Reaching Out

Reaching Out

By Dawn Van Win

Reaching out into the dark

Not knowing what we’ll find

Whilst gently stepping onwards

Through the spirals of our mind 

For all the secrets ever sought

Are hidden there within

And connecting to our deepest source

Can never be a sin

If we could just sit quietly

And let them be revealed

So many hurts and bitter words

So easily would heal

By bravely reaching out 

and being seen we may discover 

Our kindred, Spirits, burning bright

Give hope to one another

So when in gloomy troubled times

Of uncertainty and doubt

These simple words, a breadcrumb trail

Beloveds please reach out

For you will find us gathered here

All resolute and true

Your tribe sit waiting patiently 

To welcome home You

In all your fragile splendour 

And your beauty unrefined 

Your value is immeasurable

Indeed you are Divine! 

By Dawn Van Win

WHAT IF? (Part 2 of 3)

WHAT IF?  (Part 2 of 3)

 By Richard Banks

He returned with their drinks and carefully handed her another rice wine when she had asked for a soda whizz. She smiled politely and made no comment. Sarlek sat down beside her leaving a gap between them that they had previously filled. He had looked forward to this date all day and now he was spoiling it. He needed to get back to how he was feeling before the mention of his work, but the spell was broken. Say something, he thought, anything. He remembered that a storm had been forecast. He was about to mention this when she lent towards him and two fingers alighted on his knee and began walking up his leg. They were about to alight on an area of his trousers unoccupied by leg when his hand abruptly halted her advance. His poker face dissolved into one of startled bewilderment. What was she doing? He knew what she was doing. It was only too obvious what she was doing. There were people watching. He stared into her face and found her making a silly expression that parodied his own. For a few moments he knew not what to do, what to say, then he laughed. How could he not? 

         They drew closer until the gap between them was no more. As before he encircled her with a long arm that dangled awkwardly at her elbow. He considered reaching down to her hand but, as it was fully engaged in the holding of her glass, he decided to stay as he was. She smiled and asked him if he was alright now. He mumbled an apology. It was the job he said. He shouldn’t let it get to him but it was make or break time. In one month his management of Planet Earth would be assessed. His whole future was at a crossroads.

         She ruefully poked him in the ribs to stop him lapsing into another mood. As the oldest of twenty-seven siblings, she felt well qualified to give advice on a variety of subjects that unfortunately did not include planet management. But what she was good at was man-management. She had learned this from her mother who having had nine husbands was a renowned expert. The knack was to get them to do what you wanted them to do while tricking them into thinking that they had thought of it first. Perhaps if she found out more about this planet management business she could find a way of making it seem less important to him. There might be disadvantages he had not considered. He needed to realise that life on Haligan was more than just a consolation prize. She would need to choose her words carefully. She had already had to cope with one sullen silence she didn’t want another but there might be many more unless he could learn to confide in her.

         “Tell me about it,” she said, her single eye trying to engage both of his.

         “About what?”

         “The job of course. It’s making you unhappy, and what makes you unhappy makes me unhappy.”

         His arm began to unravel from around her but she held on to his fingers and pulled the arm back to its previous location.

         “It’s complicated,” he said.

         “I’m sure it is. But tell me anyway. A trouble shared and all that. And who knows, I might be able to help. I do have two brains you know; they must be good for something.”

         “It’s Korea.”

         She recalled their first and only conversation about Planet Earth when he was in a good mood over the signing of some treaty or other. “Oh yes, North Korea, that’s the country that no one likes because they’re making a splatem bomb.”

         “It’s an atom bomb.”

         “Oh, right. So how are they a problem? You said they would have to stop because of the economic sanctions.”

         “Yes I know, but they didn’t work. Don’t know why, but they didn’t and unless I can find something that does there will be a war. Millions could die. It would be my fault.”

         Mia's face became unusually thoughtful. “Let’s get this straight. Planet Earth is a computer simulation created by your bosses so you can practice being an intergalactic troubleshooter.”

         “Yes.” He decided not to quibble over her inappropriate use of the word shooter.

         “Well then, no one’s going to die. The worse that can happen is that you wreck the programme so it can’t be used again. But that’s not going to happen because it cost millions of credits to produce. No one’s going to risk that amount of dosh. If you mess up there’s bound to be a fail-safe mechanism that puts everything on hold.

         “Do you think so?

         “I know so. It stands to reason. You've been spending too much time staring into a monitor. The real world’s out here, not on planet Earth.”

