The best laid plans

 The best laid plans

By Christopher Mathews

 

The best laid plans of mice and men often fail and fail again.

They come to naught or grief or pain - but the world goes round and round the same

 

Such is all their worth

 

The fieldmouse builds her home in vain, just before the ploughman came

to strip the soil, her straw built shed and leave her tiny offspring dead.

 

Beneath the naked earth

 

‘House for sale, with mountain scenes, on the shores of Tyrrhenian Seas.

Herculaneum, a seaside town’ - built on hubris - that deadly ground.

 

A city built on mirth

 

Fool! the man who builds on sand and takes not heed for how he plans

Come soon or late, our end will come and what is left of all we’ve done?

 

Unless you have new birth

 

-o0o-

The above was inspired by the Robert Burns poem, To a Mouse.)

 

Copyright Christopher Mathews, June 2026

THE EVICTION

THE EVICTION 

By Peter Woodgate

 

Whilst dozing by the telly and well into a dream

Tranquility was shattered by a piercing scream

It seems Jo’s mum telephoned to say she’d seen a mouse

She wasn’t going to sleep a wink what’s more she’d sell the house.

When Jo regained composure she said don’t worry mum

Pete will come right over armed with torch and gun.

So, off I go to Tallow Gate to exorcise the beast

Being told it was quite big, two foot six at least.

When I get there Mum’s in the chair her skirt up to the light

“Can you see it?” She remarks, not a pretty sight.

“It went into the hall,” she says, as big as a bloody cat.

“Where did it come from? Where’s it gone? Do you think it is a rat?

And so with torch in hand I search each darkened place

And then inside the bathroom I see a tiny face

It’s poking out beside the bin, I have him now, I think

But out the little bleeder shoots, he’s quicker than a blink.

Down the hall and round the bend and into mums bedroom

I’ll never get him now, I’m sure, that’s what I assume

But just in time, help arrives, and Tony’s there on cue

“Well, what’s the score, how big is it and what is there to do?”

I saw that Tony came prepared and ready for the crunch

But with gloves and tea-towel I thought it more like lunch.

The tea-towel proved a master stroke and we cornered him at last

Pity that we wrecked the room and smashed a pane of glass.

We wrapped him in that tea-towel that scared and lonely mouse

And Tony set him free outside evicted from Big Momma’s house.

So in future if you see a rat or tiny mouse

Just call out catchers Pete and Tone no need then to grouse.

 

Copyright Peter Woodgate

  

Little Miss Jone’s Eviction (100 Word Flash)

 Little Miss Jone’s Eviction 

By Sis Unsworth

Little Miss Jones was feeling extremely anxious. It seemed

her life was changing as she was about to be evicted

after living there a short time. She loved her own space

and had everything she needed. Without warning they wanted her out. 

What had she done? She hadn’t bothered anyone

and now they were physically evicting her. Where could she find

another place like this? She began to get extremely angry

and gave out a large screaming sob, in desperation

then found herself pushed into a strange environment…

Where a voice said, “Mrs Jones it’s a beautiful baby girl!”

 

Copyright Sis Unsworth

Sandcastles 02

 Sandcastles 02

By John Abbott

Pretty little things created on the beach

Almost out of reach

Decorated with shells

The stories that relate to those moments, it dwells

And a moat surrounding

with all the noises sounding

Of the gentle flow of waves

Is often all that one craves

 

Like life, it is constant, never-ending

Always in the winds, bending

Build, create, decorate, the children imagining stories

And delighting in great glories

You grow from there to imagine dreams and futures

For you to think about experiences

However, it often deals with disappearances

The waves on the sand causing ripples

Maybe you need to realise

That this often ends, destined to capsize

As the tide gets heavier

Maybe its just a little merrier

It is after all, an epiphany

You go along with the ride

And as we all know, it all washes away with the tide

 

Copyright John Abbott

PETRIFIED

 PETRIFIED

Peter Woodgate

“Where on earth has it gone?” Mary fumbled around in her pockets searching for for the tickets she had bought just 5 minutes earlier. Suddenly a feeling of de ja vu overcame her. 

“Can I help you?” a mysterious stranger appeared from nowhere. 

“No thank you,” Mary replied abruptly.

“Are you sure, you look so distressed,” the strangers voice had an air of calmness in it and Mary felt rather embarrassed as she continued to search in the pockets of her overcoat and jacket. She had agreed to meet her friend

but she had not turned up, hence the reason for Mary’s distress. 

“Perhaps this is what you are looking for?” 

Mary glanced at the outstretched gloved hand and, there they were, the admission tickets for Madam Tussauds. 

Feeling rather stupid Mary mumbled a “thank you” adding “I must have dropped them, how silly of me.” 

She found herself gazing into the eyes of the stranger,

They were dark, very dark and, as she studied his clothing,

the feeling of de ja vu crept up on her once again. 

He was wearing a top hat, a bow tie with a dress shirt, a dinner jacket with tails and striped trousers. How odd, she thought, as she retrieved the tickets from the gloved hand of the unusual looking stranger that stood before her. 

Mary thanked him again and was about to enter the exhibition when she felt his hand on her shoulder.

She spun around quickly as he spoke. 

“Allow me to accompany you, I can be your personal guide.

I am an expert on everything there is to know about all the exhibits. I am practically part of the furniture.” 

