Scribe’s Cave Picture Prompt #51 – Field Hospital

Posted on December 10, 2014 by Michael

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On the battlefield he was lifted by caring hands and conveyed to the field hospital. All he knew was the searing pain in his leg, the soft voices of his carers and the comforting sound of the surgeon’s words as he told him it would be alright, to close his eyes and be reassured that he would take care of him.

The surgeon looked at the wound, sighed inwardly as he gathered his instruments for another amputation, he had lost count of how many that day, so often overcome by the cries of his patients and unable to quell the pain each man felt. He knew his job, he was by now expert at severing a man’s leg, stopping the bleeding and bandaging him up for a life he himself dreaded any man should live.

What use is a one legged man he thought, how will live with the thought he can no longer do the things he once took for granted.

Contemplating this horror he picked up his saw, checked to see that he had wiped off the previous patient and concentrated on the task at hand.

Written for: http://caveofscribes.starvingactivist.com/2014/12/08/scribes-cave-picture-prompt-51/

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City Songs for Poetics – Tokyo Trains

Posted on December 10, 2014 by Michael

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The 8.23 arrives

Doors open

The throng moves as one

Pushing, manoeuvring a space

Seating a premium

Handholds, chrome rails and posts.

Familiar tune rings out

Doors close

We breathe as one

Shoulder to shoulder

Nose to nose

A germs playground.

By weeks end my throat hurts

My nose runs.

Next stop ‘Wasabi, Wasabi

Change her for the Toku Tobu line.’

A crowd moves forward exits

A crowd moves in, a seat is vacated

I sit, happy to not be hanging on.

Around me commuters

Sleep, daydream, stare

Read books with no covers*

The train speeds to the next station,

The ritual exit entry begins again

Repeated all day everyday.

  • I recently spent two weeks in Tokyo and used the trains a lot. Many people read but they place paper covers on the book they are reading for privacy reasons. So you see a lot of people reading but you never know what.
  • It is a beautiful city inhabited by the most polite and clean people you could imagine. I thoroughly enjoyed my time there.

Written for: http://dversepoets.com/2014/12/09/city-songs-for-poetics-2/

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Creative Expressions #3: 2-word prompt (dust, bark) – Bull-dust

Posted on December 9, 2014 by Michael

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This week we are asked to use the words ‘bark’ and ‘dust’ in our story.

There’s a lot of bull dust in my life.

You might say my bark is worse than my bite.

Then again those who know me might say: What bite?

One of life’s challenges is knowing people.

Picking the truth from the layers of bull dust.

Bark is a substance so you might say I have some bark about me. I can pen a reasonable sentence from time to time. Oh please don’t get excited this could be a time for non-reasonable sentences, one never knows but as it is Christmas we are forgiving are we not?

Speculating is what many of us bloggers do. The blogs with enigmatic names we wonder who is the person behind the name? For once the dust settles we might see the real person, separate the bark from the chaff.

I mean I am a case in point. Very few people know the Summerstommy story, which could be a good thing and they are ‘sworn’ to secrecy should the truth leak out….. Incriminations and all that.

Then again that could be part of the bull dust of my life!!

Written for: http://penntonic.wordpress.com/2014/12/09/bark-dust/

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Photo Challenge #38 – Shadow Dancer – December 9, 2014 – Automaton

Posted on December 9, 2014 by Michael

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Photo Credits: Nickolas Muray

Step two three

Step five six

Poise my girl poise

Listen to the rhythm

Feel it in your bones

Step step step…..

My dear you have two feet

Don’t let the right be cajoled by the left

Control my dear control.

On and on it goes

Hour after hour

Ever ready for the next exam

The yearly concert

A living automaton

Responding to the calls

Point, step, sequins abounding

I bow to acclaim

Years ahead of my class

A protégé

My dance lessons

All ten years of them

Success, trophies multiplying

Proud parents boasting

Prouder teacher basking

Miss Marie Claire.

I was theoretically correct

Technically brilliant

But I couldn’t dance.

