Rust, turquoise and wire

Find the photo, it’s the one with all three, above the two wood person.

Nature’s sculpture curves, sways and strives
to sling un-human’s detritus from the margins
to protect the vast ocean from more of the rot

nothing on this planet that hasn’t always been
then what vile reversed alchemy allows iron,
converts copper, and bends bronze until
it becomes a web of death for seal, dolphin, albatross?
to disintegrate into toxic crumbs in the cold blooded
sea fish that fetch up formed into fingers
crumbed and plated with so much sea salt
disguising neutralizing the residue of iron
fingers of rust turn to dust in the gut

oil carbon chemical process turns into sacks
and plastic bags, bottles to contain oil
to massage into aging flesh
while hastening our planet’s death

Lazy Poets Thursday Poem

Twin Seat

Reminiscent of medieval windows

In repose against an ancient wall

Twinned seats in iron wrought

Languishing until the return of spring

To warm and settle the metal

Into a welcoming retreat

Until then you chill the cheeks

Of any brave or foolish souls

Who linger in the sleeping garden

Unblessed by loves gentle glow

Knightshayes seat

100 Word Challenge for Grown Ups Week# 76

Julia says the prompt wrote itself after last weeks. As I only just wrote week 75 I decided to continue where I left off.

On Time part 2

She was entranced by you from the start; my daughter, usually so reticent, actually allowed you to take her hand. In the café Macey giggled with a child on the next table, and you, well you didn’t seem to know who to look at first.

            She is mine isn’t she? You asked, squeezing my hand. If I’d wanted to keep it secret I would have. I caught Macey looking from you to me, and back again, wondering.

You gradually moved into our lives from that day, but I can’t help asking myself what’s beneath the surface? Did you choose both of us or Macey?

100 Word Challenge for Grown Ups Week# 75

Julia gave us this image of the Grand Canyon for the prompt this week and I’m very late! But anyway this  is my 103 words. image011

On Time

So this is it. February 4th 2013 and I’m early, ever cautious. I was worried that you’d wait just a few minutes and then give up.

I have to get off this platform, it’s making me feel sick, or perhaps it’s just butterflies. Yes that’s it. Why did I come? Maybe you won’t. Crazy idea, you probably forgot straight away. Ten years ago, my birthday.

I should have told you.

About Macey.

I see you, now’s your chance to turn right around.

Bella you look wonderful. And this pretty lady?

You look about nine years old.

You smile at yourself in Macey’s eyes.

Oops I see that the new prompt has arrived!

100 Word Challenge for Grown Ups Week# 69

This is the prompt over at Julia’s place this week, a hundred word story, poem or whatever springs to mind is the challenge.

Too late for some

I don’t know how you could eat that. Have you forgotten what we saw in the rain forest? Palm oil devastation? What about our pact to spread the word, to let our friends know, hoping that the circle of awareness would spread ever wider? When did your career become more important than us? It’s a bit like Eltsen isn’t it? putting growth and market domination before what really matters. Well soon there will be no rain forest but I’m not swallowing it, not sitting here while our relationship dies. You eat your Tik-Tak, if that matters more to you than an Orang-utan.

Miss Christie Revisited

A few months ago I had my 25000th blog hit and I asked the person that ‘hit it’ to write a guest post for me. It was a busy time for her, but she has kept it in her mind and then recently she was inspired by a post here at Lucid gypsy. She is Sharon, or New Pillow Book, and her blog A Number of Things is an eclectic mix of poetry, photography, writing and just good fun. She takes part in several of the challenges and is a regular and supportive visitor. She made me laugh with Pie of Newt and I love her travel themes. She blogs most days, but not in a flashy way, she has a quiet unassuming style but also a strong voice.

When I posted about Agatha Christie’s Home recently, she said  `Dittisham is a perfect name for a village in a Christie mystery! Aside from that, your photos are so lovely. For some reason, I especially like the one of the moored sailboats dotting the river.’ So I challenged her again and she came up with this very clever and thought provoking flash fiction. Enjoy, and she would love to read any comments 🙂

Death in Dittisham

Enid checked to be sure that her stocking seams made a straight dark line up the backs of her legs. She peeked through the curtained doorway. There were only a few customers at the tables in the tearoom. “It’s quiet for now,” Mavis said. “Just as well you’re here, though. We’re expecting two busses of trippers today.”

“Shame they won’t have a chance to talk to Mrs. Mallowan.”

Everyone who worked in Dittisham knew who Mrs. Mallowan was: Agatha Christie, the famous writer. Of course, many of the trippers thought she was “Miss Christie” or, sometimes, “Mrs. Christie”. They all knew that the big house across from Dittisham was hers, though. That was part of the reason they visited, and their visits were what kept the Pink Petunia Tearoom open and kept Enid and Mavis employed.

