FFfAW Week of 03-08-2016 – The Last Castle

Posted on March 8, 2016 by Michael

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Image: Louise at The Storyteller’s Abode

My cousin John swore to me that this would be the last castle we would look. I was fed up with castles, steps, stone, dank and dark and most of all guides who bored the life out of me with their monotonous tales of days of yore.

I was at the stage of “Who Cares”. Reluctantly I mounted the steps and trudged upwards. John was in front of me but when I arrived at the top he was nowhere to be seen.

I searched left and right but no sign.

The guide soon had everyone searching. All was in vain.

The afternoon wore on and no John. By days end I was exhausted. I sat and tilted my head against the cold stone. There was movement, the stone moved, a door appeared and there was John looking frantic. He had apparently touched something that opened and when he investigated he was trapped.

For the first time on our trip he was in total agreement with me about this being the last castle.

 

Written for: https://flashfictionforaspiringwriters.wordpress.com/2016/03/07/fffaw-week-of-03-08-2016/

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Wordle #100 “March 7, 2016” – Carsen’s Rock Collection

Posted on March 7, 2016 by Michael

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This week’s words: Stargaze Panegyric (a lofty oration or writing in praise of a person or thing; eulogy. formal or elaborate praise.) Fraud Spite Knoll Laudanum (a tincture of opium) Xenolith (a rock fragment foreign to the igneous rock in which it is embedded.) Trace Stain Lustrous Tempestuous (turbulent, like a tempest) Yolk

It was probably the best compliment Carsen would hear, to say he was a stargazer. If that had not been bestowed upon him then moron might have more fitted the bill. A stargazer in the sense of always appearing to be off in dreamland.

He spent much of his time pouring over this collection is igneous rocks. He sourced them from all over the country but his pride and joy was Doris, a Xenolith, he had found in the outback at a place south of Wheelabarraback.

One of Carsen’s oddities, among many, was his penchant for naming all his favourite rocks after women he admired, both real and imaginary.

If you asked him anything about his rocks it would not be unusual to hear him launch into a panegyric about the virtues of either Kate or Lori or even the one that amused us most of all, Amanda Jane of Windowpane.

It was suspected that Carsen dosed himself fairly liberally with laudanum usually by ten in the morning and if you were unfortunate to call at that time his panegyrical protestations just got bolder by the minute.

Some thought his collection was fraudulent and suspected that most of his rocks were what he found in the riverbed.

Carsen had a tempestuous nature and was not averse to an argument that might cast a stain upon the veracity of his claims.

He could argue with fresh argument any rock you brought into question. Prior to his discovery of Doris he had been in the neighbouring town of Didukickamoocow and just beyond the town’s grassy knoll he had discovered a rare and valuable lustrous rock, which glowed serenely in his hand and of which Carsen fervently, believed possessed magical powers.

The rock in question, which he named Candice, after his first grade teacher, had trace elements within it that could only be described as a work of nature and God. In spite of all protests to the contrary Carsen kept Candice in a special box, lined with blue velvet and imported from Sweden.

Carsen claimed that if you held an egg over Candice, the yolk would go a golden yellow, whose lustre would cause you to shield your eyes and contain more protein than you could poke a stick at.

At last count Carsen had over six hundred rocks, each in his eyes more valuable than the next, each the recipient of his laudanum riddled brain with a panegyric to make each rock proud to belong to his collection.

 

Written for: https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2016/03/07/wordle-100-march-7-2016/

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Prompt Nights – When besotted with Green [8] – My Ocean of Green

Posted on March 7, 2016 by Michael

2013-04-22 16.20.55

Out my back door

And just over my back fence

Is my ocean of green.

Rich fodder crops, quickly grown

They are lush and productive.

In the wind waves streak across them.

The farmer mows and rakes

And in the dead of night

He bails and stores his cash crop,

He leaves the field barren and brown.

Within a week there is regeneration

The ocean of green reappears

Grows deep, home to field mice

Rabbits and a wily fox.

