Creative Expressions #5: Photo (Christmas Memories) – Suzy Noshoes

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Suzy Noshoes dreaded Christmas.

Each year it was the same. Hide away in her room; pretend that out on the street the joy of others wasn’t really happening.

Suzy lived a poor life, managing enough to eat each day was a goal, celebrating Christmas; splurging out was never a consideration. This year would be as previous years. Doors locked her head in a book. Books she did have, it was amazing what you find at the dump and in peoples bins.

She had found a copy of A Christmas Carol and it became her Christmas each year.

Her front door firmly locked, she settled herself into Mr Dickens’ story when she heard a knock on her front door. No one knocked on her door on Christmas Day.

On step stood Michelle from next door, a likeable soul Suzy left if not a little vague at times.

In Michelle’s hand was a plate. It contained a Christmas dinner.

‘Merry Christmas Suzy,’ said Michelle. ‘ I thought you might like a little Christmas cheer this year. We have plenty, I know you are alone and you prefer to be alone today but maybe we can share some of our dinner with you.’

Suzy accepted the plate and mumbled a thankyou for she was very overcome with Michelle’s generosity.

Suzy sat at her dining table, the plate of food before her, before eating she thought of the kindness of strangers, never once thinking one lived next door.

Written for: http://penntonic.wordpress.com/2014/12/23/mommy-made-them/

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Photo Prompt #40 – December 23, 2014 – The Goal

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Image: Manuel Rodriguez Sanchez

In any life long pursuit it’s the last bit that is often the hardest.

Getting the writing done.

The editing.

The endless rewrites.

Maintaining belief that what you are doing is worthwhile

That you have an audience.

An audience who will connect with your words

Who will appreciate the drama you present

Get the metaphors

Understand and empathise with your themes

Your characters,

Tell others, write encouraging comments

Give you that sense of being heard.

One’s life is so like this

From birth to death we all headed in the same direction.

All we do marks us for the person we are.

Do we give or take?

In those last miles of life in sight

Do we doubt our ability?

Those remaining steps

The effort required

The breath we have to use

The physical strength which

Saps as we put one foot ahead of the other

Knowing we are being drawn towards an inevitable end.

That final step achieved,

Where we can at last be at peace

Relinquishing human form and earthy ties

There to greet us is our unearthly form

Welcoming us home.

An old man walks along the tracks of life

He is tied

He has walked far enough

One last obstacle awaits

A two-mile set of steps.

There is no going back

One foot after another he sets off.

Ahead of him an old man looks down

Smiles, knowing below him the old man

Will persevere

The goal worth the effort.

Written for: http://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2014/12/23/photo-prompt-40-december-23-2014/

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Wordle #40 – December 22, 2014 – Herbert Drumble

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This weeks challenging words: Swelter Scorpion Ventilation Shrink Cactus Desert Drumble (moving a slow or sluggish manner) Spectrum Delitescent (hidden or concealed) Vile Bead Bankrupt

Herbert Drumble moved across the office floor on his way to deliver his usual bad news. If you saw Herbert lumbering his way towards you, you could be assured he was bringing not pleasant news with him. For though Herbert moved in a way that suggested movement of any kind was a laborious act, his mind was far from slow.

If anything his nickname of ‘Cactus’ told you plenty about his character. He was without doubt a prickly man, he lacked any semblance of a sense of humour and the permanent frown on his brow rarely moved anywhere else. His personality was far from delitescent, what you saw with Herbert was what you got.

In the twenty years that Herbert had worked for Swindle, Cheetham and Diddle Accountants and Actuaries he had developed a reputation for handling bankruptcies. He could walk into a room look at you and remark in his droll languid way that bankruptcy was just around the corner waiting for you.

He never shrank from any role assigned to him. There was nothing more vile to Herbert than the man who stole from his employer. His own pursuit of such corporate crime led him to encounter the full spectrum of personalities that exist in the financial world.

His one job that stayed with him always was the time he was sent to the desert to conduct an audit of the Scorpion company whose practices had drawn the attention of the Taxation department who in turn engaged Herbert Drumble as he was known as a man who always got to the bottom of things. In the sweltering office in the dingy back room of a demountable building where ventilation had yet to be discovered he unearth what was to forever cement his name as an accountant who stuck to his job no matter what.

It was as the last bead of perspiration dripped from his rather long and pointy nose that Herbert knew he had hit the jackpot. The Scorpion company whose delitescent practices had led them to be in a position of near bankruptcy had been caught, their sting removed, their bosses jailed.

Herbert received a handsome commission from this case, enough to pay for a well-earned trip to Paris.

As Herbert positioned himself in front of me and looked down his afore mentioned nose, a small bead of sweat ran down my neck.

‘Mr Tommy,’ he droned, ‘I appear to have found an anomaly in your accounts.’

Written for: http://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2014/12/22/wordle-40-december-22-2014/

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Inadequately Defined – Writing Prompt #86 – December 21, 2014 – Uncle John

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Uncle John was the most whimsical of men

He laughed a lot

He saw the funny side of so much

Nothing appeared to get him down

He was indeed a happy chappy.

