Writing Prompt #151 “Collage 19” – There’s a Thief Beneath My Bed

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When I was a child

I thought of childish things

Like a thief lived under my bed.

My father offered comfort

Told me there was no thief

Hiding beneath my bed.

But his words though consoling

Never took away my fear.

At night I sensed the movement

Of every cavorting spectre

Moving ever closer as I huddled under covers.

For in the dark it’s all so real,

Knowing a thief lives under your bed.

An old nun came to visit once

She’d heard about my fears

And sat one night upon my bed

Took my hand and said a prayer

That Jesus keep me safe.

‘What do you think Jesus might say?’

As outside a storm did rage.

I found myself disappearing

Into my bed, out of dread.

The old nun looked under my bed

Smiled at me and said:

‘I think Jesus would say,

”Hello Mr Thief.”’

I was instantly horrified

‘There really is a thief?’

‘No,’ said the nun, ‘There is no thief.

The thought you see is in your head.

Go in there and find your thief

Ask him politely to come out

And sit with you a while.

Then ask him why, he needs,

To hide beneath your bed?’

 

Written for: https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2016/03/20/writing-prompt-151-collage-19/

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FLASH FICTION FOR THE PURPOSEFUL PRACTITIONER: WEEK #12 – 2016 – My Brother Alf

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Image: http://publicdomainarchive.com/public-domain-images-paint-numbers-billboard/

 

The opening sentence for the March 18th Flash Fiction for the Purposeful Practitioner:  “This was the first time I had ever had to sign for a letter addressed to Occupant.” Please use this sentence (or this thought) somewhere in your flash.

 

It was the man in the dark glasses at my door that first alerted me to the fact that all was not right.

The intimidation factor was high. I hate confrontation.

He shoved the clipboard at me and pointed to the part I was to sign. I readily did so afraid a refusal could result in some physical injury and I wasn’t much into pain.

He left leaving me a letter saying: “Occupant’. It was the first time I had ever had to sign for a letter addressed ‘Occupant’.

I opened the letter to find a note from my brother Alf. Alf and I had had a falling out over his artistic skill and future as an artist. The note informed me that at the end of the street I would see his latest work.

There behind the park fence was his latest creation with a note I am sure levelled at me his doubting Thomas. The pretentiousness of the painting didn’t escape me nor did my opinions as to his creative abilities. He had long way to go as far as I was concerned.

On close inspection it was as I suspected. Another colour by number piece.

 

Written for: https://rogershipp.wordpress.com/2016/03/18/flash-fiction-for-the-purposeful-practitioner-week-12-2016/

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SoCS March 19/16 – egg

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I have been known to eggsaggerate….now with that out of the way I can stream of conscious about egg as noun and most likely as an verb.

 

When I was a kid my older brother would often egg me on to do something I later regretted. Like pinch Mr Horn’s eggs from his chook house. Mr Horn had a lot of chooks and that always meant a lot of eggs and what would me taking a few ever matter in the grand scheme of things.

That my brother gave me an egg carton to hold a dozen never seemed an issue until one day I came out with the carton under my arm to meet Mr Horn standing at the gate of the chook house.

No amount of blushing and feeble excuses could cover for the embarrassment of being caught. Across the fence I could sense my brother, his breath held as he awaited Mr Horn’s wrath to descend on me.

Instead Mr Horn took my eggs and me and took me home to my mum who was well aware of the eggings that went on between her two sons.

She diffused the situation by paying Mr Horn for the eggs and agreeing that I would clean out the chook house each week, bag the chook poo and sell it out front and give Mr Horn half of what I made which wouldn’t be a lot. But I did see a way of making a few bob; chook poo was always in demand around our way.

So my business career began in eggnominy and graduated to shit as they say.

 

Written for: http://lindaghill.com/2016/03/18/the-friday-reminder-and-prompt-for-socs-march-1916/

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Music Prompt #34 “Love Me Like You Do” by Ellie Goulding – As You Do

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AJtDXIazrMo

You lie nestled against my arm

As the morning light filters through.

You whisper in the voice

Of one who has been loved.

Write to me of love

Of your light that guides my way.

Tempt me and arouse me, as you do.

 

Some days you say your life meant nothing

When you were alone and unlovable.

Once we shared that feeling

But today I know I’m not alone.

One thing I thought I’d never have is YOU!

I’m grateful for everyday

Knowing each morning you are here

To reach out and find comfort.

When demons intrude

And life goes sour

I know your arms are always there.

 

I know to resist

Can lead to tears

When we stand in life’s way.