All creativity expunged from me

I reacted to commands

I knew every call, every position.

I wish I had learned to dance.

Written for: http://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2014/12/09/photo-challenge-38-shadow-dancer-december-9-2014/

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Mondays Finish the Story – Tridents

Posted on December 8, 2014 by Michael

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Finish the story begins with:  “Donning her fins and snorkel, she headed out into the deep water.”

It was her quest to find the sirens and acquire the ability to be alluring and fascinating. These qualities she was lacking in.

Beyond the shipping buoy she would dive among the rocks hoping to come across the sirens.

But she also had to swim as if she was a siren, naked!

On the seaward side of the buoy she removed her swimsuit, tied it to the buoy and began the dive.

Up ahead a movement, a body, a tail, her dreams were materialising when to her horror coming at her at a rate of knots was not a siren but a triton.

Noticing all aspects of his body focused on her she turned to flee.

Overnight people noticed the difference in her, she became the centre of attraction, men found her irresistible, but did notice how she lovingly caressed her fork before eating.

Written for: http://mondaysfinishthestory.wordpress.com/2014/12/08/mondays-finish-the-story-december-8th-2014/

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Wordle # 38 – December 8, 2014 – A Casual Affair

Posted on December 8, 2014 by Michael

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It was a casual affair. Not great as far as affairs go but one which kept him interested.

The down side was his wife, a strong willed woman capable of breaking a bats wing with a swipe of her nose. She wasn’t happy most days and the news of the casual affair had brought her nerves to fever pitch. She determined to leave no stone unturned in order to win back her man. If that failed there would be not one stone that she wouldn’t throw at him.

You see the problem just got out of hand with the discovery of a key, a spare key to be exact found in the lining of his favourite sports blazer. She was a naturally suspicious woman given to suspecting the worst of any situation.

She knew the key was not to any door in their house, that it was not like any key she had seen him bring home from work.

He claimed it was a souvenir; one he had picked up on a recent working visit to Tokyo. He loved souvenirs, he collected mountains of them, and arranged neatly on the revolving sideboard in their spacious and decadent apartment over looking the river.

The revolving sideboard was unique in that it was hydrogen powered, years ahead of it time he was always keen to embrace the newest of technologies.

In the ensuing argument she drew his attention to his obviously chapped lips. It was summer, the air-dry, how was it she asked that his lips were so chapped. A long consult he said, had to talk for hours, the air con was not working so well, my lips and my throat all suffered.

Chapped lips on a cunning chap she thought, how devious.

She followed him the next day, the traffic was thick, the roads blocked in several directions, most of them coming from their house, which did raise her curiosity but she was beggared if she gave a rats about the traffic other than that it was delaying her reconnaissance of her husbands movement.

She lost him after an hour, somewhere down town amongst the financial sector he was hunkering down with his casual affair.

She was furious, so furious she kicked an old beggar sending his money pot spilling onto the pavement, people dived to collect and pocket the coins as the beggar begged for the return of his loot.

That evening, in a stone pot upon the stove she made a rare dish, the key to it was adding what ever spare vegies you had, add in a good sprinkling of turmeric and a liberal tablespoon or two of rich hydrogenated curry and no one would ever know nor suspect the identity of the main ingredient.

Written for: http://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2014/12/08/wordle-38-december-8-2014/

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Prompt # 84 – Soap Opera – December 7th 2014 – The Last Word

Posted on December 7, 2014 by Michael

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The coffee pot perked as coffee pots do

The morning sunlight found its way

In between the swaying gums

The phone had been silent for a full half hour

And must have been feeling its own sense of neglect.

The man, square jawed as all real men are

Entered and sat, stared at the coffee

Ignored the morning sun

Looked at the phone, then his watch

Fiddled with his cuff, looked out the window.

A woman tall and refined swirled into the room

Her gown sparkling with diamantes

Her delicate feet covered in fine Arctic fur

She glanced at the man, curled her lip

‘The cad, she thought is still here.