But he had a dark side

A side he kept well hidden

For he harboured a pain

A grief that was unimaginable

For once when he was fifteen

His mates went out

As young boys do

To camp to drink, to explore

To do the things young boys love to do.

Camping in an old brown house

He played with the fire, flicked the ashes about,

And never noticed one smouldering ember

Lodged in the bed of his best mate Mike.

Before they could do anything Mike was alight

In the blink of an eye, the house was in flames

Mike and one other boy died that night.

 

Uncle John’s heartbreak was life long

Shunned by so many

Ostracised by the family

It took a year to get him out of his room.

Uncles John is a whimsical man

It’s a front he puts up

He is a jolly fellow

But like the happy circus clown

There is a depth to this man

Who is kind beyond words

Is the gentlest of men.

I have stayed with Uncle John

Many times growing up

Have listened to his tale

And I know not a night goes by

He doesn’t cry for his mate.

 

Written for: http://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2014/12/21/inadequately-defined-writing-prompt-86-december-21-2014/

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Open Link Night ~ December 2014 – The Night Before

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It was the night before the night before,

Around the house there was movement a plenty

For the year had drawn to a tired old end

We sat back and reflected, fine wine in our hand.

 

The children had long gone off to bed

Promises and threats of Christmas flavour

Well-behaved children were granted favour

Naughty children ignored and forgotten.

 

Christmas fear and Christmas cheer

Hand in hand they walk in the night.

We toasted the year, glad to see the end

This moment of quiet before the mornings din.

 

The night before and all is a rush

Gifts to find and bags to be filled

Santa’s great joke a bike in a box

Put together, two orphan screws on the floor.

 

In bed we go over the next days plan

An early start, children in our bed,

So much joy to look forward to.

We kiss and cuddle and say good night.

 

Written for: http://dversepoets.com/2014/12/20/open-link-night-december-2014/

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Merry Christmas from Morpethroad

To all my blogging friends and those who drop by from time to time I wish you all the best for Christmas 2014.

I appreciate all the support and encouragement you give and hope to continue the same into 2015.

I leave you with a little taste of Christmas from down under.

I found this in an ad for the Indian Pacific Railway which runs east west across Australia.

I hope you all have a good one.

Merry Christmas to you all.

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SoCS December 19/14 – Excuse.

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The prompt for Stream of Consciousness Saturday is: “excuse.”

 

I made an excuse once.

It was a Wednesday, a day like so many others but a day where I found reason to find an excuse.

You see most days I take responsibility for all I do. I’m that sort of guy. I’ve won medals for my outstanding responsibility. Once in 1998 the Medal for Responsible Decision Making was awarded to me. It’s a blue medal with a rampant kangaroo, the sort of medal you initially think is a mistake until you place it round your neck and feel the warmth of responsibility wash over you.

But I digress; the issue of an excuse arose one Wednesday as I said earlier.

It was early. Very early. I wasn’t as awake as I usually was. I’m always an awake sort of man. It was the mailman’s fault. Had he been on time, his usual delivery was before six in the morning, nothing of this incident would have happened and no excuses would have been forthcoming.

But no, I had to wait. And wait. Patience is not my strongest virtue no matter what you may think of me.

Waiting raises my ire. Its an ire not many want to endure. So when he did arrive and delivered me my power bill instead of my anticipated Christmas card I lost it. I’m not proud of it but I just lost it.

I called him names, I kicked his bike, I threw the power bill on the ground. He looked dumbfounded, who wouldn’t I ask you.

Hours later the mail supervisor was at my front door asking questions. I said it was all his fault. My behaviour was all his fault. I was still feeling aggrieved.

He listened and then handed me a form.

It was for my own post box at the Post Office.

My excuse had brought me shame.

So with post box key in hand off I go to trudge my way through the town and accusing looks to collect my own mail. Maybe my Christmas card has arrived today.

 

Written for: http://lindaghill.com/2014/12/19/the-friday-reminder-and-prompt-for-socs-december-1914/

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Fairytale Prompt #39 – The Synks

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Leaf, branch, leaf, is it? No. Are we there yet? No. You sure its this way? Yes. I think we’re lost. Lost? No. It’s up here. Over there. Down here. Hang on it’s the edge. Oops. Backup!

This is what I hear in my Oak tree on a daily basis. These are the Synks, a species of sprites who inhabit the tree and spend most of their day in search of an elusive goal.

It’s just around here? You sure? Positive! Lets see. No. Must have moved. You sure it was here?

Last week I saw it here. It’s just around here. You sure? Positive. Lets see. No. Must have moved.

They live in a herd; they roam the branches of the tree in massive groups, going from branch to branch up and down.

On the whole they are a happy people. Not very bright, they have a limited attention span and they make goldfish look Einsteinish.

Every so often one will fall off. When this happens they stand along the edge of the branch where it happened and peer down.

After a minute or two you’ll hear: OOOOOHHHHHHHHH, what? He fell. Who? What? Henry? Who? That was Henry? Who’s Henry? I thought you were Henry!