Not that Dittisham was really the placid English village it seemed at first glance. But wasn’t that how any good Christie story started out, with a world that wasn’t at all what it seemed to be?

“Mrs. Mallowan? Oh, lots of them don’t want to see her,” Mavis said. “A nice chat with old Miss Marple, or a glimpse of that funny Belgian fellow, and they go home happy.”

But just then the first wave of trippers poured into the tearoom. It was hours before Enid and Mavis had another chance to catch their breath. “Regularly run off my feet,” Enid remarked as they leaned against the wall in the back room, tables emptying at last.

“It’s better than Micky D’s.”

“One party asked me where they could stay the night. I recommended Bertram’s Hotel.”

“Oh, get on with you, do.” The two girls wiped down the tables and tidied up before setting off in opposite directions for home. Enid liked walking through this silent Dittisham by herself. It seemed so real. She wondered if she and “Mavis” would convince the characters in a real Christie story. The light was fading, but she knew all the back streets and shortcuts. Sweet-smelling flowers, a friendly cat on its nightly prowl, a huddle of – something – under a bush. She crossed the lane and bent over the crumpled object.

And then she was running, running, all the way to the police station on the green. PC Jackson looked up in surprise as she burst in. “Now then, Enid, what’s all this?”

“Oh, Jim!” she panted. “It’s Miss Marple!” He gaped at her. Stupid, I’m being stupid, she thought. He wasn’t PC James Jackson any more than she was Enid Green. He wasn’t a policeman at all. This wasn’t England, and the 1930’s were eighty years gone. This was only a sham Dittisham, ChristieWorld, nothing but a specially built tourist attraction filled with actors working on their English accents. She loved it, and now she had to destroy it.

“Miss Marple?”

“Look, Matt, phone the real cops. It’s Miss Marple. I mean Mrs. Milewski. She’s dead.”

* * *

100 Words for Grown Ups – Week# 67

Julia decided that as the recent challenges have been sombre, this week she would try to lighten things up. The prompt . . . I really tried not to laugh . . . made me think of my afternoon.

Hysterical Boredom

 Doodling. That’s what kept me awake through a two hour VAT seminar. I wondered what the senior manager sitting behind me, thought of the back of my head, and then wondered if other people think about such things.

The doodle began as high pressure straight lines, and slowly became a gentle floral design, based on the PowerPoint presenting auditor’s dress.

I smiled sleepily when she joked about VAT on Tulisa’s autobiography and a war game for X Box  When she talked about contraceptive products and autopsy fees, without drawing breath, I really tried not to laugh but it was a tax too far.

100 Word Challenge for Grown Ups Week# 66

THE SILENCE WAS DEAFENING. Ah Julia I like this prompt, I always observe the silence. Those who have followed me for a long time, will know how moved I was when I visited Gallipoli, and may have read my poem.

11 am November 11th

The silence was deafening. But I heard the first whisperings in my head as I stepped out of the car; Anzac was like an echo chamber full of young men.

Tell my wife I love her, kiss my little girl, tell mum my savings are in a box under the floor, dad I’m sorry, Mary forgive me? I didn’t confess Padre.

Yes, I’ll do my best. One at a time, I’ll make a list.

They always laughed when I said I hear voices, keep taking the medication, they said. Now, finally, I’ve found my vocation. Spirit messenger.

Come and join in  with the challenge here,

100 Word Challenge for Grown Ups Week# 61

I missed Julia’s challenge last week – she wanted humour and I couldn’t think of anything 🙂 but I was determined to join in this week. The prompt is ‘I woke with another headache’  and my story is based on a dream I had way back, when Shakespears Sister were in the charts, do you remember them?

Shakespears Sister 

‘Come on here’s your costume’, Marcella Detroit handed me a regulation black swimsuit and cap, just like when I was at school. I hesitated, but she shoved me into a cubicle to change. She indicated that I should follow her up a metal ladder, leading to a high diving board, where Siobhan Fahey, the other Shakespears Sister was waiting.

‘We’re not diving from there’ I said panicking. ‘Course we are, it’s perfectly safe’ Marcella replied. I knew it was suicidal, at the bottom there was only a foot of water. We looked like sleek black seals as we jumped.

I woke with another headache.

100 Word Challenge for Grown Ups Week# 54

I’m really late for Julia’s challenge this week. The prompt is ‘Legacy’ , the fourth in a series of Olympic themes, but people may have interpreted it in different ways. Check them here,

Oliver’s Legacy

Dear Oliver

You know, I wept every day for six months, I was so lost.

And now I’m angry. If you had had a car accident or even been attacked it would be different, but you had a choice, and you put diving first every time.

You said it was safe, no one died jumping off a high board. So what do you do? Get your Gold and then fool around, one step too far.

I can’t undo what’s happened. Olympia has arrived now; she looks at me with your eyes. Your legacy, but she will be frightened of water.