         “Yeah. The trouble is it’s all so believable. There’s millions of these little earthlings and they do all the normal things that normal people do. They’re ugly little creatures if the truth be told but they can be so endearing. Do you know that one of them is running across an entire continent in order to raise money for homeless children? And if I don’t stop this war he won’t make it to the finish.”

         “Sarlek, look into my eye and repeat after me. These are not real people. Nobody is going to die.”

         “Nobody?”

         “Nobody. Now let’s get on to what’s important.”

         “Which is?”

         “You.”

         “Me?”

         “Yes you. Even though you want to leave me and go billions of miles to that dreadful, hellhole of a planet you will always be in my thoughts. But if you have to go, so be it. Me here and you far away making all those life and death decisions that will probably result in Armageddon. It will be a hopeless struggle, a poison chalice, but someone has to try.” She was about to move on to the alternative scenario of life on Haligan when she noticed that he was mouthing words unconnected to his vocal cords. Her bemused expression was giving way to alarm when he spluttered back into normal service.

         “I wasn’t going to leave you. I thought you might like to come too. Yes, I know Alpha is a long way away on the edge of the known universe but it’s not the awful place you think it is. In fact, it’s rather nice. Some say it’s the most beautiful planet in the eastern quadrant, and the city where I’ll be working has hundreds of shops and restaurants, not to mention clubs like this one. The Command Centre owns a penthouse at the top of a hotel called The Excelsior and - if we were to be married - that’s where we would ...”

         “Married!”

         “I was going to ask you once I graduated, if I do.”

         “Are you sure?”

         He nodded solemnly and held her hand a little more firmly than he intended.

         “Then you had better propose.”

         “Now?”

         “Yes, now.”

         He stood up and turned to face her. He spoke in a loud voice that brought to a halt the conversations taking place around them. The words were those of his own language. Thirty-five of them, sacred words that he knew must be said clearly and sincerely. “Colubi, Colati, Colubi,” he concluded, beating his chest with both fists. He looked anxiously at her. “You must say the last three words also.”

         Rising to her feet she did as she was bid. She prepared to beat her chest but he caught her hands in mid air.

         “That is not necessary. We are husband and wife.”

         “Blimey, that was quick.”

         The consummation ceremony, he assured her, would take longer but could not take place until the twenty-eighth of the month. This was the custom of his planet he explained. The time until then was called ‘Na notti nah,’ the days of blessed contemplation.

         They sat down again and as the conversations about them resumed they were lost for words. They hugged as a tear trickled down her cheek. He was about to ask her if she was okay when she spoke first.

         “Sarlek can I say something before we start contemplating.”

         “Anything.”

         “Anything at all?”

         “Yes, we are husband and wife. Anything.”

         “Get me a bloody drink and make it a large one.”

         He returned from the bar several minutes later with a large bottle of bubble wine which he poured into two bulbous glasses.

         “Are you sure you’re okay?”

         Mia took a large sip of her drink and assured him she was. They had, she said, only one problem and that could be summed up in two words, North Korea. She gave him what could only be described as a significant look. “Sarlek, the time of blessed contemplation starts now, tell me everything you know about them.”

[To be continued]

    Copyright Richard Banks        

Write me a Love Story Ch 5

Write me a Love Story Ch 5 

CHAPTER 5

By Janet Baldey

Each morning on the dot of seven the truck from the Camp turned up and the German vaulted down into the yard. His loose prison clothes flapping around him, he’d head towards the barn door where I’d pinned a list of his jobs for the day. Then with a nod in my direction and the ghost of a smile, he’d turn away. After our first meeting, I’d done my best to avoid him but was always conscious of his presence. So far, he hadn’t put a foot wrong but I was sure it was just a matter of time. Market day was drawing near, the day when I’d have to leave him alone on the farm, and I grew certain it was what he was waiting for.  Images of flames engulfing my cottage haunted me and when the dreaded day eventually rolled around I had to force myself to leave. As the cart jolted down the hill, I kept staring over my shoulder, watching as my home dwindled into the distance.

All through the long day most of me was back at the farm. I found it difficult to concentrate and several times gave people the wrong change; every mistake flustering me and making me even more miserable.  At long last, the crowd began to thin and I was just thinking about packing up when I saw Sarah walking towards me.

‘What’s the matter love? You look worried’

         She leaned on the trestle table, looking at me out of narrowed eyes. I evaded her gaze and looked at the rapidly emptying market. So far as I was aware, no one outside the camp knew about the German, I certainly hadn’t told anyone but in closed communities word got around. I struggled to find the right words, it was difficult to admit I’d caved in but Sarah was bound to find out sooner or later and she might be dreadfully hurt if it was second hand.  At last, I swallowed my pride and looked at her.

