Photo Challenge #91 December 15, 2015 – Illusions

Posted on December 15, 2015 by Michael

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Image: Anne Worner “Don’t Fall In” CC BY 2.0

Are you an illusion?

Are you disillusioned?

You look at my image

You say, is this you?

Don’t use the portrait images

The real you is different.

A figmentation of your imaginative?

I ask myself that same question

Are you a cyber person

A delusion trying hard

To be an illusion, one I’ll favour?

How can I tell from words on a page

If you have substance, worth,

Not just a bunch of dots and dashes.

A scammer wanting my ‘millions’

To break my heart, steal my soul.

My mirror reflects what it sees

The cameras lense the same

But in a split second we can change

From hero to villain

From lover to foe.

In the end it comes down to

Intuition,

Knowing and trusting

That what I see is what I get

And that, my love, sits well with me.

 

Written for: https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2015/12/15/photo-challenge-91/

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Wordle #89 “December 14, 2015” – A Red Velvet Frock

Posted on December 14, 2015 by Michael

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This week’s words: Roof Ethanol Washbasin Heartbeat Atelier (a workshop or studio, especially of an artist, artisan, or designer.) Pollen Fascination Frock Psychedelic Velvet Vociferate (to speak or cry out loudly or noisily; shout; bawl.) Bolt

 

I always had a fascination for a red velvet frock.

I’d cut a stunning figure as I walked down the High Street, heads turned, whispers abounded, I was the centre of attention.

There were many women in the town insanely jealous of the style and sophistication I brought to a red velvet frock. From the rooftops I heard them behind their hands remarking that there goes Jason strutting it out, flaunting it like only a man could in a red velvet frock.

I loved the fact that in a heartbeat I could have them all gossiping, creating a legend I often knew nothing about.

It sure beat my daytime job down at the ethanol factory converting sugar cane to ethanol to fuel the cars we all drove around these days.

Of course to dull the boredom of the factory we’d often inhale a lung full of fumes from the ethanol and enjoy the psychedelic light show in our heads. If the bosses caught you it was a matter of bolting out of there, sticking your head into a washbasin and praying they didn’t get too close to see that you were in fact way off in la la land and to make it obvious there was the vociferous manner in which words would tumble out of one’s mouth when questioned over our behaviour. A jumble of incoherent utterances and if you can imagine psychedelic language then that was what we would be saying…crazy man……

So here I am out on the town, impervious to the pollens in the air bringing the asthmatics to their collective knees, concentrating solely on making it to the Friday evening workshop at the Atelier’s Brushstroke a studio where only the finest artisans would meet each Friday evening to discuss all things red, all things velvet and all those game enough to wear them and get away with it, like me.

 

Written for: https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2015/12/14/wordle-89-december-14-2015/

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Writing Prompt #137 “The Fool”

Posted on December 13, 2015 by Michael

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Image: Luis Roya

The teacher frowned

An all too familiar scowl

‘You are a fool,’ he muttered

Loud enough the back row heard.

I sat in the front seat, eyes focused

My mind a tizz. What? What?

Me? A fool, but I’m top of the class

Last term I was the best

What has happened?

‘Your homework,’ he announced to the class

Suddenly broken from their usual gossiping

They faced him waiting for his pontificating to commence,

Relieved it wasn’t one of them being accused

But me the smartest kid in class.

Humiliated, taunted, held to ridicule

He displayed my homework

Beneath the red pen emblazoned on my page

Was my last semblance of dignity.

‘An example for all,’ he said

‘Let it be known,’ he declared

‘I want accuracy, precision, truth

Not your own thoughts

Use the textbook as it was intended.’

As a purveyor of historical truth?

My work he dropped onto the floor

As if harbouring disease.

Offered praise to those around me

For copying from his hallowed book.

My desecrated effort I salvaged

Slipped into my bag,

As sniggers began around me.

Inside a voice heralded my foolishness

Stayed with me many a year

‘You’re a fool,’ it said. ‘If you don’t play the game.’

 

 

 

Written for: https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2015/12/13/writing-prompt-137-the-fool/

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SoCS Dec. 12/15 – using “clo”

Posted on December 12, 2015 by Michael

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The clock struck twelve but not a mouse was seen to run down the clock face.

It was a close call but all we could think of was it is close to closing so it wouldn’t matter all that much.

It was going to be a matter of not allowing her to infect us and so cloy to our souls in ways that would leave us scarred for life.

