I cant help thinking I should have been a bit more specific when I engaged that signwriter. I asked him to paint one of those old machines they used to have in the children’s playground. I knew it wasn’t called a helter-skelter but just couldn’t think of the name. What did he do, went and looked it up online, that’s what he did and then thought he was being funny. I’ll give him, “Witches Hat,” when I see him.
Filed under History, Self compositions, Whimsical
This day was summer when the sun shone, and biting winter when clouds overtook the sky, a tumultuous mix of seasons in the span of an afternoon. An apt description of Exmoor, an unforgiving place. In one day you can walk through a whole year of weather, warm, wet, cold the whole shebang. It is all part of it’s magic and sometimes mystery.
A young family were staying in Porlock weir, the husband a warehouseman, his wife a part-time classroom assistant. She had returned to work after a two and a half year break after the birth of their first child, Millie. It was Easter half term and they had managed to rent a small cottage.
With Millie tiring of rock-pooling and net-dipping every day they decided to visit Culbone church, reputed to be the smallest church in England. Although a long walk, the path was suitable to take a buggy through the woods along the gently sloping cliff edge.
It was a glorious Spring morning when they set off, Millie well wrapped up but her parents dressed as if for a Summer stroll. A cloudless sky when they set out but while in the church it began to darken. On the way back the rain started to fall. At first just a few large drops but gradually increasing to a downpour. They had just passed what appeared to be a cave entrance. He took Millie by the hand and ran back to the cave while his wife dragged the buggy. A leaflet in the church had stated that charcoal burners used to live in the woods during medieval times, part of a leper colony so they assumed that this had once been a dwelling. In fact it was the entrance to an ancient, disused lead-mine. This was an industry that was not mentioned as it could be bad publicity for the countryside.
The rain was incessant and after a while where it had been seeping from above their heads it became a constant stream. They were amused when without prompting, Millie made a cup of her hands and started to drink the water and splashing it on her face. After about fifteen minutes the rain stopped and once more the sun came out. They hurried back to their holiday cottage as fast as possible ready to change and relax before the journey back to their home the next day.
In the car Millie started to complain of stomach ache and seemed in so much pain that they called into accident and emergency at their local hospital. After many anxious hours they were told how lucky they had been. Millie was suffering from arsenic poisoning from the water that had seeped through the mine roof. She had been very close to death. They would be prepared for any weather without sheltering next time.
The sentinels stand
unseen in our ream, they wait
sharpened lances crossed
Filed under As you read it, Haiku, History, On the lines of romance, Otherworldly, Self compositions
At nine o’clock Joshua stirred. Feeling apprehensive about the coming battle he walked out to take one more look at the recalcitrant city. His army, having been camped in their siege positions outside the walls were becoming restless and many were now unsure if they were strong enough to defeat their mighty foe.
He was the only one with true faith and so far they had been unquestioning of his power but he suspected that his officers and men were becoming bored with the inactivity. He stood lonely, leaning upon his staff, gazing silently at the towering walls. The mighty walls of Jericho whose stalwart defenders had so far resisted any efforts to induce them out from the safety of their fortress, secure in the knowledge that the walls had never before been breached.
Lights glowed at every window and he imagined the citizens, although nervous, going about their business unperturbed by the shadowy danger that lurked in the night. They felt sure of their ability to withstand any length of siege and would not risk leaving the city to join in battle with the enemy.
Joshua turned and slowly walked back to his tent. With a half-smile he decided to sacrifice and pray to his one God. He knew that the answer would come to him before daybreak.
Filed under Alternative history, Factual, faith, History, Old knowledge, Self compositions
Circe raised the cloth covering the sphere, there, though indistinct, he saw the screaming face of his wife.
Following the ox
in a cumbersome progress
over rough pastures,
he wears, but we share, the yoke
as from dawn to dusk we toil
Filed under As you read it, History, Old knowledge, Self compositions, Tanka
Woefully we watch
worldwide waters warm within,
wandering whales weep
The poppy’s power
to beautify corruption
will not diminish.
As ten thousand petals fall
then we will remember them
Filed under From the heart, History, Inspired emotion, Loyal subject, Tanka
The dust of ages
covers the petrified bones
in the sepulchre.
Memories of ancestors,
unknown but not forgotten.
written for https://colleenchesebro.com/2018/10/30/colleens-weekly-tanka-tuesday-poetry-challenge-no-108-afraid-grave-synonymsonly/
Filed under As you read it, From the heart, History, Inspired emotion, Self compositions, Tanka
Beautiful bower,
Stained marble stones hide bleached bones.
A place of sadness.
From his raised throne at the head of the hall, the Compte LaReine turned to his master chevalier.
“I’ll see them now, my three guests.”
The heavy oak doors at the end of the hall swung back and three white robed knights were invited into the long, wood-panelled hall. They had surrendered their swords and shields, distinctively marked with the red long-halted cross.
The three approached the dais and bowed low before the Count. Dubois, their spokesman started to introduce himself and his companions but was rudely interrupted by a loud, bellowing voice demanding the reason for their apparent desertion from the Templar order.
Unbeknown to them the Count was dismayed that they had not been willing to divulge the whereabouts of the legendary famed Templar treasure. He knew that the Order had lost favour and wished to curry favour with King Phillip. After secret negotiations he had agreed that the three, accused of heresy, although falsely, would be confined for two days and without trial, put to death as ordered by the King.
“Take them below,” he thundered and roughly, without ceremony, they were lead away. Two days later they were unceremoniously put to death and their bodies taken and placed in a shallow grave in the forest to be forgotten.
So they remained for the next two centuries until the Pope was persuaded to grant a pardon to all the French Templars and throughout the country, the bodies were exhumed where known and re-interred beneath marker stones in the territories where they were once revered for their piety and fighting prowess.
These stones remain a place of pilgrimage, although more often a destination for treasure hunters and the curious.
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