Friday Fictioneers – Play Ball

tree-climbing-poppy

Hey Rover you there? Rover?

Ralph, you up the tree again?

Yes, it’s that kid again.

Little Jack?

Yes him, horrible kid, always chasing me, pulling my ears.

Ah stop whinging Ralph, get down and play ball with him.

No way, you seen those balls, bigger than me.

You are such a wimp Ralph.

He throws them at my head.

Well it’s a good thing you can climb trees.

Couldn’t till he came along, now I see him and I’m up the tree.

Well you better come down soon.

Why?

His dad’s been cleaning his gun.

Oh, right, play ball!

Posted in Friday Fictioneers | Tagged , , , , | 78 Comments

Poem 73

Woman tears

When a fool cries

he is a laughing stock.

When a  fool cries

Integrity  is gone.

When a fool cries

Credibility is shot.

When a fool cries

Realisation hits home.

When a fool cries

We say we saw it coming.

When a fool cries

All hope dies.

When a fool cries

Loneliness takes hold.

When a  fool cries

We stand back and watch.

When a fool cries

We want him to stop.

When a fool cries

We want him to go away.

When a fool cries

We might ask why?

When a fool cries

We look the other way.

When a fool cries

Who now will tell the joke?

A horse walks into a bar and the barman says: Hey why the long face?

Because he won’t be seen again!

Not in 2013

Happy New Year to all my readers, I hope the fun and foolishness continues into 2014. May you all have the best year, good health and write more wonderful words for me to read.

Michael.

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Tackas’ New Year Resolution

248317-130105-rev-larrikin

I’m telling Clancy there’s gonna have to be a feckin change I tell ya.

Why is that Tackas?

Cause I realised that last year I was feckin shite

You were not.

I am I’m feckin tellin’ ya Clancy and I’m gonna do something the feck about it in the New Year.

Like what.

Well you know I can’t lay cricket, I can’t play that feckin’ stupid feckin’ golf and as for driving I’m a danger on the feckin roads.

That’s a bit of an extreme Tackas; you drive ok, in the car park.

Shut the feck up. You aren’t helping. No I’ve decided I have.

What have you decided?

I’m gonna concentrate me feckin’ energy on writin’.

Writing?

Yes feckin’ writin’. What’s wrong with that?

You’re a shit writer.

I am feckin’ not. You heard my mother’s feckin eulogy, had in the palm of me hand I did.

Well yeah you did do well there. So how do you imagine you’ll achieve this writing thing?

I’ve started a feckin blog.

A blog?

Yes, don’t look so feckin’ surprised a feckin’ blog.

And your gonna write on this blog?

Of course I’m gonna write on the fecker, gees Clancy but sometimes you are just so feckin thick it’s sad.

So what’s this blog of yours called?

Prattlinofanirishman.

What sort of names that?

It’s a trendy blog name, they have feckin trendy names in the feckin’ blog world I can feckin tell you now.

Like what?

Well there’s one guy called wintersmicky, a lovely lady called, brainhatescharity, a guy in France called enelephantwouldnt, an american woman who calls herself iuseeveryletterinthealphabet and one of me favourites a young lassie down the road called runningfrommedad. Cool names eh.

And all these people are real Tackas, with names like that I’d be questioning the whole legitimacy of the blogs.

No you not hearing me Clancy, the fancier ya feckin name the more people read your feckin stuff and the more people tell ya how feckin good you are.

I think there’s a little more to it than that.

Feckin hell no. Listen to this, are you ready, ya dumb feck, no appreciating’ culture Clancy.

Go on Tackas, give it a go, impress me

Ok:
A day dawns, the sun in the east

I stir in me bed; my head has been at rest

I wipe the sleep from my eyes

I go to the toilet

I wash my hands after

Germs I have none

A cup of tea is a must

My day begins,

My porridge heated

Out the door

My day is all fun.

Feckin brilliant isn’t it.

You wrote that?

Yes.

Tackas its shit.

Ah get a big woolly bull up ya arse. Ya dumb feck.

Well I guess everyone starts somewhere.

Now ya feckin talkin’. Did feckin’ Keats get his first poem published? No. Did Shakespeare? No. Did Prattlinofanirishman? No.

So you are determined to try this?

Feck yeah, I already posted two poems, and I got two likes.

Two poems two likes, it’s a start.

It’s a great feckin start, even if one of them was me clickin’ on the feckin’ like button by mistake. I’m tellin ya I’m on my feckin way Clancy, just you watch the old Tackas over the next two weeks.

I’ll be keen to see how you go.

I’ll be tellin’ ya, you know that. Now I have to be going I have a date with me feckin’ blogger mate.

Blogger mate? What do you do with a blogger mate?

We are gonna read each other’s new poems and write a feckin criticism for each other.

Oh you doing crits already?

It’s what we feckin’ bloggers do for each other.

Oh I see. So who is this blogger?

Runninfrommedad, now feck off I’ve got to have me thinking’ cap on she’s a sharp bunny this one, uses big words I can tell you.

Big words?

Big feckin words.  Like accommodation, residency, knowledge, its amazing what I feckin learn every time I go on.

Well go for it, I’ll go out and buy a few beers.

Good feckin boy Clancy, go do something useful. Now dada, where the feck are ya?

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Poem 72

What a Psychopath Sees.

domestic-violence-md-new

Tell them you bumped your head on the door,

You probably deserved it anyway.

Teach you to cross me

I’ve told you before I like my dinner hot,

It’s not my fault your face

Keeps hitting my fist.

Don’t breath a word of this

No one will believe you

It’s me who does all the good stuff

It’s me, who keeps this family afloat,

You’d be nothing without me.

