Always…a poem

Posted on May 27, 2015 by Michael

I so connect with this. Great little reminder that we are never too old…

hitandrun1964's avatarRethinking Life

it
doesn’t
matter
how
old
you
are

when
you’re
flying
down
the
street
with
the
windows
open
and
the
music
blasting

you’re
always
eighteen

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Poetry Prompt Wednesday #8 – Regret

Posted on May 27, 2015 by Michael

_____sorrow_longing_tears______by_Westia

This week’s prompt is to write a ‘Regret’ poem

I guess I should written

But life gets in my way

I think of you so often

Reminding myself daily

A letter is due your way.

I made a commitment

A promise to stay in touch

But I’m slack about that and much more.

You were always a loyal friend

You picked me up when I was down

Dusted me off more than once

Fed and clothed me

I owed you at least

A letter every once and a while.

As it is I am embarrassed

You have moved on, I’m still stuck.

You offered me so much

Told me of my potential.

I pissed it all away

My own selfishness won out

Over love and logic.

I regret now my foolishness
I appeal to your kindness

To forgive my waywardness.

Written for: https://therattlingbones.wordpress.com/2015/05/27/poetry-prompt-wednesday-8/

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Tale Weaver #15 – Through the Arches – I Miss You

Posted on May 27, 2015 by Michael

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Photo Credit: Michael Grogan – Paris

This week’s Tale Weaver task: Imagine you are in a foreign city and as you walk the streets you come across a set of arches that intrigue you as to what lies beyond them.

I was there the day you walked through the arches.

I was dilly-dallying a few metres behind looking at one of the houseboats tied up along the riverbank.

I saw you disappear into the shadows and thought I’ll catch up in a minute but when I did you weren’t there.

I looked around thinking another one of your tricks.

You liked to worry me.

I called out to you.

Ran along the bank looking for you.

What happened to you?

Did you plan this?

In the days and weeks since I have returned to this spot. I have looked in every place I can think of, in every nook and cranny; we have even dragged the river.

But nothing, no item of clothing, no disguarded ticket nothing.

Did you want to flee from me?

Did you run up the steps?

Jump on the bus; take the train to the airport and then on a flight to?

If so why no farewell.

My destitution has been so profound I now sit here looking at the arches wondering why, how and where did you go?

Every night I lay awake pondering, tossing and turning, crying over where you may have gone.

I have speculated that you have been taken, my blood runs cold at that thought that somewhere you are held captive, restrained and helpless against the will of others.

I fear that you have been sold into slavery that you have been sold off to some foreign country and are now working in some factory or being forced into unspeakable acts.

I have retraced our day so often. The morning coffee in the little café, the jolly barista who proudly brought us our latte’s and bragged that we’d not taste any better.

Our plans to walk along the river bank and then have lunch at the restaurant opposite Notre Dame.

Had I not been distracted by the houseboats and their domestic settings, the rusty and weathered exteriors decorated to look like home. Had I kept pace with you all this would be different.

I wouldn’t feel so wretched.

So again today my melancholic self waits for you to return. This is my last day as I have exhausted myself and tomorrow I need to go home and face your parents who are as mystified as me.

They have intimated they believe this was all my doing.

I should have been much more vigilant, aware and awake to any change in you but I saw nothing, nothing that heralded this predicament I find myself in.

Today my tears will flow again.

I miss you.

Written for: https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2015/05/28/tale-weaver-15-through-the-arches/

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Tuesday’s Photo Prompt #4 – God Said

Posted on May 26, 2015 by Michael

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God said: Look after this man.

He is in need of guidance, of care, of love.

So I obey.

He is a poor soul.

Drinks himself to oblivion.

Has no roof above his head apart from the stars.

He has lost his way.

I am sometimes of the thought

He is beyond my help.

I can but hang in with him.

Now he rests,

His bender last night

Left him comatose.

He is shunned

Family deny him

All prospects are in forfeit

He lives in what he wears.

He is such a contradiction

A refutation of reality.

His intelligence has left him

He wanders aimlessly

Begs and often steals

Spends the odd night in the lock up

At least there he is out of the weather.

I grieve for him

His future is grim

But he is a person

He lives and breathes

He hurts like everyone else.

His soul is salvageable

I await our next encounter

Will he listen?

Will he see my way?