A majestic hawk hovers

Surveying the green carpet

Swoops down for take away.

I know I am fortunate

My green ocean view

Will always be mine.

 

Written for: http://www.adashofsunny.com/category/prompt-nights/

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Writing Prompt #149 “Collage 18” – The Old Dark House

Posted on March 6, 2016 by Michael

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The quote “You’re So Brave and Quiet I forget you’re suffering.” Ernest Hemingway.

It’s my first night in the old dark house.

Such a worrying name for a dwelling

That looks at times like something from Gothic

When we know it was built in the fifties.

I check all the windows, firmly locked

The doors are bolted, I’m locked in.

Outside a storm rages, lightning, thunder,

All good reason to snuggle as deep as I can.

A flash of lightning streaks across my room

Shadows are highlighted

They weren’t there before.

I gulp as the window rattles

The wind whistles outside

Inside I begin to tremble.

I’m not so brave I tell myself

I am suffering now

Wishing I was elsewhere.

Another crash and flash of light

There’s a giant web in the corner

A large black spider sits in the centre

Awaiting a victim, I hope it’s not me.

On the dresser are objects illuminated

Seeming alive one looks at me I’m sure

Then in the darkness they settle again

The next flash I’m positive they have moved to the left

I grab my old camera, my faithful box brownie

I move to the table, there’s an old wooden chair

Too scared to move, now that around me

Are shadows I’m sure weren’t there before.

The door gives a rattle

The handle is turned

I grab hold of the table

Hold my breath, watch as it begins to open

What foul spectre is coming to me

With bones and blood and a breath to kill?

The door wings open there is no one there

I race across, slam it shut

Run the bolts, slip the chain

Drive into my bed as outside

The storm rages, wind blows

Windows creak, door rattles

It’s a night of no sleep

As I have the strangest sensation

Of some body in my bed……

 

Written for: https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2016/03/06/writing-prompt-149-collage-18/

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FLASH FICTION FOR THE PURPOSEFUL PRACTITIONER: WEEK #10 – 2016 – Waiting.

Posted on March 4, 2016 by Michael

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Image: http://publicdomainarchive.com/public-domain-images-hine-lewis-national-child-labor-committee-collection/

The opening sentence for the March 4th Flash Fiction for the Purposeful Practitioner: “I know it’s only been three weeks…” thought Angie as she once again spent her lunch break staring out the window in anticipation of his return.

In her mind she recalled his words as clear as the moment he said them. “I’ll be back for you.”

Leaving her in the workhouse had been cruel in so many ways. Angie was not brought up on hard work and every day the prospect loomed in front of her of working dawn till dusk on the giant loom. She knew this place was dangerous as only yesterday Esta her work companion had caught her hand in the machinery and so badly damaged it that before help arrived she bled to death. It wasn’t that help wasn’t there it was the supervisor running around insisting that work continue while help was coming. But it didn’t come and when they realised Esta had died she was taken away and another girl was there in her place.

“This is a terrible place,” thought Angie turning away from the window. “I hope he comes sooner than later.”

 

Written for: https://rogershipp.wordpress.com/2016/03/03/flash-fiction-for-the-purposeful-practitioner-week-10-2016/

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SoCS March 5/16 – This and That

Posted on March 4, 2016 by Michael

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This is my stream of conscious for today.

When I think back on my life, which I have to point out is getting longer by the day, I have experienced a bit of this and that as I’ve gone along.

You could equate my this and that with ups and downs, with good and bad times and I don’t think I’m any different to anyone else in saying that.

I try and imagine how it could have been any different if the people who impacted on me as I grew up, who terrorised me in relationship and who thrilled me as a parent had been any different but then I’d have a whole different this and that to talk about wouldn’t I.

So my lot in life is what it is.

You could argue that in terms of “getting” anywhere in life I have been a failure. I never achieved fame, I didn’t write anything anyone remembers, unless you count the notes I left and were preserved in the boys toilet, third cubicle, back in sixty-seven.