I tell them it’s the TV when you scream at me

I tell them your highly-strung

I tell them don’t worry

You’ll be fine once the meds kick in.

I tell them I put up with a lot

To keep our home a happy one.

I say to you behave,

Rumours can be hurtful,

I’d hate for you to be hurt

You could lose your job

If they find out

You stole, you lied, you’re weak.

Your life is mine, did you know?

I say jump, you say how high.

‘Cause the children hate you

They despise what you do,

You can’t blame them can you?

To want you out of the house.

So settle down, my lovely,

Fetch me my tea, cook me my toast

You know how I like it

I want this job done, and then that one too

I want them done now

Before you sleep, before you breath even

I love seeing you suffer, it turns me on.

This poem is mostly fiction. It was spawned from listening to Suzanne Vega’s song, Luka.

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Sunday Photo Fiction – Carstairs and Technology

40-12-december-29th-2013

Carstairs? Carstairs can you hear me?

Yes Sir.

Can you tell me anything yet?

What would you like to know Sir?

The enemy Carstairs, can you see the enemy?

No  sir?

What do you mean no?

I mean no Sir, I can’t see any enemy at this moment.

But Carstairs we have the most up to date, high tech equipment available.

I appreciate that Sir, and I do appreciate all the pretty coloured lines, and the red circle is very striking but its all double Dutch to me.

Carstairs are you telling me that with all this technology at your disposal there is nothing you can tell me.

With this technology Sir, no.

Carstairs some times you are the greatest waste of space.

Yes Sir, my mother said very much the same thing Sir.

I bet she did, Carstairs, you were a problem as a child then?

Yes Sir.

I can imagine.

Yes Sir.  One thing I can tell you though Sir.

Yes Carstairs and this better be useful.

I think it will be Sir.

Well what is it, spit it out.

Well Sir, there’s a large grinning German solder standing behind you with a large gun pointed at your head.

For Sunday Photo Fiction:

http://sundayphotofictioner.wordpress.com/2013/12/29/sunday-photo-fiction-december-29th-2013

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Poem 71

Laughing_kookaburra_dec08_02

I awake as the dawn breaks

to a kookaburra chorus.

Their vocally uplifting cry

Heralds the rising sun.

Loudly they proclaim

Their territory.

Uttering a laugh that echoes

Across my neighbourhood.

I lie in my bed listening to this

Aria, each morning,

As the sun is emerging

Their call rings out

Gladdening my heart

Making me realise

I live in a blessed country.

Just now I hear them

Singing their evensong

My day complete,

I rest

Now awaiting

Their morning cackle.

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Prompt 36 – Virtue

Humility.

He said he was just doing his job.

He loved what he did.

He loved the interaction

The creativity,

The laughter,

The performance.

Thanks post session

Made him feel

Worthwhile.

Looks of expectation

On entering his sanctum,

The play, the games,

His rituals

All appreciated, all good.

When the time came

To close his script

With no more scenes

To be played out.

They chorused no

You can’t

What will we do?

Why bail now?

Use by dates he said

The scape heap awaits

It’s time for a new scene

A new scenario

New players

New outcomes.

Sorrowfully they said goodbye

Through hugs and tears

They taught him humility.

Confronted him with his legacy

They were his product

They honoured him

In ways he never expected.

They would miss him,

He was in their eyes

Awesome!

Overwhelmed

He listened to accolades

Ladled on thick

They had listened

Learned

Laughed.

Played out a final scene

Farewelling him

In film and images.

Humbled

Worth now realised.

Impacting on their lives

Greater than he imagined.

Reflecting on a long career

Inside he was ecstatic,

What a way to end all this

He thought,

Just doing my job.

Anne-of-Avonlea-anne-of-green-gables-4317585-720-480

Written for: http://mindlovemisery.wordpress.com/2013/12/29/prompt-36-virtue/

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Poem 70

in-bed-on-computer-300x232

You are often with me

When I’m sitting in bed.

Our topics

The simpliest things.

The weather

Life

Kids

The why

The what fore.

Some days we argue

Points of ,

‘This isn’t clear.’

‘Rewrite’

‘Oh I see’.

Most days we laugh

Our colloquialisms

Our peculiar idiom

Our words on a page

Our connection.

Will we be so communicative

Face to face?

When you will see my eyes

My grimace

My hands at play

My laugh

My smile

Me.

 

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Poem 69

long_drive_to_home_by_ninja_taco

Travel safely friend

It’s a long way home,

Be careful,

Not everyone will drive like you.

I shall breath a sigh of relief

When I know you are safely home.

It’s the time of year

When people travel

Far and wide

With little time,

Tired, sleepy,

Manic in behaviour.

Not everyone at ease with their drive.

Lucky you have a trusty companion

Who will chatter away

Share stories

Laugh and keep you awake

Enjoy with you

Your precious time together.

Take care.

Safe travel to all travelers at this time of year. Often too much grief on our roads

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Poem 68

trust

She said talk to me.

Tell me the secrets you hide.

Why? I asked

Because then I’ll begin to know you.

But isn’t this enough

No never. I wont tire of you.

But you may not like what you hear.

Let me be the judge of that.

You are asking a lot.

I know, trust?

Do I trust you?

Yes?

Yes.

Then open your heart to me.

 

‘You are asking me

To bear my soul

Allow you into places no one has been

My deepest dark regions

Where sentinels guard

And locks hold fast

Against any intruder,

And should any penetrate

A shut down can instantly occur.

Be awry of what you ask for.’

 

It’s about trust.

You’ll judge me

No, I’ll listen.

Really?

Yes.

I’m unsure.

Give me your hand. Now you can begin.

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