Music Friday Prompt #17: “Float” by Modest Mouse – Dark and Lonely Days

Posted on November 20, 2015 by Michael

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CTAud5O7Qqk

 

There was a crack in your voice

I have to go, step back

Care for me

But we will be ok.

Life will go on, float as it always does.

The pain was intense

I could see it in your eyes

Not just words that shed tears

But whole bodies devastated

Suddenly needing to know and understand

Everything is not always about us.

You have been ripped apart,

Repaired, sewn back together

Awoken and told you are alive

But the road back is littered with obstacles.

Be kind to yourself

Rest, know your limits, take baby steps

Its all about one day at a time.

Healing takes time

I wait on the sidelines

Desperate to be there

But kept away, I pace frantically

Awaiting news, any word that says

I am okay, I love you

I know this is hard

But I need to be strong

To know myself, what and who I am

Before reaching out to you.

Knowing you love me unconditionally

Provides me succour in this trying time.

And so I wait, I float in and out

Conscious moments give way to dreams

Where you cry my name

Clinging to one another

Against all who strive to tear us apart.

We hang in together

Finding ways to say those words

Of comfort, support, encouragement,

Enough to get us through

These dark and lonely days.

 

Written for: https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2015/11/20/music-friday-prompt-17-float-by-modest-mouse/

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Tale Weaver #40: Snow White Stop Kissing that Frog!* – The Wicked Witch’s Sister

Posted on November 19, 2015 by Michael

surrender_dorothy___wicked_witch_nouveau_by_happyicecream1234-d5qoc6u

While Hansel and Gretel struggled with the wicked witch in the gingerbread house across the way and down a few streets lived the gingerbread house witches sister Marge.

Now Marge had made it her mission in life to do most things the opposite to her sister. After all the gingerbread house took an awful lot of maintenance what with hungry children, mice and the hordes of ants that seemed to favour gingerbread over most other substances.

Marge lived in a small house made entirely of old tyres. There was something about the smell of rubber that did things to her and she lived in splendid isolation inside her rubber house.

Marge was also a rather clever magician and travelled a lot on her broom, a Cleansweeper 85, top of its range with an air speed that meant she had to tie her hat on very securely.

Marge did conjuring tricks, levitation tricks and scams of a variety of forms that no one ever seemed to cotton on to until she was well out of ear shot.

What worked so well for Marge was that she always appeared to be well dressed, refined and always courteous to all and anyone who came in contact with her.

She had a tendency to lull you into a false sense of security right before fleecing you of whatever money you might have had in your wallet. Her favourite scam was selling cockatoo urine, or as she marketed it as, Cocky’s Cure.

Cocky’s Cure could cure anything. One teaspoon of the vile tasting stuff was said to be enough to cure everything from the common cold to cancer to warts.

Cocky’s Cure was her own invention and being a witch meant she knew just the stuff to put in it to send you off into a lather of perspiration which lasted a good twenty-four hours before you realised you’d been duped.

By the time you woke up with a hangover to beat all past hangovers Marge was well away and lining up her next village of suckers.

It was in the village of False Teeth that she met her match. Here in this tiny hamlet lived another witch but a benevolent one called Hilda the Sower. Now Marge didn’t know about Hilda as Hilda never featured in the Wicked Witch Weekly and so meeting her came as an unpleasant surprise to her.

Hilda made things, sewed and knitted things such as jumpers for the poor, baby bonnets and booties, scarves and beanies for the workers and generally was much loved and revered.

When Marge set up and started espousing the virtues of her Cocky’s Cure Hilda happened to be in the crowd and volunteered to try the Cure out for herself.

Now Hilda was a cunning and wise old witch and she could spot a shyster a mile off and she saw immediately that Marge was as dodgy as they come. Hilda had a few tricks of her own and took a good gulp of her all-purpose anti rat potion before she sampled Marges brew.

The two concoctions mixed together in Hilda’s gut, the town’s folk stood back as Hilda’s rotund girth, gurgled and growled, hicked and then it hupped, contracted then expanded and finally a very large and totally unlady like burp erupted and the most unpleasant of breath spewed out of her mouth.