In employment I started at the bottom of the food chain and successfully stayed there my entire career, passed over on numerous occasions.

As a father I did have some success, a bit more than the usual humdrum of the ‘this and that’. That I sired six children could be seen as both a success and an act of stupidity as it did bring me childbearing years of poverty.

But thankfully for me they are my success in life so just as you are no doubt thinking of me as one of life’s cellar-dwellers they are something I am extraordinarily proud of so take that.

This then is where my mind has taken me in dealing with this week’s “this and that”.

 

 

Written for: http://lindaghill.com/2016/03/04/the-friday-reminder-and-prompt-for-socs-march-516/

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Music Prompt #32 ” “Riverside” by Agnes Obel – Down By the River

Posted on March 4, 2016 by Michael

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=y4bTi8mpWpI

 

We’ve been down by the river

It’s just across the river flat.

In times of flood we see it

Skimming along the banks

Holding it back from swamping us.

Our river is the life of the valley

The farms and the towns speckled along its way.

We went to the river

Dug in our toes on the gravely bank

Watched the flow meander by

On it’s way to the Pacific.

You held my hand as we ventured in

Stood up to our ankles

As an eel swam by

Terrified you screamed never again.

At dusk a fisherman came by

Threw in his line sat and watched

The birds circling, the plopping of mullet

Just you and me and the fisherman too.

Darkness descended and came the night sounds

We huddled close as the noise grew

Frogs croaking, a fox sidled by on the distant bank.

The moon showed a silver light

Silhouetted the ghostly river gums

Giving the river a new mysterious character.

I wondered what to make of you

So beautiful yet so timid

You saw fit to sit with me

That warm summers night

Along the water’s edge.

 

Written for: https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2016/03/04/music-prompt-32-riverside-by-agnes-obel/

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Open Link Night # 167 – Stupidity

Posted on March 3, 2016 by Michael

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The learned professor

Stands at the dais notes ready:

“ ‘Stupid is as stupid does.’

So Forrest said all those years ago.

It is true I’ve led a stupid life.

Stupid decisions

With stupid women.

A stupid dictated to life

Led by the short and curlies

Until I didn’t know up from down.

Some days I barely survived

Caught in tirades and torture

Stupidly thinking it would be ok

To abide with the ideologically stupid.

I paid a price; I know I’m retarded

I crawl each night, tail between my legs

Into my small comfortable hole

Just right for a stupid person.

We stupid people dream a lot

It’s all we have.

Dreams and schemes

For those days when

Stupid is the only way

To rationalise an irrational life.”

The learned Professor

Gathers his notes, sits down.

 

Written for: http://dversepoets.com/2016/03/03/open-link-night-167/

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Tale Weaver # 55 Making Sense of Nonsense – Agrotive

Posted on March 3, 2016 by Michael

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Today’s word to play with is “agrotive”. Use it in any form you wish but in a way that explains the meaning you attach to it.

Charles had acquired an agrotive ability. He liked to exercise his agrotive abilities at every opportunity.

He wasn’t the smartest person you were likely to come across but there was no mistaking his agrotive skills.

You see Charles could communicate with angels.

It was fortunate for him that at that very moment in time there were two divine entities looking for a way to communicate with the human rabble, for that is how they saw them.

Charles thought it rather spectacular that the angel of God would appear at the end of his bed. The bright shimmering light gave way to the forlorn sight of Greg, God’s angel on earth looking as he did so often very down in the mouth with a cup and saucer in hand sipping tea from time to time.

Greg had a friend, Wayne, who came from the other end of the divine spectrum.

Wayne was Hell’s representative on earth and as such always looked smug and happy.

It was no secret that Hell served the best coffee and the only place in eternity to get a decent ham sandwich and Wayne would often show up in Charles’ room, sandwich in one hand and a skim latte in the other and eat them in front of Greg.