Beneath the clock the cloister was a bustle with the religious sisters clopping along on their way to early morning prayers, matins as they referred to them as. Their wooden shoes making that unmistakeable sound not a clod but more a clop.

With their cloaks wrapped tightly around themselves they entered the chapel where a cloud of holiness pervaded the early morning.

Sister Closet, the convent clown had died overnight from a blood clot and was now discovering whether or not the clover was greener on the other side.

After prayers they all gathered in the dining room where Sister Clovis, the convent cook had prepared them a hearty meal of lamb chops.

Later that day they buried Sister Closet complete with clown nose and took turns in throwing the clods of dirt down onto her coffin.

Afterwards the holy sisters at the sound of the convent clock, cloaks flowing, processed into the chapel to pray silently for Sister Closet their close friend, clown and cloister cleaner.

 

Written for: http://lindaghill.com/2015/12/11/the-friday-reminder-and-prompt-for-socs-dec-1215/

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Tale Weaver #43 – Fairy Tale Prompt – A Fairy Christmas

Posted on December 11, 2015 by Michael

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‘T’was the night before Christmas and all through the house not a……’

Fairy Bastet looked down at the eight pairs of eyes plus one staring back at her.

What nonsense she thought, a Fairy Christmas is nothing like that, its chaos, mayhem, a constant cacophony of noise from one day to the next.

Christmas night is the worst, what with so much to be done and with Claus being so demanding and forever looking at his watch as the hour of his departure approached.

Today she was reading tales to the small fairies; once a week turning up at the Fairy School to read to the tiny fairies who loved her tales and the colourful books she showed them.

Fairy Bastet reflected on the times in her lifetime when she had been run off her feet and longed for the sound of the Christmas gong to go off so she could at last rest her weary feet.

Since retiring life had been less hectic and much more ordered.

The fairy children shifted impatiently in their seats except for Fairy Syd, the one eyed one. Fairy Syd was a Cyclops and came from a family of extremely hard workers. That was the advantage of being one-eyed the opportunities for distraction where few and far between. Every workshop in the Fairy world employed at least one Cyclops fairy for that very reason.

As it was the Christmas season all the fairy parents were hard at work working around the clock to get things done on time. Now days with so much technology in demand the Fairy workshops had found Fairy Nerds the ideal fairies to work towards completing the multitude of orders for IPods, IPads, game consoles and the games themselves. It was all go from morning till night and beyond.

A bell rang and Fairy Bastet breathed a sigh of relief, her time was over. Fairy Sunflower appeared at the door to guide the fairy children to their next activity, French speaking…in fact Fairies spent a lot of time learning languages as they would often be sent on journeys to foreign lands and a knowledge of the local vernacular was always an advantage.

So Fairy Bastet took off into the village where it was a hive of activity. For not only did the fairies have to be ready for Claus’ Christmas but they their own to organise.

She stopped by the gift shop and perused the many trinkets Fairy Candice had on display. Her niece, Fairy Rose had a penchant for things shiny and sparkly, she was a very modern Fairy was Rose, having a place that afforded her the luxuries in life that most only dreamed of like an automated Fairy bread maker that was the talk of her neighbourhood…

Next-door was the Fairy Smith Emporium. All the Smith’s in the Kingdom had pooled their resources and created their own super store selling all the things their smithing skills made.

Small metal things, large metal things, medium sized metal things and small oddly shaped things that might have been metal but which metal was always the question…..a big favourite at this time of the year were fairy shoe taps…..every fairy on Christmas day loved nothing more than to dance and to dance loudly…..so they put taps on their shoes, went out into the streets and tapped to their hearts content on the cobble stoned roadways. Hearing your favourite Christmas carol tapped to was always a treat to any passer-by.

Fairy Bastet gathered her shopping and headed for home passing the Gateway Tavern where she knew her neighbour Fairy Coop would be on his sixth Fairy wine by now judging by the time of day. She’d hear him stagger home later, singing at the top of his lungs, “Hark the Herald Angels Sing” bumping into her doorway as he made his way to his fairy bed.

Fairy wine I should point out is nothing more than a strong coffee but as the fairies don’t take alcohol they like to imagine a lot.

At home Fairy Bastet laid out her shopping and checked off she had something for each member of her family. They would gather round her table on Christmas day, eat their Fairy cakes and fairy bread, gossip about their neighbours and generally have a jolly time ending the day with a collective nap punctuated with snores of the type only a fairy should never hear.

