When the pen takes control.

One invading boat on shore

very soon becomes a swarm

It is the year 734. The first snows of the darkening season have left their traces on the ground. Corin and Cora, the conjoined twin daughters of Somanbul, the Silent, as joint Commander of the Northern army are troubled by recent reports of wind waves and tremors in their vicinity.

A story told in red and gold

of seasons change, increasing cold

through Autumn, life prepares its bed

for deep slumber through the dread

dark days of the waning sun

till Winter with her icy grip

and frosty flicking tongue that nips

at glistening nose, dark paws and claws

of those who venture out of doors

in search of food or just for fun

Neath the old oak tree they lie

leaves once green now brown and dry

branches tangled, twisting reaching

upwards to the Autumn skies

The Beatles detractors said, in tones quite smug

“Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds,” alludes to an illegal drug

I used to walk my dog each night at five, in the park

but now I don’t because it’s too dark

Most of the time I am the ideal family man , I look after my wife and children, I even provide food for the older ones who share the communal roost but just occasionally I like to sit by myself and just watch the world go by.

The Samiscribbles writing prompt is well respected

but such a short exercise was so unexpected

In days of old we would snap these stalks

and ignoring the milky sap that flowed

we held the spheres of fluff up to our lips

and with a gentle puff we blew until each

tiny frond detached and left us holding

a soft green tube bereft, bareheaded

wandering if the time was as it told

or perhaps was just an old wives tale

then later remember as everyone said

that later you would surely wet the bed.

The mainsail is rigged and the anchor weighed as we set sail on the middle passage of this  infernal trade for the auction in New Orleans course is laid and where the greatest profit is to be made when into the harbour once again we will offload our sad living cargo whether it be child, man or maid and even though no passion may be displayed for most proud Englishmen and true it is a voyage we hate.