Charles had learned from Greg that Heaven was famous for the slow cooked casserole and Greg often had bits dribbling on his heavenly attire.

Today Charles needed their help.

He was in a dilemma and divine intervention was called for, especially if you could get it.

The issue lay with Maisie Dotes. Maisie had an identical twin sister in Dozie Dotes and the girls were known to swap around when it came to boyfriends but Charles knew it was Maisie who bothered him as Dozie was in prison after she and her boyfriend Jake “The Loser” Carter had tried to rob the bank. It all went well until at the end Jake realised in his excitement he had forgotten to wear his mask.

So as Charles sat on his bed with Wayne and Greg either side of him he told them of his flirtations with Maisie.

Greg said to be cautious. Women could be dodgy.

Wayne wanted to know if he had gotten any from Maisie. Charles looked at him in puzzlement.

‘Sex,’ stated Wayne taking another bite from his ham sandwich…

Charles gulped and said no.

‘Sex isn’t everything,’ piped in Greg, eyeing off Wayne’s sandwich and committing sin by coveting his neighbour’s sandwich.

“How would you know?’ asked Wayne, ‘you lot are all of no fixed gender, its just speculation on your part. We on the other hand have it all, do it all and love it all.’

Charles had the sense that this wasn’t helping him at all and like so many other times when the Angels had come together they ended up arguing over who was the better and how much better that was.

Charles had had enough. He pulled his sheets up over his head causing the two bickering angels to cease their bickering.

‘Charles,’ said Greg. ’We are trying to help.’

‘Yes,’ added Wayne. ‘We just have different views on the subject. I have a view, Greg has nothing.’

“I have God and righteousness on my side, he has sin and promiscuity on his.’

‘At least I have a side, you have a bump, a nothing.’

‘Shut up!’ said Charles. ‘Should I ask Maisie to the dance on Friday? Yes or no?’

‘Yes,’ replied Wayne. ‘Go get um cowboy.’

‘No,’ answered Greg. ‘You’ve no idea where she has been and what diseases she may be harbouring.’

‘That’s all a bit fatalistic isn’t it,’ said Wayne

‘Life’s like that, you can never be too sure.’

Charles looked at one then the other. ‘I’m going to sleep right now. I feel I have exhausted by agrotive powers for one night. Good night gentlemen, I’ll see you when I next don’t need your advice.’ He fell back against his pillows and was almost immediately asleep.

Greg looked at Wayne and then at his ham sandwich.

‘Oh for goodness sake Greg, here take the thing, plenty more where that came from.’

‘I thought we gave him good advice,’ said Greg munching away and feeling the sheer wonder of a decent ham sandwich.

 

Agrotive: the ability to speak with angels

 

Written for: https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2016/03/03/tale-weaver-55-making-sense-of-nonsense-agrotive/

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Hump Day Poem – The Nothing

Posted on March 2, 2016 by Michael

Cylindrical Forest

I am the nothing

Today I hover over the abyss.

I’m not going to fall in

But feel safe and comfortable.

When you are nothing

You can say and do anything

Its doesn’t matter

No one is listening

No one is watching.

No one notices you

Lingering in dangerous places.

You have things to say,

Things to do, but nothing comes out

Nothing gets done.

You find yourself

Sitting, thinking, your mind in circles

And it doesn’t matter

For there’s no one to care.

You wallow in your own mire

Knowing you’re where you deserve.

The flailing goes unabated

Until

A voice asks if you are ok.

With scepticism you hear platitudes.

The voice sits with you

Talks of things

Tells you their story.

Engaged, you open slightly

You step back

The voice is a person.

You look down and discover

Empathy and understanding

Holding your hand.

Your nothing is shunted

Your somebody squeezes in.

With trepidation

You take a baby step…

 

Written for: https://ionanerissa.wordpress.com/2016/03/02/hump-day-poetry-week-4/

Posted in Poetry, Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , | 30 Comments