Content as she so often was Fairy Bastet poured herself a strong cup of fairy tea, a brew that could make your hair curl if it wasn’t already that way inclined and settled back with her new book, “Fairy Secrets, Scandals in Big Fairy Country”.

 

Written for: https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2015/12/10/tale-weaver-43-fairy-tale-prompt/

 

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Tale Weaver #42: The mis(…) Man the Mans Man

Posted on December 4, 2015 by Michael

This week’s task: Plot devices such as mistaken identities, misheard conversations, misdirected messages, misconstrued events, miscalculated plans have driven stories for the eons. Mis[…]s are the stuff of legend, mystery, comedy, spy versus spy, thrillers, romance, science fiction, lore, literature, life.

Your [mis]son this week: to weave a tale using mis[…] as key to plot; character(s); genre; title;

 

In a darkened alley off the High Street lay the body of Man the Mans Man.

He had met an untimely death, which was ironic in that Mans Man was responsible for so many untimely deaths of his own. Karma was one pundit put it down to.

It appeared that Mans Man had stopped a bullet. Unfortunately for him it was his heart that did the stopping and the one thing about anyone’s heart was that it was pretty poor at catching anything, safely.

Immediately the rumour mongers in the town set out to do what they always did, spread rumour, the more outlandish the better, their motto of never let the truth stand in the way of a good healthy piece of rumour held them in good stead as far as Mans Man went.

Not many people knew Mans Man. He was to a degree he a mysterious figure…..some said he was tall some short…..some said he was once a priest others said he had attended assassin school from an early age and never looked back.

Either way it was common knowledge that you didn’t mess with him…the trail of bodies that lay in his wake was a tell tail sign that Mans Man was a man of business and he made deals only he benefitted from.

But today his body lay where he had been felled.

Surrounded by the curious, lamented by those few who knew him and his love of classical cello music, his detractors celebrating in quiet corners of shadowy bars less the news turn out to be wrong and their own coming sunrise could be called into question.

The police were glad to see the back of Mans Man. Especially the current view which pleased then no end, several bullet holes and a meat cleaver decorated his back but it was the samurai sword inserted into his rectum that was the most painful thought to all.

He must have been hated thought one policeman.

Had it coming thought another.

It was a matter of time thought a third.

Wish I’d done it thought Mayvis O’Brien the street girl.

Soon the police had the scene cordoned off and the curious and rubber neckers pushed back.

Officer Dimwit O’Hallinan who once tried to arrest Mans Man thought he looked far more relaxed in death than he ever did in real life.

He was an anxious man thought O’Hallinan, ever ready to pull out his gun and start shooting with the least bit of provocation. I wonder who he antagonised this time he thought then his mind went to most of the town inhabitants who probably had it in for Mans Man anyway along with every policeman as well.

Mayvis approached the Dimwit and revealed that she saw it all happen. Said Mans Man was bailed up in the alley by three men in balaclavas but she’d be able to recognise them if she saw them again.

She said they beat Mans Man badly, as he lay on the ground they shot him, placed the meat cleaver between his shoulder blades and as a parting gesture inserted the sword where you hoped no one ever would.

The cops knew it had to be the Thomas Trio, the three meanest and most despicable men in town, they had made Mans Man almost look like a gentleman.

But Carson The Meathook from the butchers said he saw it different, four guys in dinner jackets and false moustaches had rushed Mans Man as he came home from Sunday night Mass pushed him into the alley and done this terrible deed to him.

Another account came from Elise The Slipper Cronin who said Mans Man was arguing with six people in the alley when a group of Japanese assassins jumped out from behind the dust bins and despatched Mans Man to the next world.

There were as it turned out twelve different versions of the story of the end of Mans Man, and either way it mattered little to anyone as all that mattered was that mans Man was dead. But there was a lot of toing and froing within the newspaper circle as each story was printed. It made for fascinating reading. It made a legend out of a scumbag. By the time it was all over people were calling for Mans Man to be awarded a knighthood posthumously…

In the end it was the hard work of Emily-I’ve a nose for news–Smith who unearthed the truth behind the whole debacle. Seems her paper the Horegan Weekly was given a tip off which resulted in the arrest of several key players in the underworld leather black market who all had it in for Mans Man as Mans Man had been getting too big for his boots, size 11 and was wanting to trade up to a size 13, and everyone knew two sizes was pure unadulterated pretention.

