Blue bird he sang
on the day she went.
The day he never remembers.
Or never admits.
The day that the sky went
grey and he went empty.
He sang this day the blue bird.
He never sang again
even when the sky turned blue.
The day sings for him.
Flash Fiction learning that the heart of writing is imagination + craft + editing.
Saturday, 31 January 2009
The Bridesmaid waits in vain
She is not forgotten
when I started school in 1959,
she struggled like the
goblin of our dreams.
we stared when she wet her knickers,
laughing at the fear it could be us
We played and then
she was gone
fifty years later,
she haunts me still.
was she disappeared
to die faded
Resolution
The Netflix price of freedom
One of life’s ironies is that when Edison first imagined moving pictures he saw machines in your home where you whirred the handle and images jumped. Instead, we continued to experience, huddled in darkness, the magic of public performance.
Now even water cooler moments are the past. Somewhere Edison laughs.
A live once lived
Once I danced free as courting linnets,
my feet and body a beat free of danger.
A stick ran along an awning,
a distant tune strayed
called me into the street.
As I danced,
gloom fall away
making joy, the sun of my life.
Innocent days, when love
shouted to be the answer.
Now my body sensible and fragile
watches the children strive
hiding behind my smile.
the stormy weather waiting to conquer.
my feet and body a beat free of danger.
A stick ran along an awning,
a distant tune strayed
called me into the street.
As I danced,
gloom fall away
making joy, the sun of my life.
Innocent days, when love
shouted to be the answer.
Now my body sensible and fragile
watches the children strive
hiding behind my smile.
the stormy weather waiting to conquer.
Careful what you wish for
On greeting a stranger
do tell of
tea as
morning
clock
strikes
it is the
eye of
God,
hard in its
brownness
oh,
and what
of
tea
as the
morning
fades
we are
called to
worship by
the ringing
spoon
I expect
you
have a
tale of
afternoon
tea
as a vision it
appears
to guide our
way
is there
more,
of
tea
of an evening
it comforts
with the
silences of
summer
no,
more
no
more
tea as
morning
clock
strikes
it is the
eye of
God,
hard in its
brownness
oh,
and what
of
tea
as the
morning
fades
we are
called to
worship by
the ringing
spoon
I expect
you
have a
tale of
afternoon
tea
as a vision it
appears
to guide our
way
is there
more,
of
tea
of an evening
it comforts
with the
silences of
summer
no,
more
no
more
What makes a good read?
Revolution
to betray when young
is an act of innocence
once in blood we
rose and rejoiced
to take land to make
a fist of famine
our victory an iron bed,
two cows, a cart
first came the sour
looks and then lots
they came for the
frail and failed
they came for the
fit and fresh minded
those of us left
turn twisted lies
now cold and old
past principles die
those who could
cry covered in soil
to betray when innocent
is the curse of youth
is an act of innocence
once in blood we
rose and rejoiced
to take land to make
a fist of famine
our victory an iron bed,
two cows, a cart
first came the sour
looks and then lots
they came for the
frail and failed
they came for the
fit and fresh minded
those of us left
turn twisted lies
now cold and old
past principles die
those who could
cry covered in soil
to betray when innocent
is the curse of youth
The stupidest thing about Gaza
‘Have you heard about the Jews? Knocks in the night, herded in trucks and taken for ‘resettlement.’ The League of Nations wants us to broadcast a humanitarian appeal for the children.’
‘Awful, but we have to remain neutral. The news must be impartial and independent.’
‘Cold comfort words.’
`Duty, first.’
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