The man takes a coffee, sips it, his mind elsewhere

His secretary awaits, a young buxom lass

She will wait upon his every wish.

He visualises his lunch rendezvous

Her naked form within his hands.

The woman and her diamantes swan around the room

She calls the man for all he is

Bastard, liar, cheat, womaniser

Tears swell in her eyes, trickle down her cheeks

I gave you my best years, my best years.

Your best is past you, you no longer excite me

Your constant nagging, perennial whinging

Has worn me down, I am not appreciated

You should worship me for all I have given you

Cared for your appearance, kept this house in order.

She turns in profile, she is still strikingly beautiful

In close up she reminds him of his wedding vows

Of the promise to her father to care for her

That he has a debt to daddy, owes him big

I’ll take you for every cent and more.

Do your worst he says in equal profile

His jaw highlighted by the suns golden rays

I have found a love, a one true love

She treats me as a man, loves me as a woman

Pity you never found the time to do either.

With deadly change her stance is silhouetted

Her words are spat with spiteful venom

His manhood she attacks, his worth she belittles

Does he now take one or two blue tabs at night?

She watches as he squirms under her tirade.

He returns her rage decries her frigidity

Her pretended pleasure, her lack of intent.

They stand face to face; hate oozes from their eyes

They scream into each other, determined for the last word.

I move myself to the edge of my seat.

I have watched this troubled couple each day

Engaging in banter dishonouring and discrediting

But at the last moment their animal instincts

Throw them together, like wild beasts taking their fill

As credits roll they lie sweaty and plan their next foray.

Written for: http://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2014/12/07/prompt-84-soap-opera-december-7th-2014/

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SoCS December 6/14 – In The Moment

Posted on December 6, 2014 by Michael

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This week’s word is ‘present’.

When I looked at this word and aware of the festive meaning for this time of year I did think of ‘present’ as in being present in a moment.

I had a conversation with an old neighbour this morning who told me his last hearing test was conducted by my daughter who is an audiometrist. He said the thing that makes a person stand out for him is that when he speaks to them they look him in the eye and respond accordingly.

It reminded me that often we are not ‘present’ when some people talk to us. For a multitude of reasons we zone out and catch only a few fleeting words of their conversation.

The art of conversation of being there with your fellow humans is not as easy as it seems. We often find ourselves distracted, we can appear rude, ignorant and just plain off with the fairies if we don’t concentrate on the chat at hand.

Actors are good at being present. Its called being in the moment. They are trained to be so, in order to be believable.

I saw a talk by Patsy Rodenburg in which she talked about actors being in the moment, being present and how powerful that can be on an audience. Here is a link if you would like to be enlightened, but you may need a tissue as well:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=L9jjhGq8pMM

So todays SOC on ‘present’ has led me to this point. It’s a great word to discuss and I hope that in the Christmas context you all receive a present that will captivate your imagination, reinforce a love you treasure, give you a smile and or lead you to new discoveries.

Written for: http://lindaghill.com/2014/12/05/the-friday-reminder-and-prompt-for-socs-december-614/

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Fairytale #36: Strict Lord Death – The Collector

Posted on December 5, 2014 by Michael

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The quiet of the morning is disturbed by the call –The Collector. The call echoes around the community collectorlectorlectorlectorlectorlectorlector………

Mothers grab their children, market stall owners hurriedly pack up their wares, there is a sense of urgency as the sound of the collector comes ever closer.

His roar at first distant comes closer by the minute.

Fear spreads through the community as everyone rushes to make sure everyone is safe.

The thought of being sucked into the bowels of the collector is not anything anyone wants to contemplate.

My Uncle Saffron and Aunt Nutmeg suffered the fate we all dread.

We faeries are often a little vague about things. We are often so engrossed in what we are doing our surrounds blur and we are sometimes caught out as we become oblivious to our environment.

By the time my Aunt and Uncle realised they were in the Collector’s sights it was too late, for when he gets you there is no coming back.

I watch as I see him coming ever closer. His roar magnifies, my ears ring, I see his open mouth searching, devouring all and anything in his path. I cringe with the thought of being devoured that way.

