The
bang came after the hammer, followed by tiny taps and the scrape of raw metal
over pointed steel. Again! This time though the clang of a dead spot, and
somewhere an unintended split lets loose a ray of light.
blow torch
over a flambé
the two of us
still celebrating
after forty yearsPublished; Contemporary haibun online - 22.1 spring 2026
Marilyn
Peter Woodgate
You were a perfect bastard
until the world’s impurities
tainted your soul.
Insecurity and exploitation
tore virgin flesh from your bones
and exhibited dreams to the world.
They moulded you into a celebrity,
your face peering from every magazine,
you were a star!
Shining in the heavens of
your light pierced the gloom
of shadowy streets
illuminating a public, eager
to sample the image you had become,
exuberance personified.
But, tragedy lay behind the facade of fame
your beauty, disguised by the cosmetics of life.
Did you feel sadness as cameras laid you bare
your smile stolen by a million hearts?
Was the absence of love a bitter pill to swallow?
Did you find comfort in the arms of sleep?
And did you leap into that final abyss?
Or, were you pushed?
Copyright Peter Woodgate
John Abbott
I accelerated away from the
drive and almost immediately concluded that my senses were not exactly what I'd
call bloody perfect at the moment. I'd had a few pints already, I didn't really
want to climb into the car, but I didn't have much choice, did I?
Judy had phoned about ten
minutes ago. All she'd said was that her Dad was in hospital and that he'd been
hurt in a car accident. I always had thought he was a soppy bastard; now I was certain. He'd
probably had too many beers, climbed in the motor and half-way up the road
realised that he couldn't handle it. And ironically enough, here was I, Mister
hypocrite himself, slagging off her Dad for driving under the sodding influence
whilst I continued the festive trend. Still, as I told myself before, didn't have
much choice, did I?
The lights of
As I began to dip over the hill in Prince Regents lane, I suddenly
realised. Shit !, I still hadn't got Judy's Christmas present and only one more day left. Sod that !, shopping for her present on
Christmas Eve, and I was hoping to go and have a drink with the lads at work.
Oh well, " C'est la vie", as they say.
I slowed down rapidly,
changed down into second and turned left up to
" George Mansfield ?, car accident
? I don't
know much else luv. Sorry."
" Yes, sorry, er, who are you ? " was the response."
Son-in-law luv."
"Oh, I see. Turn left, then right and ask one of the nurses - O.K? "
"Cheers, luv." and I strolled off to find Judy and her Dad. Left, right and I was just about to ask a nurse when I heard Judy's voice. I took three steps forwards and poked my head around the cubicles edge.
" John!!" was her tearful word.
"Hello, love. How is
he?" Stupid question, I thought - she was crying. Can't be good, can it?
" Its bad John,"
she said, "They don't think he's going to make it."
Christ, I thought, that's a bastard, at Christmas as well. I hugged her,
as she cried gently on my shoulder. I couldn't believe it. We sat down, and
whilst I held her hands to calm her, she looked deeply at me and began to tell
me what she knew about the accident.
"John, all Dad kept
saying was - I had to swerve, I had to swerve."
Slowly, ever so slowly, she
recounted what her father had told her. Apparently, there had been a group of
people crossing the road, following a man holding a lantern. This was what
George had had to swerve around and he had ploughed head first into the stream of
oncoming traffic. It all seemed a little odd... Fanciful, almost. Alcohol? Who
knows.
A nurse arrived with bad news. George was dead. Judy cried but seemed in
control - I mean she wasn't hysterical or anything like that. Me?... I was just
sad. Sad for her, sad for George. I hadn't
known him that well but he seemed a good enough old soul.
Judy said she wanted to see her Dad once more. I felt she needed to be alone, so we decided she would stay at the hospital and pick up George's personal effects while I tried to get the copper's name, and a bit more info. I said I would drive home, make a few calls, then come and pick Judy up when she was ready.
I found our friend the policeman vainly trying to enjoy a cup of vending machine tea. I explained who I was and he told me the few facts he had. Indeed, George had an excess level of alcohol in his bloodstream when he died. Apparently, he claimed to have seen a group of people in fancy dress or similar holding mock pikes and muskets etc crossing the road ahead of him. One man dressed almost monk-like and carrying a lantern had suddenly appeared and tried to wave him down. George didn't have time to stop. He had swerved, to avoid him, hence the head-on collision with the oncoming traffic. The copper said that no witnesses had seen the group in fancy dress, and, as it had occurred less than a hundred yards from the Denmark Arms in East Ham, there would have been plenty of people about because the pub had opened only a few minutes before. Although I was obviously greatly saddened by George's death, I couldn't suppress a passing thought about drink-driving: We ought to be thankful that no-one else had been hurt badly. The fact that I'd been drinking earlier crossed my mind. The thought made me feel a little queasy.
