Visiting the Lark

28. Visiting the Lark

By Robert Kingston

A cuckoo sings its first spring voice

The cider maker cracks his cork on this year’s choice

English apples presented from pre years press

Picked and selected to impress

Bottled and ready for drinkers wide and far

Vision distorting with every jar

          

From orchards up and down the land

Drinkers search the best in town

Scrumpy be the drinker's rot

Weak-willed should try it not

A test once tasted of a brewers fare

An enjoyment discovered but just take care

For once you have passed the halfway mark

You’ll soon be singing and dancing with the larks

Copyright Robert Kingston 29.10.14

THE WORST

THE WORST

by Rosemary Clarke

Emily stopped and tried to catch her breath listening very carefully; they had to be there. Somewhere...nothing.
"Donnaaa! Matt!" The shouting almost took her voice away.

Nothing.
The fog on the seafront was as thick as milk, the grass so wet she felt like she had to swim to go faster...to go where?  Which way to go if she couldn't find her way forward or back and was lost herself?
The fog enclosed her as though pulling her back from those she loved.  Shapes...trees. the side of a building... She clung to it while forcing her eyes to focus as far out as they could but it was no good - the fog was like an entity, a cold disease seeping into all orifices, the pores of her skin chilling her and confusing her into forgetting even her own name or what she was about.  In the silence, Emily was reminded of the many times she had told them off for their noise, for their laughter, fighting or tricks; what if she should never find them, they were so near to the sea...people have easily been overcome and drown, or mown down by an unseen car, their twisted bodies the first thing she should see as the fog cleared.  Where were they?

Her brother had entrusted them to her, she'd told him she could cope, she'd thought she could, panic set in making her whole body shake violently; they were only small. What if someone had taken them, it only took a moment and the child was never seen again!  Emily suddenly did something she hadn't done since she was a child herself, she prayed, she prayed with all her heart that they were safe, that she would find them.
As she moved sunlight suddenly cut through the fog slowly dispersing it and sound was heard once more.
She screamed for them again knowing and not caring how strange and wild she looked.  From down the street, a shop door opened and a small blonde headed boy peered out.
"We went into the toy shop, we weren't far away,” you said…
Emily ran to the doorway hugging both children tears streaming down her face.  Their puzzled and uncomfortable expressions echoed in the minds of many of the people in the store; family, they can be so embarrassing!

Copyright  Rosemary Clarke

Salad for tea.

Salad for tea.

by Shelley Miller

I wouldn't describe my husband as fat, nor would I describe him as fit. Put politely, he has a bit of a veranda over the toy shop like a lot of men his age, which bothers him but not me. "For health reasons, I'd say yes," I answer tentatively in response to his regular threat of, "l must lose half a stone and exercise more."

I wouldn't say he looked well-fed, just content.
So on average about 3 times a year he decides to put his dinner on a smaller plate thus making it look as if he has a generous portion. One time I couldn't help noticing that his dinner, dished by himself, sat half a foot high on his smaller sized plate and slid off the edge leaving a circle of mashed potatoes, peas and gravy on the tray.

At another time he would say "I might have a salad for dinner," So I prepare a healthy salad. By the time we sit down to eat he has added his own version of a 'healthy salad' to the smaller sized plate. Bread and butter, salad cream, mayonnaise, cheese, potatoes, olives and extra creamy coleslaw.

"I don't understand it, the only thing I eat is what I have here at home," he says, stepping despondently off the bathroom scales and sliding it back in place distractedly. “I have my porridge for breakfast, a sandwich for lunch and whatever you cook for dinner yet I've put on a pound!" He exclaims.

“It’s baffling," I offer by way of consolation.

I recall many a phone call from my husband from the Tesco Metro around the corner from his workplace. "I'm in Tesco's, do you need anything?" He would ask.
Once every 5 weeks, for 1 week, my husband uses my car for work. He is a tidy man by nature so has created a plastic bag bin in the front footwell. I'm sure you can guess of its contents.

I've often said it's the face that attracts you to a person but it's their heart and mind that you grow to love.

Copyright Shelley Miller

Dead pan alley Haibun

Dead pan alley

By Robert Kingston

For three weeks

I have watched them

milling around 

their tireless efforts

robustly tested

in whatever

is thrown at them.

You do not see a break

in their composure

nor do you see them wilt.

Outside them are the politics

the pushing and pulling

between public and private

the constant barrage

of financial restraints

tattooed on their foreheads.

As if it is they that created the mess

they are forced to work in. 

bedpan room

another tumble down rule

to add to the pile

Copyright Robert Kingston

Freshly caught fish.

 Freshly caught fish.

By Len Morgan

Sunday morning.  My son Colin and his family have gone to Euro Disney for the week.  I select a frozen trout from the freezer and place it on the windowsill on a dish to thaw.  For the first time, it's just me for Sunday dinner. 