I live in hope.

Written for: https://therattlingbones.wordpress.com/2015/05/26/tuesdays-photo-prompt-4/

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Photo Challenge #62, Birds & Cages, May 26, 2015 – The Girl

Posted on May 26, 2015 by Michael

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The girl’s hands

Had a tale to tell.

Her blacken nails

Her worker hands

Calloused, and worn.

Her only relief the freedom

Of a painted image

An open cage

A release

From her own confinement.

Yet she had hope

Believing tomorrow

Would be better.

Solace in knowing

She was now loved.

Written for: https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2015/05/26/photo-challenge-62-birds-cages-may-26-2015/

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FFfAW Week of May 27, 2015 – My Wedding

Posted on May 26, 2015 by Michael

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The Church was decorated so beautifully for my wedding day. Everything had fallen into place.

The weeks of preparation were coming to fruition as the moment came to take that last walk down the aisle as a single woman.

In the bell tower my brother Matt was ringing the bell to announce not only the wedding but also to herald in the celebrations that were to follow.

It was so good to see my family around me, my friends and so many perfect strangers there to witness my finest hour.

Ahead of me at the altar stood the love of my life.

Momentarily my knees went to jelly.

The ring slid onto my finger and I was suddenly Mrs Rosemary Stubble.

Igor my handsome husband smiled at me through his broken black teeth. I was once again mesmerised by his obvious charm.

In bending to kiss him that first time as husband and wife I didn’t notice his lizard tongue until it was too late.

wpid-photo-20150521135401826

Written for: https://flashfictionforaspiringwriters.wordpress.com/2015/05/26/fffaw-week-of-may-27-2015/

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Scribe’s Cave Picture Prompt #68 – Fire

Posted on May 26, 2015 by Michael

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In our time bushfires were a fact of life. At any one time they raged in some place. It seemed that whenever nature restored itself a fire would break out taking that life from us.

Today the fire had taken out the poplar forest. It seemed the fires had an agenda and we humans were not included nor were our buildings. As a result we were forced to build monstrous fireproof tardis structures to house and protect plant life. From here the plants provided each community with the oxygen needed to sustain life.

But we were ever to be on our guard as the firestorms licked ever closer to the buildings as if sensing each structure as a source of sustenance.

Fire spotting over I packed up. My beloved geraniums in their riot of colours were safe for another day.

GeraniumZonalSeed

Written for: http://caveofscribes.starvingactivist.com/2015/05/25/scribes-cave-picture-prompt-68/

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Mondays Finish the Story – May 25th, 2015 – Spirits

Posted on May 25, 2015 by Michael

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Finish the story begins with:  “The only residents remaining in the small town of Miners Hill are spirits.”

I should know I am one of them. Call me Les; short for Spirit Les…in the spirit world we all have the same first name, the great leveller in death.

But we get along ok. Spirit Tulle who runs the dance shop is my neighbour and Spirit Level the hardware shop on the next corner.

Today is our Memorial Day, we honour ourselves, which is pretty cool, and Spirit Ting is giving his first ever address.

His Asian ancestry was paramount in this place as his people paved the way to so much success in this community.

Its sad since the life went out of the place, but fate has played a part in everyone’s life or in our case death. The pastor Spirit Ed only last Sunday said we should all count blessings. Things could always be worse, there could be people to disturb our eternity.

Written for: https://mondaysfinishthestory.wordpress.com/2015/05/25/mondays-finish-the-story-may-25th-2015/

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Journal Monday Prompt #7 – Playing with Words

Posted on May 25, 2015 by Michael

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Today’s prompt is to write about your passion……

I am living my passion in a manner of speaking that is.

I love to play with words.

I think I have been doing so for a lot of my life.

As a teacher of drama I wrote a lot of material for my students…there was always something exciting in looking at the written word and deciding how best to perform it. Then so often it was an edit here and there and a constant attitude that you continued to work on your words even up until the day of performance.

Even when the dreaded exam supervision came around and I was required to sit in a room with some kid who needed his/her own space I’d find a piece of paper and write on it…..

Now I am no longer a teacher my audience has changed. I have discovered that I write best when I perceive an audience. For example I know there will be people who will read this, some of my own readers, Lori and I anticipate a few others who may wonder what this blogger is on about.