 ‘I gave in, Sarah. I’ve got a POW working for me.’

There was a brief silence during which I held my breath, then Sarah took hold of my hands and squeezed them.

‘Good for you. I wondered how long it would take for you to come round.   You couldn’t possibly manage all on your own, especially in the winter. We all realised that. But what’s the problem? Is he no good?’

‘I really don’t know. He’s hard-working and seems to know what he’s doing,  there have been no problems so far. But, he’s a German, Sarah. All-day I watch him like a hawk. And if I lose track of him for a few minutes I worry that he’s escaped. Even worse, I’m scared that he’s plotting something. What if he sets fire to the farm, just to get his own back?  It’s on my mind all the time and I hate it.’

 Sarah was quiet for a moment and then she spoke, her voice decisive. ‘You need to relax, you’re all strung up. Tell you what, I’ll ask my Tom to come and give him the once over. He’ll sense if he’s a wrong ‘un. He’s a great judge of character. Over the years, we’ve had all sorts working for us:  gypsies, tramps, the odd city wallah, and we’ve never had any trouble. Tom is good at sussing out rotten apples’.

Immediately I felt a wave of relief: someone else was taking over. I liked and trusted Sarah’s husband, I’d go along with whatever he said.

‘Thanks, Sarah.’

‘ You’re welcome and what’s more, I’ll ask him to come over this afternoon. If you’re worried, I’m worried; I want to be sure you’re safe. Now, I must go. Got to be home before my marauding horde gets back from school, otherwise, there'll be nothing left for the Nazis.’ 

Winking, she gave me a cheery wave

***

Tom had been gone for a long time. I turned away from the window and paced across the room wondering what I’d do if he decided the man wasn’t to be trusted.  My teeth sawed at my underlip, despite all my misgivings, the farm had been running much more smoothly since the German had been around. I sank down into a chair, suddenly drained of all energy and as weariness washed over me, I felt certain I couldn’t cope on my own again.

  ‘Right me girl, time to get the kettle on.’

The chair squealed as I shot to my feet. Tom’s frame blocked out the light as he stood in the doorway; ducking his head under the lintel, he came inside.

‘I don’t believe it Tom, how can someone as big as you creep up on me?  I’ve been watching out for you for ages.’

He laughed.

‘Practice, Flora. It’s all those years spent avoiding bailiffs and bank managers.  Now, how about that tea?’

Five minutes later, his hands dwarfing the cup, he looked at me, his face serious.

‘Flora, I’m sorry about all the trouble you’ve had. I wish I could’ve been more help, but you know how it is.’

‘Don’t worry, I understand. You’ve got a big farm to run and it’s good of you to spare the time today. But please don’t keep me in suspense. What’s the verdict?’

Putting down his cup he leaned back in his chair.

‘Right. I’ll be honest, when Sarah asked me to give this chap the ‘once over’ I was worried. I didn’t know how to go about it. I could have just gone with my instinct but if I’d been wrong….’ He stopped, letting the silence speak for itself.

‘Then I had a think, several of the guards at the Camp are drinking chums of mine. I know the Sergeant well. Oakes is a sound bloke. So I got on the blower and put it to him and I can tell you one thing, he’s certainly not worried. Y’know, the men that run the camp aren’t fools. They know your circumstances and if they sent you a shifty character and anything happened, there’d be the devil to pay. And as for him escaping, where would he go? No civvie clothes, no money, no food. Okay, he speaks good English but there’s no mistaking that accent.’ 

He shook his head.   ‘Anyway, now I’ve seen for myself, I’ve watched him at work and I’ve had a good chat with him.  I’ve done my best to be critical but at the same time fair, so you might find what I say next a bit odd. The fact that I rather took to him, I mean. It seems strange, even to me. After all he is a German. But then again, putting prejudice aside and looking at things objectively, he’s polite, he looks you straight in the eye and he knows what he’s talking about. I think he’s OK.  In fact, I wouldn’t mind employing him myself.’

         He leaned towards me and looked into my eyes. ‘What I suggest is, just give him a chance, eh?  Not all Germans are monsters and if you think about it, it can’t be easy for him either’.  

I looked at him, beginning to realise I’d over-reacted. Like any ignorant clot, I’d forgotten to use my brain and let bias cloud my judgement.

‘I expect you think I’m stupid.’