But he comes around so often, especially in the summer when so many of us are out enjoying the sunshine, selling our wares or often just celebrating the beautiful time of year. We love to hold celebrations, everyone dresses up, food is bountiful, dance is the order of the day.

So often on these days we have to make arrangements for one faery to stand look out, to watch and listen for the Collector for the thought of him coming upon us and reeking havoc among our people is too horrible to think about.

Today he is looking particularly vicious and hungry, as if the grinning façade of his character is capable of luring us in, we will not be sucked into his pretence.

I watch, deafened by the sound of his menacing roar, I hold my breath as he lumbers past harvesting what ever it is in his path. I watch as ants, spiders, all measure of crawling insect are sucked in and disappear into the depths of his insatiable belly.

A little while later quiet settles once again upon our community, a whistle goes up and there is consternation that Mustard Grain cannot be found. A frantic search eventually finds him asleep under a maidenhair frond and calm and relief washes over us. Life returns to normal, until the next time.

A new roster is prepared for look out duty.

Written for: http://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2014/12/05/fairytale-36-strict-lord-death/

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Tale Weaver’s Prompt #37 “A Griffin Walks Into A Bar”

Posted on December 5, 2014 by Michael

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George Griffin did often walk into a bar. Often he stayed too long but today he was on a mission.

Unknown to most people, save his long suffering wife, Iris, George was much more than a griffin in name he was in fact a real griffin.

Along the way through the evolutionary process the griffins had learned how to morph into human form when needed, which in these modern times was a very desirous option to have.

Several times George had taken his griffin image into the streets with the understandable mayhem and chaos that followed.

Despite the open mindedness of the population they really weren’t ready for the sight of the ‘mythical’ griffin wandering the streets and leaning on the counter at either the local McDonald’s nor the front bar at the Star Hotel. As for dive-bombing the ladies bowls afternoons, the less said the better.

In human form George was not a powerful man and majestic was never a word you would apply to him unless you’d been drinking triple shots non-stop for a week.

Neither did he have any treasures or priceless possessions. Unless of course you considered Iris his wife who was a gentle soul who sang operatic arias in the shower each morning and loved George with a passion that could only be described.

Iris wasn’t all that keen about George’s griffin side.

The talons did little for her wardrobe and an evening with George relaxing before bed in his griffin form usually resulted in her clothes being shredded and her whole being emotionally challenged as a griffin was not the most attractive beast on the earth, even though instinctively he thought it was. Of course Iris never wanted to disappoint her man/griffin so often she would go along with his little games, accept the cuts, bruises and scratches he gave her and look forward to the moment when he had had his fill and she could go to the bathroom, bathe her wounds and ready herself for bed.

Tonight was George’s anniversary. His tenth and he had decided to make a night of it despite Iris’ reassurances that it would be ok for him to stay in the pub with his mates for as long as he liked.

No tonight George decided he was going to be a true husband and spend the entire night with his wife. In all his time on the earth, and it was an awful long time, he had never known a woman or anyone like Iris and he was going to make her feel the love he felt every day for his wife. She deserved to be honoured and celebrated he thought and he was just the man/griffin to do it.

Four beers later he made his move to go home. Freddy Myers saw George as a wimp and decided that tonight was going to be his night to sort George out.

Freddy was new in town and desperate to establish himself as a bit of a lad, a man to be wary of, if nothing else the town bully title would have suited him perfectly.

Now if there was one thing the locals knew about George it was to NEVER push him in any way. George may well be a gentle soul but pushed and pushed in a provocative way gave rise to George’s worst side coming out and those who knew him knew what that meant.

Needless to say that night Freddy Myers learned a very valuable life lesson, much to the amusement of the bar crowd and Iris was given a night she never forgot. As she bathed and bandaged her damaged bits she determined that should she survive George until their  twentieth wedding anniversary she would do all she could to be on the other side of the world from him.

Written for: http://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2014/12/04/a-griffin-walks-into-a-bar/

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