was to be a great grandmother an announcement that pleased her no end.

“I tell you these stories,” she said. “As I think you need to know your family story so one day you might be able to pass it on to this little one.” She’d hold my arm all the way back to the house and find mum cleaning as she always did which was one of mum’s lovable OCD qualities. Cleaning, scrubbing she did it all at Granny’s house.

Mum liked that Granny told me about her past as I was the only one she did talk to about it.

 

Written for: https://scvincent.com/2016/09/08/thursday-photo-prompt-broken-writephoto/

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