‘Of course, you’re not. You’re in a very difficult situation. We’re all going through something we’ve never experienced before, we’ve all got a lot to learn and it pays to be cautious.’

Just as he was leaving I heard the sound of the army truck. In a few minutes, they’d both be gone and I’d be alone again. I shivered and put my arms around myself.   I thought I’d got used to silence but it seems I’d been wrong.

When I took Georg out his tea the next day, I put a slice of plum cake in the saucer. His eyes widened.

‘For me?’ 

I was rewarded by a replica of the smile I’d noticed the first time we’d met and smiled, in return.

In the days that followed I still kept a close eye on Georg but for a different reason. I noticed the number of times that he crossed the yard to spend a few minutes with Barley, stroking her neck and muttering to her in a low voice. As for Barley, she seemed to love the attention, pricking up her ears and whickering softly whenever she caught sight of him.

My fingers tapped at my mouth as I watched. Georg was thoroughly at ease with her and, if he understood ponies, he might be able to handle a bigger animal.  

***

The sky had been scarlet as I made my way to Barley’s loose box whistling under my breath and feeling in my pocket for her morning sugar lump. As I drew nearer, I suddenly felt uneasy. Normally Barley would be waiting for me, her head poking out of the stable door, eager for her treat, but this morning there was no sign of her.

 I opened the stable door and peered into the gloom. The mare was standing in a corner, her head drooping. As I unlatched the door she looked up apathetically, then her eyes rolled and she gave a shrill squeal. Turning her head, she drew back her lips and with her long yellow teeth started to bite at her belly. She blundered around her loose box, her flanks heaving, islands of sweat soaking her hide.  Backwards and forwards she lurched as if desperately trying to escape from whatever was hurting her. Horrified, I stood rooted to the spot until, to my utter relief, I heard the familiar sound of the truck.

As I clutched at the half door, I turned and screamed, my voice cracking with effort.

‘Quick, something’s wrong with Barley.’

Georg dropped down from the lorry and I saw the surprise on his face change to alarm as he raced across the yard.

Entering the stable he took a quick look and ran to the skittering pony:  dodging her thrashing hooves, his hands probed her sides. After a while, he turned around.

‘I think it is the colic. You need to get a horse doctor at once.’

As he spoke, Barley’s knees buckled and her body began to sway.

‘Help me, quickly,’ he said ‘We mustn’t allow her to go down. She may roll and twist her insides.’

One on either side, we heaved and pushed at the little mare forcing her upright. Grabbing a headstall Georg kicked open the stable door. 

‘I will keep her walking, it will ease the pain. Now, you must go and get help.’

Copyright Janet Baldey

Reflections

Reflections

By Dawn Van Win

This Golden age of treasures rare

A time to grow a time to share

Your lessons learnt with sweat and tears

So pause and now release your fears

And drink it in, this time and place

Where you are now, your progress traced

Created by your life so far

Upon this spinning blue, green star

Then sifting through this hard-won soil

Through 50 years of joy and toil

Time to reflect, rejoice, refine

And gather in all that is mine

To nurture it and give it space 

And raising up a smiling face

To mother moon to thank her so 

for love and light which helps us grow

She shines so bright through deepest dark

Revealing treasures in our hearts

We see the way on from this place

So once we’re rested, filled with Grace

We carry on, refreshed, renewed

Another year, all rainbow-hued

To turn the soil, reveal new seeds

And watch them grow

Follow their lead

With courage, perseverance too

Each cycle time to learn anew

one of the beautiful murals at Diamante, Calabria - artist unknown

Copyright Dawn Van Win

Hikkaba ~ (Part 2 of 3)