Everyone dived for cover, or rather fresh air including Marge who was not all impressed with what she had just witnessed.

‘It’s poison,’ shouted Hilda, ‘don’t go near it, this witch is out to rip you off, take your money and leave you more penniless than you already are.’

Immediately the town’s folk backed away, not one was game to try Marge’s Cocky’s Cure. Marge was furious and was about to throw a paralysing spell at Hilda when she felt her arm go limp, her knees buckle and her eyes water over.

Hilda had used one of her own crippling spells, one she hadn’t used in years but was pleased she still remember the formula.

Marge lay on the ground helpless as the townsfolk gathered round. There were calls for her head, the stocks and variety of other punishments that surprised Hilda in there apparent brutality.

So Hilda summoned Marge’s broom, revved it up with a warm knitted broom handle cover and gave it instructions to return Marge to her rubber tyre house forthwith.

Marge was never the same again. Word spread that she had received her comeuppance in False Teeth and was never really seen again.

As one town wit expressed the air had been well and truly let out of her tyres.

 

Written for: https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2015/11/19/tale-weaver-40-snow-white-stop-kissing-that-frog/

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Friday Fictioneers November 17/18 – Below the Grid

Posted on November 18, 2015 by Michael

ce-grate

PHOTO PROMPT © C.E. Ayr

The E48 grid lay on the southern side of East Street. It was unusual in that it harboured a secret.

Below the metal grid lay a strange world teeming with life.

It was largely invisible to the human eye but visible if you looked the right way.

It was a most benevolent world free from conflict and argument and completely devoid of religion. The creatures in this world had conquered compatibility and could never understand the penchant for the above the grids to kill each other in the senseless ways they observed.

They kept the grid firmly locked down.

 

Written for: https://rochellewisofffields.wordpress.com/2015/11/18/20-november-2015/

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FFfAW – Week of 11-17-2015 – Peacock

Posted on November 17, 2015 by Michael

wpid-photo-20151116101847422

When peacock met his one great love across the mighty divide he knew instantly that he had found a rare beauty.

It was beholding of him he knew to attract the fair hen with a show of his magnificence and grandeur.

Each day he’d show off his feather and finery wanting to impress the humble hen by his spectacular display, the strutting and prancing, his tales of bravery and courage, of victory and achievement.

Peacock sidled up to the hen, fluttered his magnificent tail, and made an all out effort to win her affection.

Hen looked at the enthusiastic peacock and rubbed her head against his flank. She liked him as he was, show was not necessary, for she knew a good cock was hard to find. She was proud to be his mate.

 

Written for: https://flashfictionforaspiringwriters.wordpress.com/2015/11/17/fffaw-week-of-11-17-2015/

Posted in Uncategorized, writing challenge | Tagged , | 44 Comments

Photo Challenge #87: November 17, 2015 – The Tree People

Posted on November 17, 2015 by Michael

richardloader

Image by Richard Loader

You can’t and won’t see us

But in the centre right of the image

You might see shadows through the fog.

We are the tree people.

The sprites that mind the branches

We watch and protect the creatures

Numerous by number and name

In and around the trees you see.

We flit from branch to branch

Casting spells, lifting and placing

Rescuing when danger isn’t seen.

We celebrate life’s precious gift.

Behind the trees lives the grey lady

Old and bent she potters beneath our home

Picking up the fallen debris

Sweeping up the leaves in her red plastic bucket.

She’s one of us and has proved her worth

She nurses the fallen chicks in spring

The ones we occasionally miss.

We sense she knows we are here

For she looks about from time to time

Smiles that knowing smile of one who knows

That there is more to fantasy than obvious fact.

We long ago decided as one

To treat her fairly as she does us.

And so she goes about her business

As we go about our own

And every now and then we’ll hear

A voice comes wafting up each tree

“You boys have a good day now.’

You can’t see us I know

But we are here watching you

Just to the right of the central tree.