It's at times like this that I picture Simon and our son Colin as they were 15 years ago.  It was a Sunday morning ritual, they were up before daybreak making sandwiches, flasks of hot coffee, collecting apples and cheese from the refrigerator.

  I'd lay abed pretending to be asleep and Colin would creep silently into the darkened room, peck me on the cheek and leave a steaming cup of tea on my bedside cabinet. 

"We're going to bring you home a fine fish dinner mum," he'd whisper.

 They would sit or stand at the side of the stream casting flies across the water, to be taken by eagerly awaiting trout. When they had caught their quota they would head for home.  Cars weren't in common use those days so they would cycle the five miles home down the country lanes, passing through Grantchurch village.  If their catch had been small, or if the trout weren't biting Simon would stop off at the Grantchurch's fishmonger and supplement their catch.  When they'd caught nothing Simon would buy sufficient for us all.  We always had fish for dinner on Sundays, it was a ritual.

Simon is no longer with us.  We laid him to rest two years ago.  

Colin is now grown up and has sons of his own Peter 7 and Jason 3.  They still go fishing but travel by car now.  The fishmongers closed down when Tesco opened a superstore on the outskirts of town.

They do have a fish counter but don't stock trout, so sometimes we have some mighty strange catches from that river. 

Last Sunday Jason appeared at the front door with boil-in-the-bag smoked haddock. 

"I wonder who caught that?" I said.

"I did!" said 3-year-old Jason.

"And, who sealed it in the bag with a pat of butter?" I asked?

He thought for a moment, "Don't be silly Nanny, that's how I caught it from the freezer at Tesco's."

Sure enough, they'd left a hook in one corner. How could I not believe?

Copyright Len Morgan

ALL THAT GLITTERS

All that Glitters

By Richard Banks

Now, all that glitters is not gold,

An ancient wisdom often told.

Few folks do know who said it first,

Or 'bout the man whose life was cursed.

Read here his story, mark it well

And heed the warning that I tell.

For those who don't will wretched be,

Just like the ghost who came to me.

He stood before me in his shroud,

Though tongue-less, fleshless, spoke out loud.

Hear my confession mortal man,

Absolve me, cleanse me, if you can!

I am no priest I said to him,

I can but pray for those who sin.

So tell me truly of your blame,

What did you do that stained your name?

So much, he said, but mainly this,

I slayed a man for fair Phyllis.

Her hair did glitter in the sun,

Like thread of gold, my heart was won.

But she was wedded to the host

Of tavern called the Loyal Toast.

Her husband's love did not match mine,

When she saw this, she gave me sign.

That she and me could lovers be,

With all my heart I did agree.

All through that summer we did meet,

Our love much mingled with deceit.

At last, I bid her come with me

And from the village we would flee

To distant town where we're not known,

Like man and wife we’ll set-up home.

But what of money she did say,

You have no trade, just farming ways.

Just think how better it would be

If I a widow came to be.

I would inherit husband's wealth,

His home and living for myself.

Then we could marry sharing all

And happy live by legal rule.

Let not my husband bar the way,

For you could take his life away.

Take you this sword with cutting edge

And run him through, she made me pledge.

So, crazed with love I did the deed,

Of mortal sin I paid no heed.

To 'void suspicion Phyllis said,

Three months must pass before we wed.

And so I waited, us apart,

But very soon she broke my heart.

Rich merchant came and did her court,

Their fortunes joined I was as nought.

For love of Mammon she did wed,

With diamond ring so it was said.

And me guilt-stricken, full of woe,

From mortal life, I longed to go.

And so with sword that murder did,

The world about me I did rid.

From wicked deeds no one can hide,

For now my soul in hell resides.

You hear me kindly, mortal man,

For that I thank you all I can.

But dawn is near, I must return

To Satan's furnace where I burn.

Remember me, the tale I told,

That all that glitters is not gold.

Copyright Richard Banks

Pandemic

Pandemic

By Sis Unsworth

Deserted streets and shops closed down, the frontline that we form,

as we defend our NHS against the threatening storm.

People all in lockdown, confined within their home,

technology may help them through so they don’t feel so alone.

The new foe that invades our world, affecting all our lives,

as humankind joins together in an effort to survive.

But, the winds of change are coming, as defiant spring appears,

The calm and peace will surely help, to alleviate our fears.

Nesting birds still carry on, caring for their young.

Unyielding trees sway in the breeze and caress the morning sun.

So, isolated we may feel, and miss the life we knew,

Hope will be out comforter, as our thanks go to the few.

The old cliché, we can recall, and really can’t contain.

For once more we will overcome, and WE WILL MEET AGAIN.

Copyright Sis Unsworthe