Hikkaba  ~  Part 2 of 3

By Len Morgan

 “You want to be a writer Alan?” Ferlin asked.
“No.   But, these are my formative years aren’t they?”
“You're not a simplistic character Alan, you're nothing like other boys I’ve met.”
“I’m an orphan.  People who live in institutions tend to grow up fast.   Kids get squished, cry babies get something to cry about if you show weakness you get bullied.”
“That’s sad.”
“That’s life,” said Alan, “Your not much like any adult I’ve ever met, you talk to me as if your interested in what I have to say.  You treat me like a grown-up.”
Ferlin laughed and pointed his thumb towards the forever young tree.   “Next to old Hikkaba over there we’re both a little wet behind the ears.   You’re free to come and go as you please now you've been accepted as part of the family; do you have any plans?”
“That depends on what’s in it for me.”
“Well, every job has its ups and downs.”
“Tell me about it,” said Alan.
“You’ll certainly never be a millionaire but you won’t be short of money…”
“And?”
“How old would you say I am?”
“A reasonable question.”   Alan looked him up and down appraising.  “Mmm forty, forty-five?”
“The magic in these woods has a beneficial effect on health.   If you visit regularly you’ll never develop any serious illnesses.  It also retards the effects of ageing, I’ll be two hundred and twenty-eight next birthday.”   I age roughly one year for every five I live.   I age myself with makeup and every thirty years I fake my death and return as my long lost son.”
“So, when do I get to take over as guardian?”
“Not for a long time, probably never, our first priority is your education, then you can go out into the world and make your mark; with a little help from Hik and me.  With guidance from a few others, you should make the right life choices.”
“No strings?”
“No strings!”
“Mmm, There’s a lot of unanswered questions there…   Do I get to think about it?”
“As far as your concerned, the spell is broken, you can return anytime you choose,” he placed the silver leaf into Alan’s palm.   Keep this with you and Hikkaba will see what you see and be ready to offer guidance if you need it.   If you need to make contact just close your eyes, picture this glade in your mind, and talk.”

.-…-.

As he left, he thought he was going to be in trouble for getting home late, but a glance at his watch told him only thirty-minutes had passed while he was in the park, he thought he’d been there for hours.   He shook his watch, yes it was working.   He slowed his pace in case the Hansons were still loitering.   Sure enough, he saw them leaving a store in the high street.   He hung back until their paths diverged then made his way home to the Armstrong homestead, 249 Western Avenue.  He cringed at the sight of the familiar front door, window frames, fence, and front gate all painted pink & black.   He smiled at the luminous green curtains and two oversized garden gnomes – Benny and Charlie.   He recalled how the neighbourhood kids used them for target practice when Collin’s two-toned pink, black and chrome MkI Ford Cortina was absent from the drive.   Collin was his foster father, he worked as a forklift driver at the local warehouse of Hanson Transport and Logistics.  He worked swing shifts and did lots of overtime.  His love of pink and black stemmed from his lifelong fealty to the King, Elvis Presley.   Collin and Elise had been childless into their Forties, so when they finally gave up the dream of having children of their own they took up short term fostering.  They were good caring people, they worked hard, played hard, and took fostering seriously.  Alan could not have wished for kinder or more caring parents.

.-…-.

He lay on his bed fully clothed thinking about the strange waking dream he’d had the previous evening.   He could hear ‘Jailhouse Rock’ playing on the Hi-Fi downstairs.   Collin would be getting ready for work.  He sniffed and knew instantly that Elise was dishing up his usual breakfast of sausage, eggs, mushrooms, bacon, tomatoes, black pudding, and fried bread; followed by hot buttered toast and marmalade.   He would wash it down with several king-size mugs of steaming hot sweet tea.  By contrast, Elise’s own calorie intake was minimal.  Two crisp-breads thinly coated with cottage cheese and a slice of lettuce, cucumber, and the ends of Collin’s tomatoes.  She would sip weak black coffee, without sugar.  On odd occasions, she had been known to indulge herself by eating a raw carrot or two.   He smiled fondly at the thought of Collin, six foot two, ten stone two pounds, and Elise five foot six, weighing 15 stone.   She ate like a butterfly and he like a grizzly.  She was a tiger and he a teddy bear.
“Alan?  Breakfast in five minutes,” she called from outside his bedroom door.
“Thanks, mum, I’ll be right down.”
 “Are you decent? Can I come in?”
“Of course,” he replied.  
She entered with her familiar linen basket.  “It’s Tuesday again,” she said.   She always did the washing on Tuesdays.   She proceeded to pick up his cast-offs and deposit them in the basket without complaint.  Something fluttered to the floor; she retrieved the star-shaped silver leaf.
“It’s a memento full of memories, kind of sentimental,” He explained. 
She placed it in his hand, “don’t lose it then.”   A final look around to make sure she’d missed nothing then she left.
He placed the leaf in his top pocket and followed 'the whirlwind' downstairs.  
Collin had already finished.   His utensils were drying on the drainer.   First thing Alan learned about Elise was her philosophy, ‘a place for everything and, everything in its place’, she couldn’t abide clutter.
“Would you get the post for me Alan, there’s a dear.”
He went to the front door, three large, two small brown envelopes, and two white envelopes.   He scooped them up on his way to the kitchen, placing them on the table before sitting down to two boiled eggs and toast soldiers.
“Eat up dear, mmm, seven letters that’s unusual, wonder whose birthday it is?   Bill,” she said, tossing the first to one side, a circular joined it, she smiled, “One from Cousin Louise in Australia.   Alan Fry, this one is for you,” she propped an off white envelope against his glass of milk.   “Another bill,” she announced, and with a furtive glance at Collin, she deposited the final white envelope in her apron pocket, unopened.
Alan opened his surprise letter, noting the expensive embossed letterhead from, Gorton Grange (private residential school).  