 

 

Written for: https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2015/11/17/photo-challenge-87/

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Bonus Wordle #2 – Mansy Smythe

Posted on November 16, 2015 by Michael

bonus-wordle-21

This week’s words to play with:

  1. Gnarler (via Yves)A little dog that by his barking alerts his people that there is a burglar inside the house.
  2. Chirping Merry (via Yves) Exhilarated with liquor.
  3. Jabber (via Yves) To talk thick and fast, sometimes to speak in a foreign tongue
  4. Gregorian Tree (via Yves) The gallows.
  5. Honey-peeler (via Yves) A person who manipulates through seduction. Honey-peel is the act of manipulation through seduction
  6. Lentamente (via Bastet) Italian for slowly.
  7. Muore (via Bastet) Italian for dies.
  8. Makisig (via Ladylee) Filipino for powerful and strong.
  9. Malakas (via Ladylee) Filipino for handsome.
  10. Lazulitopian (via J Lapis) “One who resides in a mental world of blue perfection; flourishing at optimal emotional, spiritual rest when surrounded, submerged in blue—all shades, all day and indigo night.”
  11. Moje Dziecko (via Pat) Polish for “My Baby”
  12. Nudnik (via Cressida) Yiddish for a pestering, nagging, or irritating person; a bore.

When Darcy and Gnarler walked down the street there wasn’t a person who didn’t admire the combination of dedication to duty that each showed the other. They had been together a long time and Darcy valued his little canine friends ability to sniff out trouble and deal effectively with it.

Their greatest test came the day they met Mansy Smythe the honey-peeler from the wrong side of the tracks. Mansy had a reputation that could best be described as a reputation. She had the gift of the gab; she could talk the hind leg off a dog and then some.

But Darcy and Gnarler were no pushovers. They knew all the tricks. It had become well known that Mansy could jabber like no one’s business. Blind you with verbal science, distract you from the task at hand and before long if she caught you in a bar you’d be chirping merry and putty in her hands.

But in Darcy and Gnarler’s town life was very lentamente and no one was ever in a hurry so it took a long time for anything to happen. Which also meant muore took a long time, which did help to explain the longevity of so many of the locals.

Mansy already had a victim lined up in her sights. The malakas Bruno Mercury a very makisig young man who attracted the eye of every young lass.

Bruno was a very lazulitopian young man, a little boy in blue when he was a toddler and now he was malakas and makisig all rolled up into one delectable ladies package. And he knew it as he strutted around the town in the matching lazulitopian suits and his lazulitopian suede shoes a leftover many felt from days gone by.

Mansy had done her homework on Bruno and saw him as little more than a nudnik as his entire conversation revolved around himself and his malakas. For few would dispute his malakas was impressive almost as big as his makisig.

After a good half hour of whispering moje dziecko in his ear Bruno was ready for the pickings.

Unfortunately for Mansy several others were keen to whisper moje dziecko in Bruno’s ear and later that night Bruno’s body was found beneath the Gregorian Tree in the centre of town.

Darcy and Gnarler arrived to take charge thinking it was fortuitous that the crime had been committed beneath the Gregorian tree as that was where the whole matter would soon be resolved.

Mansy was a suspect, but as always happened she had a solid alibi being found chirping merry under a table in the Lazulitopian Bar and Grill.

The search continued……

Written for: https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2015/11/16/bonus-wordle-2/

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Writing Prompt #133 “Getting Cozy with Uncertainty” – What is Truth?

Posted on November 15, 2015 by Michael

Your-Path-to-Truth-e1278821635549

For this week’s challenge I want us to get philosophical up in here. What do you know for sure? What did you know in youth but lose sight of maturity? What is something really important that you have learned through experience? If money were no object what would you be doing?

Many years ago,

When I was a young man

Idealism was idealism.

I thought I knew most things

I had a handle on what was going on.

Maturity and experience changed all that.

I learned for example that truth comes in many forms.

What I see and you see can be the same thing

But our interpretation can vary

Due to the context in which we view it.

I discovered this in two ways.

Through the study of history

And through the stark reality of witnessing death.