 

Written for: https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2015/12/03/tale-weaver-42-the-mis-s/

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Friday Fictioneers 4 December 2015 – Hope

Posted on December 2, 2015 by Michael

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One of the things that sustained him in his confinement was the light that always shone in the distance.

Nine days out of ten it was in his mind but on that one day he saw it shining brightly his one and only beacon of hope in a world of eternal darkness.

There were moments when he thought that to give up was the only way. The darkness would consume him totally and end the futility of an end somewhere in the distance.

The light was always there on the tenth day, there is hope he thought and breathed again.

 

Written for: https://rochellewisofffields.wordpress.com/2015/12/02/4-december-2015/

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Photo Challenge #89 December 1, 2015 -Shadows

Posted on December 1, 2015 by Michael

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image by Anne Worner “Peace” CC BY-SA 2.0

 

Lights action.

Blank.

A flash and then……

Nothing.

I awake to this confinement.

Around me the city is a hub of sound and activity.

People going going going

Hustle bustle bustle hustle

Not an eye cast my way.

A drunk wanders by

Looks and sees, for a second something registers

Then he turns a learing eye away

With one hand adjusts himself, shuffles off.

Mumbling of a past time.

I am alive

Prisoner to a second in time

In clothes I would never wear

A wig mysterious and youthful,

I am I know mutton dressed as lamb.

There’s not a sideways glance

In a world of enforced uniformity

Coiffured to disguise individuality

Lights positioned

Hiding identity

For the want of consistency.

Bland, tasteless lacking personality

Only shadows point out difference.

 

Written for: https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2015/12/01/photo-challenge-89/

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FFfAW-Week of 12-01-2015 – Aunt Jess’ Photo

Posted on December 1, 2015 by Michael

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The alien spaceships had hovered overhead for some time.

It was the most spectacular of landings and Aunt Jess had taken the photo you see above.

We were all mesmerised.

There were at least six of them and they all fitted into our backyard.

Aunt Jess marched out to present herself and issue whoever it was on board a hearty welcome.

A door opened and a light slipped out consumed Aunt Jess and in a flash she was gone leaving her camera behind.

From each vehicle the same happened and another family member vanished.

A voice then boomed out, “Greetings people of earth, this is your lucky day, you have been chosen as the new food source for our superior life form. Your demise will be painless and your sacrifice will be for the greater good. Have a nice day.”

In a kitchen far away a woman put the finishing touches to her sweet potato and marshmallow pie not knowing she would soon change the world.

 

Written for: https://flashfictionforaspiringwriters.wordpress.com/2015/12/01/fffaw-week-of-12-01-2015/

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Wordle #87 “November 30, 2015” Professor Elbow

Posted on November 30, 2015 by Michael

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This week’s words: Elbow Emotional Docile Glass Shivaree (a mock serenade with kettles, pans, horns, and other noise makers given for a newly married couple; charivari. Informal. an elaborate, noisy celebration.) Cake Prodigious (extraordinary in size, amount, extent, degree, force, etc.: a prodigious research grant. wonderful or marvelous: a prodigious feat. abnormal; monstrous.) Dress Telesthesia (sensation or perception received at a distance without the normaloperation of the recognized sense organs.) Dew White (Not in the wordle but I can only find 11 words if you spot the 12th let me know if not will just use white!) Errant

Professor Elbow looked down his long and sinewy nose at his errant daughter. The girl who was emotional at the best times was surely testing him this day with her request that her upcoming wedding contain a shivaree made up by not just a special imported shivaree band but by every member of the wedding party bringing their own implements to create the maximum amount of noise. She had drawn up a prodigious list of possible implements to be used from pots and pans to car hubcaps to small metal bells.

Professor Elbow was usually a docile man, not one to be influenced my emotion in any way shape or form after all you don’t get to be a Professor of Telesthesia by falling into any kind of emotional stupor though right at this moment the temptation was somewhat overwhelming.

His daughter was adamant that she wanted no cake and her wedding dress would be a simple as she could manage. Her fathers vision of his only daughter walking down the aisle in white were dashed when she said she preferred a bright purple and that she had a plan for the style of the dress.

The normally docile and unemotional Professor Elbow was stumped for words before the enthusiasm of his daughter. They would marry early in the morning so as to do what she loved most, run barefoot across the dewy lawn.

The good professor found cause to reach for a glass to pour himself a stiff drink, something to settle his nerves for in his head at that very moment the shivaree was all but deafening.

 

Written for: https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2015/11/30/wordle-87-november-30-2015/

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