I love to take on writing challenges. I don’t do everything that comes past me but I do select the ones that will afford me the greatest challenge.

For example I have just now finished what is for me the Monday wordle, for others it’s probably the Sunday wordle but as I live in the future I am always a day ahead of every one else.

I like the wordle prompt, as there is always a word in the list that is challenging. Today it was ‘stria’:

1 a linear mark, slight ridge, or groove on a surface, often one of a number of similar parallel features.

2 Anatomy any of a number of longitudinal collections of nerve fibers in the brain.

Each week there is the challenge for me to find a way of using obscure words such as ‘stria’ in my story.

The other thing that happened to me is I have developed a passion for writing fairy tales. Each Friday in my part of the world a fairy tale prompt comes up and I am into it with great enthusiasm even when the prompt has me flummoxed I generally work out a way of attacking it.

To add to my enthusiasm for this genre my son who is an artist is keen to try and illustrate some for me as some of my readers have suggested I try and publish them. Time will tell on that score but it could be a fascinating project to undertake.

Now days I co-host the Tale Weaver prompt on Mindlovesmisery’s Menagerie. This comes out each Thursday and we try to present interesting challenges to your writers. A shameless ad I know but come over sometime and see what is on offer.

So there, my passion, words and what I can do with them. I am not perfect and never will be but that is the beauty of writing, always searching for effective ways to group words together to as to make some coherent sense to others.

Thank you for reading my story.

Written for: https://therattlingbones.wordpress.com/2015/05/25/journal-monday-prompt-7/

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Wordle #62 “May 25, 2015″ – Knuckles

Posted on May 25, 2015 by Michael

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This week’s words” Tweak Cloy Jeans Browse Reverse Pewter Nozzle Bedraggled Stria (a slight or narrow furrow, ridge, stripe, or streak, especially one of a number in parallel arrangement:) Truculent (fierce; cruel; savagely brutal) Knuckles Slack

Knuckles O’Flarity looked down on his victim the truculent and at that very moment bedraggled Snotnose Petersen.

Knuckles was feeling for Snotnose for no other reason than that Knuckles was a man of God. He went to church each week with his mum.

Snotnose on the other hand didn’t go to church and it was noticeable from his slack ways of late that he needed a little reminder of his responsibilities. After all what would the state of affairs become if people like Snotnose started to act independently. As it was he had become cloyingly sickening as he went about the town acting all sweet and innocent when every one knew he was the most truculently obsessed guy in the neighbourhood.

It befell to Knuckles to sort Snotnose out. At the moment Snotnose was trussed up like a pig, then again thought Knuckles the guy was a pig. Knuckles knew that deep inside the spacious cavern of Snotnose’s skull the stria that made up the nerve fibres connected to his brain were severely compromised if in fact they were connected to anything that mattered inside a skull that echoed when he struck it.

Knuckles picked up the nozzle of the hose and aimed it at Snotnose. It wasn’t any ordinary hose but a fire hose and Snotnose who wasn’t the brightest spark in the fire suddenly realised Knuckles meant business.

Inside his jeans he felt a sudden warmth and right then he knew the opportunity to reverse what was about to happen had long passed.

Knuckles browsed the face of his victim, watched as the horror spread across his face before tweaking the nozzle end and then opening it up. The force lifted Snotnose, stilled tied to his chair, off the ground and propelled him across the room and into the far wall.

The crash of the chair and its passenger reverberated around the room and left the hapless Snotnose with more than his usual snotty nose. A soaked and terrified face peered back at Knuckles, who had turned the hose off and was nonchantly sipping his tea from his recently acquired pewter cup.

Knuckles watched as Snotnose looked daggers at him and just as Snotnose was about to utter a stream of expletives Knuckles hit him again, this time the force pushed him hard against the wall, the breath being sucked out of him.

The once truculent and slack man was now nothing more than a soaked and bedraggled man in jeans.

Inside Snotnose’s head his stria fought a losing battle in trying to convince his brain cells to resist no more. They momentarily thought they had achieved victory when Snotnose’s mouth opened and another jet flung him back again. Throwing up their fibrous arms in frustration at his stupidity they went back to being a longitudinal collection of nerve fibres hoping Knuckles would finish him off for the good of all humanity.

Written for: https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2015/05/25/wordle-62-may-25-2015%E2%80%B3/

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