I left the hospital, and feeling the cold night air again on my way to
the car, I thought to myself, don't feel so bad now eh?
I
climbed into the car, backed out of the car park, and headed home. Out onto
Prince Regents lane, right at the Greengate and then a pretty straight run home
down the
" Oh my God !! " I couldn't believe my eyes.
I
swerved left to avoid the man with the lantern and everything went black ...
EPILOGUE
"Mrs Austin, Judy Austin?, there's been an accident."
Judy replied "I know,
I've been here for hours."
The nurse lowered her voice "No!, Judy, its your husband."
Copyright John Abbott 1,188 words
Circa 1980’s
THE FOX
Peter Woodgate
I saw him again today
Head down and slow of pace
Against the rain, this was no race,
It was as if
This wasn’t relished
Something he just had to do
But, in his mind, hellish.
He would stop now and then
Look round at me
What does he see?
I thought.
Whatever it was
I’m certain that
He remained uncaring
His beady eyes staring
At a being that would not understand
The world that he lived in.
He shook his head
As if to indicate
This was his thought
But no,
It was simply to clear his head of rain
Before climbing the fence, again,
Then, he was gone.
Copyright Peter Woodgate
The Celebration!
By Sis Unsworth
It was such a celebration, the like not seen
for years,
they gave out the news in the morning, Mrs
Jones burst into tears.
We never believed it would happen, the country
celebrated as one.
Farmer Brown heard the news in his sickbed,
jumped up & joined in the fun!
Mary turned on her gas oven, and cooked the
whole family a meal.
“There’s plenty more where that came from,”
the thought of it gave her a thrill.
Spontaneous party’s started up, the atmosphere
lit up the sky’s.
When it sank in what had happened, many wiped
tears from their eyes
but, why did it take years to happen, they
asked all over town,
they could not believe in their wildest
dreams, the price of petrol & gas had come down.
Copyright
Sis Unsworth
By Richard Banks
‘Sir William loved the sea, knew how important it was to the Manx but
knew also its cruelty, how it sunk ships, drowned brave men and made paupers of
their wives and children. Us fishermen told him about the terrible storm that
killed twenty-six of our fathers and grandfathers, said that when the waves
were at their worse the sea would always have its way. He said no, that with
courage nothing was impossible and on 6 October 1822 he showed how right he
was.
In
the midst of yet another storm we watched from the quayside as a navy cutter
floundered on the Conister Rock in
In
March 1824, at Sir William's urging, a national lifeboat institution was
founded. The first boat was at Douglas and he its coxswain. In the years that
followed he helped save over 300 people, winning three gold medals for bravery.
Not bad, I'm thinking, for a landsman who couldn't even swim.’
[The memoir of a Southend lifeboat man formerly of Douglas, Isle of
Man. Dictated at his lodgings in the Ship Inn, 25th of March 1848.]
John Abbott
The old man was dressed in a dark,
threadbare suit, which, like its owner, had seen better days. He was standing,
trying not to look too dis-spirited about his plight. His battered, old cap was
upturned on the ground with numerous shiny coins within.
The little girl was dragging slightly
behind her mother, who was gently tugging her left arm to persuade her into
more ardent forward motion.
“Mummy, Mummy, can we give the man some
money?”
The mother accepted the inevitable
without repining.
“OK, OK, Yes” as she delved into her
handbag.
Releasing her young off-springs hand for
a moment, she dipped into her purse.
“Stay there Trudi,”
She found a small golden coin and passed
it to her daughter.
“Give the man the pound, Trudi” she said
as she bent her knees to move closer to young Trudi.
Trudi carefully placed the pound coin
into the old man’s cap. The old man gave his usual response.
“Thank you and may god bless you.”
He smiled at the little girl, knowing
that this universal gesture would achieve the necessary effect. The girl with
her blonde pony-tail smiled a friendly, toothy grin back. The old man had seen
it all.
Hell and heaven, life and death … and still he found the gift of a smile.
……………
Life is just a long, weary journey.
However, not if you begin each mile with
an ’S’ …
Copyright John Abbott