Although feeling awkward Mary thought she owed him something for finding her tickets and stammered an OK. 

As they wandered around the stranger, who had now introduced himself as Albert, clearly had vast knowledge of all the figurines they encountered. He was able to convey every last detail of each exhibit and, it appeared, before too long they had visited all but the Chamber of Horrors. 

Mary had not intended visiting this part and when she looked at her watch, she was aware that the exhibition would shortly be closing. Albert, however, insisted they visit this famous old section and she found herself gazing through bars at grisly scenes of murder and debauchery.

Suddenly, Mary Was aware that they were alone in what was now becoming a very spooky place. “I think we ought to be making our way back,”

she spoke nervously, “it will be closing shortly.” 

“There is just one more exhibit I need to show you,”

Albert ushered Mary along the corridor until they reached the final enclosure.

“ But there’s nothing in there,” Mary exclaimed, and was about to turn around when she felt herself being pushed

through the unlocked enclosure door. 

“What the Hell,” Mary had no time to finish her sentence before she felt the knife as it was thrust into her abdomen.

The feeling of de ja vu again swept over her as she slumped to the floor catching sight of Albert leaning over her before she passed out.

She came to and looked up at the figure still crouched over her, she recognized the clothes as those worn by Albert but she couldn’t see his face.

There was a spotlight shining down on Mary but his face was turned away toward the shadows. 

He didn’t move, she tried to, but couldn’t. She screamed

but no sound came out of her mouth, she was rigid. 

It was the following day and some early visitors had made their way to the Chamber of Horrors. Helen and her boyfriend Tom had been excited but shuddered at some of the exhibits on view. They were regular visitors to Madam Tussauds and for some reason loved the horror of squeamish scenes.

“Look Tom,” Helen turned to her boyfriend in excitement,

There’s a new exhibit.

They looked at the board which showed the details. 

JACK THE RIPPER WITH ONE OF HIS VICTIMS

MARY JANE KELLY 9th NOVEMBER 1888

“But you can’t see his face” Helen remarked disappointedly

“That’s because they don’t know for sure who he was,” Tom replied rather smugly.

 “Oh look at that poor woman’s face,” Helen sighed,

“It looks so real, there’s even a tear in her eye.”

 

A Scream was heard throughout the corridors of Hell…

 

Copyright Peter Woodgate

  

26.2 (500 Words Flash)

 

26.2

By Jane Scoggins 

 I didn’t feel fit. I was anxious, and nervous. I took deep breaths. I felt sick.  I put one foot in front of the other and hoped for the best. I was jostled, surrounded by noise from thousands. I began to move forward. I got into a rhythm. Blue sky. I kept going. People around me still jostling. Some running, some jogging, some dressed weirdly attracting attention. I jogged on. Right and left people behind barriers shouting and calling, hundreds of them. Banners and waving arms. I jogged on. People passed me by, running. It was a warm day, my mouth was dry. I jogged on and on and on. An hour gone. I can see the Cutty Sark. More people passed me, some older, some younger. I slowed to a walk. Ahead a table with bottled water, I took one. I carried on.  Over the river Thames, and a sign saying HALF WAY. Towards Docklands I was so weary. I ate a protein bar. My legs were tired. I walked on. I wished it was over. I carried on in a dreamlike state, willing myself  to continue. I found mental strength from somewhere in my depths. It kept me going. I shut my mind to everything, including tiredness. It was hard but I was determined now. I stopped for another drink of water, must keep hydrated. I sucked on a barley sugar. I looked at my watch. Three hours had passed. I was surprised I had survived this far. It gave me incentive to believe I could carry on. My feet were tired as well as my legs, but no blisters. I was pleased with myself. I found myself smiling back at people. I was determined. Four hours passed. My legs were heavy. I often slowed to a walk or stopped altogether. I was hot, There were others around me dawdling same as me, we gave each other encouragement with a smile or kind word. It felt good. Eventually I saw a huge sign ahead that read WELL DONE, ONLY 5 MORE MILES TO GO. I felt rejuvenated. I was determined to enjoy those last five miles. I was going to make it after all. Tower Bridge and the roar of the crowd was amazing and incredibly loud After more than six hours I was approaching Buckingham Palace, The Mall and the finish line. So happy to have made it, I shed a few tears as I received my medal from a smiling official who saw my exhausted happy face and gave me a little hug of congratulation. My legs were weak, my spirits high. Putting the surprisingly heavy medal around my neck I gave it a kiss and held it up to the sky and whispered ‘For you Max’. Max was a fit twenty six year old when he died suddenly from a heat attack. He will be forever missed and loved. I was running for him in aid of Cardiac Risk in Young Adults. CRY.

Copyright Jane Scoggins 

Castles in the Sand

 Castles in the Sand

By Sis Unsworth 

A young lad on a sunny beach, builds a castle with such pride,

So mesmerized he plays all day, his pleasure he can’t hide.

Alas he has to leave it there, he’s filled with deep regret.

He felt he had abandoned it, like a playful special pet.

Sand castles like forgotten dreams, washed away by the tide

But can return in memories, that can’t be brushed aside

Good times give us pleasure, and pleasure can’t be wrong

So enjoy your castles while they last, they may not be there long.

Copyright Sis Unsworth