So one day at a time

I say over and over

I love you I love you.

You keep me from sadness

Multiply my gladness.

So when I write to you of love

Its words of gratitude I pen

Knowing how lucky I have been

In the hands of fate

To be loved as I am

And to love you, as I do.

 

Written for: https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2016/03/18/music-prompt-34-love-me-like-you-do-by-ellie-goulding/

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OpenLinkNight #168 – The Old Rose

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There’s a flower in my garden

That reminds me of life’s beauty.

It’s a black rose

Unique, it’s rich colour fascinates me.

It’s in bloom today

And this year is forming so beautifully.

It’s an old rose

Rescued from my grandmothers

When the old house was sold.

My dad’s only requirement when I

Started on the garden

Was to not kill the rose.

So I prune it in July, I feed it, deadhead it

I make sure it’s as healthy as it can be.

Its aroma is of Turkish Delight

Its texture so velvet like.

So often now days

It reminds me of you.

Rich in character

So beautiful to behold.

I share its blooms with you.

You understand the beauty that is you and I

Reflected in the stunning richness

That is us.

 

Written for: http://dversepoets.com/2016/03/17/openlinknight-168/

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Tale Weaver/Fairy Tale Prompt #57 – Quest – A Maiden in Distress

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Bells and whistles were shattering my night. I was suddenly pleased I hadn’t turned off my alerts.

I looked at my phone.

Lady Myrtle Purple was missing.

I rang the number the alerts alerted me to.

My right hand man Abe “The Ghost” answered.

It appeared Lady Myrtle Purple had been abducted by the notorious, Saxon McGlaxon.

Abe told me the rescue of Lady Myrtle would require me going on a quest, a quest like no other, a quest where life might well desert me and death embrace me.

Lady Myrtle had once lived in the hamlet of Montaville a one horse town with a one sheriff and one time fairy godmother who now days spent her time granting bogus wishes in a fairy retirement home.

In her teenage years she had move to the city of Portmanteau and she had lived happily with her family until this terrible night in question.

The whole world was on edge, as they knew if I failed McGlaxon was sure to feed Lady Myrtle to his pet sabre-toothed iguanas.

My quest began at the town centre, a left onto the High street and then a left onto the Fairy Merry Way.

My journey took me far into the interior of the land. Past forests that looked like marauding beasts and past marauding beasts that looked like forests.

I reached the Forest of Supposed Tranquillity. Here the road was stopped by a tollgate. The toll keeper was a man of jovial nature. To get by him you had to tell him a joke. No joke. No go.

A horse walks into a bar and the barman says: “Hey why the long face.” The tollgate opened as the toll man doubled over in laughter.

The destination of my journey was the castle of Saxon McGlaxon. It was a majestic castle atop a majestic hill surrounded by swirling curling clouds.

The clouds were more than a smoke screen. They were McGlaxon’s greatest weapon. They contained seriously nasty gases and one breath of them and you were, like the Medusa, turn to stone.

As I drew nearer I could hear the plaintiff cries of help from the top of the castle coupled by the insidious cackling laughter of McGlaxon as he taunted her with threats of death, nastiness and sabre-toothed iguanas.

Luckily I had carried with me my own secret anti gas cloud helmet. Donning it I made my way up the narrow mountain track adorned left and right by the statues of previous unfortunate would be heroes. Soon I could see the entrance to the castle.

At the door of the castle sat a large two-headed dog. A sign above the door said” Do not feed Chewie, he feeds exclusively on intruders.” I gulped for at Chewie’s feet were a pile of bones. I couldn’t help but feel they were the bones of past Princes Charming come to rescue their Princesses in distress.

I stood back far enough out of Chewie’s nasal range. From my pocket I took the ultimate doggy treat, dried liver. I slid a piece then another piece towards the two headed monster.

Chewie was interested I could see, he gulped the first piece down the second head ate the second piece. What Chewie didn’t know was the liver was spiked with a special magic potion to put him to sleep and within seconds the dog was sleeping peacefully.

Stepping past the sleeping canine I ventured into the castle. There had been nothing to alert the castle of my presence. The Lady Myrtle was in the north tower.

When I entered her chamber she looked at me and exclaimed: “Well you took your time.”

I should have mentioned earlier that Lady Myrtle Purple was also very abrupt.

“Come,” I said. “There is not a moment to spare.”

We hurried down the castle steps. The guards were all asleep at their posts. What a stroke of luck!