History taught me that people can see the same event

But can respond differently

One can see the perspective of one side over another

One can explain the circumstances from the viewpoint

Of events that happened

Personalities involved who each shaped

And crafted the situation to suit their own political leanings.

Death can be the same

What I saw the day a man was killed

Conflicted greatly with the recollections of the perpetrator

Who saw an opposite truth to mine.

I learned there are degrees of truth.

We never disputed the death

We did though the turn of events leading to it.

I would prefer to think that there is one truth

But it can so easily be twisted

Moulded into a shape we may not even recognise

And doubt our version reflects what we think is truth.

When I was young I was wise as the world was simple

Now I am old it is clouded in’ ifs and buts’

But my conscious is all I have to guide me

Deciding which truth is the more true.

Written for: https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2015/11/15/writing-prompt-133-getting-cozy-with-uncertainty/

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SoCS Nov. 14/15 – Indescribable

Posted on November 13, 2015 by Michael

socs-badge-2015

Dear Sir,

It has come to my attention that within the blogging world that you are a person of some integrity and experience as a person of learning and discernment.

I am a fledgling writer and poet and I am seeking your opinion of my latest Poem – Dirt in the Toenails – published this week on my blog – I Wanna Be A Writer.

It is important to me to garner opinions from such folk as yourself as your thoughts can only enhance the credibility of myself as a writer. I am currently gathering a collection of my poems for publication and a self-published anthology tentatively entitled “Explorations within my Twisted Mind”.

I await your thoughts and if you could reply by tomorrow that would be great.

With anticipated thanks

Augustus Worthington.

Dear Mr Worthington

I wish I could say your poem is something to be described but I find after several readings it to be more in the indescribable range for me.

Now this could be a generational thing as I imagine I am several generations older than you but I do question this poem in this way:

What point are you trying to make?

Do you actually know what a literary convention is?

Who you think your audience is for a poem of this kind?

I do question the self-indulgence contained with in the lines:

I pick at you with my dinner fork

   But you refuse to budge

   So I shovel another piece of steak in

   As your very presence haunts my soul.

I’m not sure how ready the world is to read about your struggles, inner and allegedly outer over dirt in your toenails.

Nor do I think images such as:

   Infiltrating my life like a small African tribe

Might not be construed as a bordering on racism…

It is one argument to say that literature should challenge your audience but I find your work works more like a case of common assault upon my senses and for that alone you should be locked up and kept well away from any writing implements thus sparing us from any more drivel of the kind you have foisted upon me.

I hope this is constructive criticism and you will act accordingly by abandoning all and any ambitions towards being a writer of any sort.

Yours sincerely

William Hewitt PhD, MA (Hons) Professor of Classics Morpeth University.

Written for: http://lindaghill.com/2015/11/13/the-friday-reminder-and-prompt-for-socs-nov-1415/

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Music Friday Prompt #16: “Rattlin’ Bones” performed by Kasey Chambers and Shane Nicholson – Beckoning Me Home

Posted on November 13, 2015 by Michael

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uRFZ2uOD4mk

Across the wide expanse

I see you inching towards me

Bit by bit

One day at a time.

We wish it was quicker

Less inhibited

But our baggage hinders progress

So much to be dealt with

Decisions made

Guilt discussed

Can I, can’t I, will I?

I feel ready you were heard to say

There’s a time coming

Where I want to be me

But first there’s demons

Gathered about me in so many forms

My brain is fighting to stay afloat

The prize is there

Worth the taking

Worth the striving

Worth the winning.

Like so many rainy days

We huddle against the cold

Words flying

Intent written large

Reaching out,

Caressing each others souls

Knowing why we are in this place

Cherishing the limited time we know we have.

I have looked beyond your faults and flaws

For therein lies the greatest secret of all

A miracle that has awakened me

Brought me alive

No longer looking into loneliness

But aware your love is calling

Beckoning me home.

Written for: https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2015/11/13/music-friday-prompt-16-rattlin-bones-performed-by-kasey-chambers-and-shane-nicholson/

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Tale Weaver #39 – Shadows – The Malevolent Shadow

Posted on November 12, 2015 by Michael

shadows

Image: © Rose’s Garden

Weave a tale in which your shadow or shadows play a significant role.

