Filed under Alternative history, History, Self compositions
Hurricane footage
sympathy follows wonder,
seasonal cycle.
Filed under As you read it, Factual, Haiku, nature inspired, Seasons, Self compositions
The great stone edifice had been standing sentinel for over a thousand years. With it’s tower and four storeys it had served as the seat of all authority, it’s imposing presence casting fear into the hearts of some; security in the minds of others. Providing a home, and employment for the servants, the garrisoned solders and a ready market for the market-traders who had seized the opportunity to set up their stalls in the shadow of the high walls. Eventually was formed a thriving community, nourished and encouraged by the needs of the Lord of the Manor and his retinue. All unaware of the nightmare to come. On the third Sunday after the Feast of St. Joseph a travelling fair had arrived in the town. Their wagons loaded with with hawkers, jugglers, dancing bears and a hidden cargo. On their second day in the town the performers realised that they had brought a legacy that would be remembered only as swift, deadly and disastrous. The plague was relentless, reducing both the village and, despite locked gates and armed guards, the castle itself, to an empty shell. The survivors, believing the land accursed, moved away to the towns that had escaped the catastrophic events. The thatched dwellings and the limestone battlements gradually eroded, their stones carried off to build and repair houses far away. It did not take long for the tower to remain only as a home for bats, owls, spiders and beetles. In time, visitors to the district could find no-one who knew when it had been built or who had lived in the ruin on the hill. Folk memories suggested that something bad must have once happened. Hence the reputation that the old stones were haunted by some unknown entity, but despite no-one having seen or heard anything supernatural, the rumours of ghosts persisted.
Filed under Alternative history, Flash fiction, Self compositions
poverty stricken
but hoping to do their best
for their gifted child,
they sacrifice everything
for a prosperous future.
Filed under As you read it, From the heart, Self compositions, Tanka
Start with an outline
then expand your ideas
end with a flourish
the layman’s guide to writing
just another fantasy
The steam underground
built using cut and cover
London pioneers
Filed under Factual, Haiku, History, Self compositions
Patrick reached up to the last berry on the low branch. Nervously looking to right and left while occasionally stretching his neck to scan the skies above. No dark shadows were visible, no signs of a soaring bird above. He felt safe, camouflaged in his brown, mottled gold and fawn, feathered coat but one still had to be wary or they could be unlucky. A badly timed movement could be notification to watching eyes on the ground or in the skies, then with a pounce or a swoop life could rapidly be cut short. Patrick listened intently and sniffed the air, he felt something amiss. Gradually, like a mist forming in front of him he saw small feathery white flakes starting to fall all around. “On no, he thought, I will be caught out here in a minute, the snow has come too early. Quick,quick, I must go and hide”. With a rush he ran into the heather and nestled down onto the cool pine mat, crouching as low as he could. With his head tucked under his wing he soon relaxed and pondered his best methods for keeping warm. His feathers provided excellent insulation and if it got too cold shivering for short periods warmed up the blood. He hated the snow, he would have to dig through it every time he went to eat and often the water would turn to ice so he couldn’t drink or bathe. Like most birds Patrick enjoyed a bath, fluffing his feathers right up and letting the water splash over his exposed flesh. Of course there were times when water wasn’t available and this meant he had to take dust baths, this was quite exhilarating too especially when he could sit on top of an ant’s nest. Though feeling guilty he knew that the ones he beheaded and rubbed into his skin were so soothing. Getting rid of any itchy little ticks that had fastened on, irritatingly sucking his blood and so difficult to scratch and dislodge. Anyway now was not the time or the place to daydream. He would have to run back to the copse before the snow covered the ground like it had the hills in the distance where his white cousins lived. He didn’t envy them sitting out in the cold snow. He was happiest when he sat dozing with just one eye open in his warm heather and bracken bed
Filed under Flash fiction, nature inspired, Self compositions
For twenty years Snoopy was my constant companion, whether out walking or sitting on the couch. When my relationship broke down we had to move out. My new accommodation did not allow pets so I took my dog to stay with a good friend but lived many hours drive away. Snoopy seemed happy. She sent photos of her lying on her new bed in front of the fire and looking happy. I wasn’t able to get back to see her for four weeks and the two of us went for a slow walk before I again left. The next morning my friend called to say Snoopy had died in the night. Perhaps she could not bear me leaving her again.
Filed under As you read it, Factual, From the heart, Inspired emotion, Self compositions
Through the fields of hope
we walk, eyes and ears open
but often blinkered,
observing yet ignoring
the obstacles in life’s path
Filed under nature inspired, Self compositions, Tanka
Summer died that night. It was a time of celebration, the deep fire-pit, filled to the height of a man with peat, brush, bracken and branches ready to be lit. The cattle, pigs, sheep and fowl driven in to the central enclosure ready for the elders to carry out their grisly task,
The children had asked the usual questions which we had asked when we were young. The answer was always the same throughout the years. “This is the way it has always been.”
“The beasts we have nurtured lovingly throughout the year must repay our kindness. There will be feasting for everyone before the dark days come as they surely will. There is not enough goodness in the fields to keep and sustain our flocks and herds. Only the necessary few will be kept for our daily needs.”
“The offering we make now will be noted by the sky-dwellers and if pleased they will send the bright sun back to lighten our days once more when the time is right. This is as it has always been.”
As we watched the great fire was lit. Bright scarlet and yellow tongues of flame leaped into the not yet dark sky. Our animal’s eyes rolled at the sight. As each one was led through the narrow entrance between the stakes into the very heart of the village the remainder started to grow restless and were snorting, bleating and clucking wildly. We could hear the loud cries of pain from within and panic started to spread through the now terrified animals. We beat them furiously to try and stop the by then dangerous mayhem.
A greasy cloud of dark smoke hung motionless in the air above the cluster of thatched dwellings and the smell of animal fat was strong in ours and the remaining animal’s nostrils. The addition of the animal fat helped the flames to reach high above the height of the palisade for all to see.
The last beast was lead through the opening, their dark, deadly destiny assured. Gradually we heard the sound of drums performing an increasingly louder, rhythmic, hypnotic beat. It was hard to stop our feet from stamping and dancing in time to the music.
Finally the last of the sun’s rays died and only then were we able to pass through the portal to join the great feast marking the change of the seasons.
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