Myrtle kept complaining, thankfully in a hushed voice, about having to wait for me and having to cry like a baby when she hated to cry and would rather sing. Her singing was sadly not as her crying voice and would surely have been a factor in leaving her there with McGlaxon. She had in fact a singing voice that would have put off the sabre-toothed iguanas from eating her.

At the castle gate she asked about the gas. I took my spare anti gas cloud helmet out and placed it on her head. The helmet I brought for her came down over her face so her complaining was drowned out. I’m an ideas man and always come prepared.

Back at her home I was awarded a medal for my bravery and offered the hand of Myrtle as my reward. I gracefully declined saying my work as a hero of distressed maidens could only be done by a man unencumbered by marriage and family responsibilities.

To my relief her father believed me.

I left quickly should there be any further overture made by Myrtle who kept looking at me in a way that made me uncomfortable. I hoped that at any moment Abe might call with another case after all it was the season for maidens in distress.

 

Written for: https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2016/03/17/tale-weaverfairy-tale-prompt-57-quest/

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Hump Day Poetry – Week 6 – Melt my Heart

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Was it the room full of words

I was lost within

Where you first spied me

Between the sonnets and the free verse

When I spun a yarn of fairies

Or was it one of my many tales of fancy.

Your tender approach so apprehensive

You claimed you were intimidated

Thinking my words contained substance

But were really just me being me

Pretentious at times, erudite at others

Playing with words random ideas.

When you spoke I took notice

I turned from my within gaze

Looked out and saw compassion.

Reaching out to so many

I stood in awe; your words seeped into me

I stated my admiration

You had an audience who needed you

I wrote for all and any idle enough to read.

But when your words flowed my way

I listened, spellbound,

I found in time I am addicted to you

I can’t get enough of you being you,

Each day, your words melt my heart.

 

Written for: https://ionanerissa.wordpress.com/2016/03/16/hump-day-poetry-week-6/

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Photo Challenge #104 – Floating

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Image: Brooke Shaden

I feel myself floating, drifting up

It’s eerie, I don’t understand

Below me ants mill around

There is confusion,

I feel frantic

I am suddenly afraid, is this?

Beside me my mother long dead stands

I feel the remembered softness of her hand

Resting on my shoulder.

I feel the jolt run through me

She pushes me down, ever so gently

Looks at me with that knowing mother smile.

 

I awake, dazed, confused

I am tied down, tubes everywhere.

I hear click, ping, whoosh, hiss, beep

As a plethora of machines battle to keep me alive.

I sense someone near me

A nurse checks a connection

Looks at me, her eyes light up to see me awake.

I hear my prognosis

A wave of grief consumes me

I turn away

In denial I don’t want to hear

Don’t want to know

A future, what future?

I remember my mother, her touch

Her knowing look.

What were they thinking

Sending me into this hell?

 

Written for: https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2016/03/15/photo-challenge-104/

 

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Haibun Monday #9 – After Midnight Mass

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Midnight Mass is over and we are on our twenty-minute walk home. I love Easter, as there’s always a full moon and its silver light to see by as we walk along.

Its autumn and the evenings are not so cold as yet. Though it’s been a long summer and the days and evenings are warmer than we usually expect.

Shadows stretch across our path as the moon struggles to shed its light past the giant Morten Bay figs that grow along William Street. Grotesque figures are contained in those shadows and I wonder about the ghosts that lurk within them. I grasp my Aunt’s hand as with heads down we stride towards home where a cup of warm tea and the safety of my bed awaits.

 

silvery fingers

light the steps as we trudge home

rebirth awaits.

 

Written for: http://dversepoets.com/2016/03/14/haibun-monday-9/

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FFfAW-Week of March 15, 2016 – The Black Dog

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This week’s photo prompt is provided by pixabay.com

“This is no place for you boy. It’s dangerous out there.

One false step and you are no more.

I can’t take you with me today

You wait till I return

I pray to God I do.

I’ll take you home and thank our stars

We made it through another day.”

 

Two hours later the solder in question stepped on a mine.

The blast ripped through him, it took away his legs, his manhood, his hope.

He lay in agony oblivious to all around him.

He heard the news. Knew his prospects.

Descended into a rightful depression.

His hand was wet; he felt a course tongue against his skin.

The black dog was there, waiting.

The soldier’s thoughts were of home

What would he do?

No was longer a man.

He cried most nights, for himself

For his loss, for the nothing in front of him.

All the while the black dog

Lay there never budging from his side.

 

Written for: https://flashfictionforaspiringwriters.wordpress.com/2016/03/14/fffaw-week-of-march-15-2016/

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