Its incidental that they are all called Henry. Its something the Synks have worked out to save time and confusion if they are called the same thing.

Their role in any tree they live in is to keep the tree in pristine condition. They do that by ridding it of any parasite that invades and any fungus that tries to take hold of it. Fungus they love, it is like a delicacy. I’ve heard them many a time squabbling over a growth they have discovered. They have superstitious notions about fungus believing it helps the males reach a form of sexual maturity. Though that is debatable.

Most of the time I imagine they have trouble remembering which gender they actually do belong to. But they must get it right more times than not as there are a lot of them.

So life in my tree goes on in its continuously confused and befuddling way.

I look at them and think they know no other life, this is where they are and they exist oblivious to the world beyond the branches they inhabit.

They have a beautiful innocence, are loving to each other even when tempers rise when the pursuit of their goal never seems to get any closer.

I can often hear them say as each day draws to an end: ‘Now don’t be worrying about it, there’s always tomorrow.’ Among the assembled throng there is joyful acceptance and a sense that tomorrow will be bring renewed hope and the prospect of discovery. But I somehow doubt it.

After all where would I be without this entertainment in my life?

Henry we are all following you. Good. Onwards team. Team? What’s a team? Henry? Didn’t he fall? No that was the other Henry. Oh….Go Henry go…..yahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhay!!!!

 

Written for: http://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2014/12/19/fairytale-prompt-39/

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Embracing the Future – Tale Weavers Prompt – December 18, 2014 – Eight and Two Thirds.

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It was often said that my house was a bit of a Tardus.

Whilst it wasn’t that exciting it does have its secrets.

In the centre of the house is an old brick chimney. It’s the sort of thing you find in any number of old houses. Its stands still even though its practical uses are long since gone.

What only a few know, and now that includes you, is that the chimney is a portal into another world.

You can imagine my surprise when my father introduced me to the time portal. And it is a time portal capable of taking you forwards or backwards in time.

My father never knew why it was in our house but it is and we are its caretakers. He always used that term as if to suggest that at some time in the future the rightful owner would turn up and take possession.

To look at it you could be mistaken in thinking it is nothing more than an old fireplace. But if you say eight and two thirds stuff happens.

Why eight and two thirds you ask? I asked my father that question and he didn’t know only that his father had told him to say it. I think it has something to do with our house being oddly numbered 8/23. Our house sits between 6 and 10 Port Street and no one has been ever been able to explain the numbering.

Unlike railway stations when other numbers are uttered our number opens the chimney to a veritable ocean of possibility.

The first time my father took me through the portal my eyes beheld the boat.

It was tied up to an old jetty beside a river that stretched away to the left and right. My first thought was the boat on the River Styx. It had that feel about it.

It was not a boat to engender confidence as it was old and to me in serious need of some maintenance.

To my father it represented opportunity and over the next few years he took me on many adventures back in time as he used to say the future will happen when its good and ready.

I met my grandparents, observed their day to day, watched the siege at Glenrowan*, watched my own childhood all over again, which was both scary and embarrassing.

For observing was all you could do, the boat would take you back in time and you would sit and watch, never interact as that would put far too much pressure on the components of time and no one wanted to upset time, the past was the past and we could observe it but never alter it.

That was my father’s great fear about venturing into the future, the temptation to change something that may well alter the time continuum. So he never went there and if he did he never told me.

But I am curious, after all who isn’t?

Tomorrow I shall go through the portal and sit once again in the boat. Only this time I’ll ask it to go forward, only twenty years that could be scary enough with the way technology is progressing now.

I wonder if my place in the world will still be as it is today.

With fingers crossed I step forward: ‘ Eight and two thirds.’

* http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ned_Kelly

Written for: http://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2014/12/18/embracing-the-future-tale-weavers-prompt/

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Creative Expressions #4: Photo (Abandoned Railway) – John

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My father forbad me to see John. He had said he was not the sort of person he wanted to see me with. He’d rather I dated Benedict Saunders. He was more to fathers liking, the sort of person I should be seeing as opposed to John who was what my father referred to as not right for me.

Benedict was as far as I was concerned, all-wrong, he smelt bad and was no more than a pompous git.

John and I decided to run away. We pledged our loyalty to each other and agreed to meet at the old railway line behind the town dump. I was so nervous about doing what we planned. It wasn’t how I planned to marry, I knew my family would be devastated and my father angry beyond words but I had to follow my heart.

I packed a bag, knowing so much that was mine I would have to leave behind, and headed up the path to the old railway line.

In my head so many thoughts raced. What if John wasn’t there? What if he and I didn’t hit it off as we thought? What if my father got wind of what I was doing?

As I turned the corner of the dump and the railway came into view, I saw him.

A young man, carrying a backpack, he looked so beautiful and so innocent.

My every fear disappeared; every hope and expectation came alight.

Written for: http://penntonic.wordpress.com/2014/12/16/creative-expressions-4-photo-abandoned-railway/

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