Imagine your shadow can communicate, decides it is sick of you and wants to leave, argues with you about life decisions, vanishes……becomes a confidante, you can discus his/her close association with you how you value him/her being there…or the conflict you experience when it develops a mind of its own.

Kate awoke as always at an early hour and immediately that feeling of dread descended upon her.

She looked around and couldn’t see anything that might upset her but she knew it was nearby, lurking in shadow disguising itself so she couldn’t organise an early morning escape or plot against it.

It was quite ludicrous that she be afraid of her own shadow but she was.

Her’s was positively evil.

It didn’t behave to any normal conventions of what a shadow should do and in actual fact it worked contrary to anything she did.

If she stepped right it stepped left, if she waved with one hand it waved with the other. And to make it worse it always walked in front of her irrespective of where the sun might be in the sky.

It was all very unnerving along with the terrible sensation she got when the shadow appeared to turn towards her at certain times and admonish her with a wagging finger.

At night the shadow would take itself off to the far side of her room and appear to sulk as the day’s light dimmed and Kate would turn out her light making it disappear completely.

It was at night Kate felt safest because she couldn’t see the shadow and she hoped it couldn’t see her, though she sometimes woke to the feeling that it was there at the end of the bed breathing its malevolence at her.

It hadn’t always been this way.

Her shadow had behaved as shadows do up until she had complained about her neighbour Miss Marble. Miss Marble was a witch and made all sorts of potions day and night, created smells and generally cussed and fussed at all hours.

Kate realised she had made a mistake in moving next door to Miss Marble but never anticipated the response Miss Marble gave to her complaint.

Kate had complained to the residents association, as was her prerogative. Several neighbours had warned her against such action but Kate thought she was justified in her complaint.

It was after a late night visit from Miss Marble that all the trouble had started. Miss Marble she thought had come round to sort out a neighbourly agreement and instead had given her a small vial and instructions to drink it at bedtime.

Kate had done so and her shadow suddenly developed a mind of its own.

It had been two weeks since it all started and Kate decided enough was enough.

She went round to Miss Marble’s house and knocked on the door.

Miss Marble showed her in and listened to her tale of the terrible time she was having with her shadow. Miss Marble could see the toll it was taking on Kate and was sympathetic to her.

‘You see it’s not your shadow,’ said Miss Marble, ‘Its mine.’

‘Yours?’

‘Yes dear your shadow has been staying with me these past few weeks and a very lovely shadow it is, would you like it back?’

“Oh please may I. No wonder I’m beside myself your shadow can be right aggressive.’

‘Yes it can when I let it out. You see my dear I needed you to come round and have a chat with me, see that I’m not the wicked witch you may think I am. In fact I prefer to get along with my neighbours rather than disagree with them. Makes for a happy street you might say.’

‘It’s the smells and noises at all hours that bother me the most.’

‘Ah yes now to fix that, at bedtime from now on I want you to put this small wreath on your bedside table, I guarantee you’ll sleep like a baby. If you have any doubts ask whatshername on the other side of me, I can never remember her name, you know the woman with grey bangs and a large woolly dog.’

‘I haven’t met her,’ said Kate, ‘so thanks for this, do I owe you anything?’

‘No my dear just your cheery smile when you see me over the fence.’

‘Well thank you Miss Marble, I’ll try this out tonight.’

As Kate stood to leave there was a shuffle in the corner as her shadow skipped across the room and joined her.

It was a very welcome reunion and Kate went home, wreath in hand full of hope for a good nights sleep safe from the prying presence of Miss Marbles shadow which she was glad to see the back of.

She woke the next morning fully rested and ready to enjoy walking with her shadow in the place it belonged.

Her shadow was rather pleased as well as Kate noticed a bit of a skip in its step as they walked along.

Written for: https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2015/11/12/tale-weaver-39-shadows/

Posted in tale weaver, writing challenge | Tagged , , , , , , | 25 Comments