Dear Alan,
   You have been awarded a scholarship to Gorton Grange.   With effect from next term, dates and joining instructions attached.  A full list of uniform requirements, books, and essential equipment is also enclosed.   

The list was long and looked expensive.   We could never afford this, he thought.   Maybe I could get a grant, it wouldn’t be fair to expect Collin and Elise to foot the bill, I’m not their flesh and blood, I’ve only been here for a year and a half.   I’ve never felt more at home anywhere but…  His mind wandered to the glade:
Alan, this offer from Gorton was no chance thing, you were proposed by one of our associates, a member of the faculty, it was however awarded on merit.
 “That’s not possible,” he said.
“What isn’t son?” Collin stood in the kitchen door a look of concern on his face.
“I’ve been offered a scholarship,” he handed the letter to Elise.  
She read it aloud for Collin, “You must go, and there’s an end to it,” she said.   “We’ll find the money, somehow, that’s our concern, not yours.   If needs must, we’ll apply for a grant from the council or, take out a loan.”
“Thank you,” he said, moved to tears, “but--”
“No buts, get yourself off to school and leave the finances to me.   I’m the accountant in this family,” she said.

.-…-.

He took care to keep well away from the Hansons, which only served to antagonize them all the more.   When he left school that evening they were waiting for him outside the school gates.
“So, you think you're too good for us,”  Jack sneered.   Alan took a step back only to find his arms restrained by Billy and Rolo.   His eyes closed and the glade came into his mind.  In trouble so soon?  You surprise me, said a now-familiar voice in his head.  Think Bruce Lee.
“No!   We need to improve relationships not wreck them,” said Alan.
Trust me I know about such things.
“No!"  His body coiled like a spring.  He released an explosive kick to Jack's chest, he fell on Billy knocking the wind out of him and kicked Roland’s legs from under him.   He looked down at them with disdain and casually walked away.   As soon as he was out of sight he ran and didn’t stop until he reached the gates of Hickory Park.  He headed straight for the glade; it was warm and balmy.   “I want a word with you!   I thought you couldn’t influence higher organisms.”
I lied.  Nice of you to drop bye…
“I need help earning enough money to get me to Gorton Grange, not lessons in Karate.
The money will not be a problem.
“Elise and Colin are proud, they won't accept charity, they would probably re-mortgage their house to pay for books, clothes and equipment.”
What if a relative were to die and leave her oh…  Say twenty-five thousand pounds?
“You can’t just arrange a death-”
When she held the leaf I was able to read her memories.   She has a recently deceased cousin, the Rev Bertrand Smythe.   A solicitor acting on behalf of the estate will send her a cheque.
She might be suspicious of such a large amount, make that five thousand and she will be happy.”   Rev Smythe, God bless you wherever you are, Alan smiled.

.-…-.

Next morning, on his way to school, Alan ran into the Hansons. Don’t run or show weakness Hikkaba’s voice warned.
Roland smiled, “Those were great moves you pulled on us yesterday Fry.”
“Yea, how do you do that twisting sidekick,” said Jackie?
“We didn’t know you do Kung Fu, maybe you would teach us some of those moves,” Billy said.
Alan smiled and blinked, you were right after all Hikkaba, “It’s all in the hip snap Jack.   Maybe we could get together in the gym after school.”
From that day, until they left Daventry school, Alan and the Hansons were the best of friends.

One week on, Alan was awakened by hysterical whoops and yells of joy.   He hurried downstairs to witness Elise, dancing up and down with delight.  
“Bless you, Bertrand!   Didn’t I say we’d get the money somehow Alan?  She brandished a cheque for twenty thousand pounds.   A legacy from my distant cousin, I’m sorry that he died but his timing was perfect.   Come on Alan, we're going shopping, go get your list!”

To be continued/...

Copyright Len Morgan

Covid-19 is not the only way to go…

Covid-19 is not the only way to go…

by Rosemary Clarke

The rush of the wind in your hair as you push the speedometer up

to the great '70s then 80s then 90s and on and on the freedom of it all,

flying faster and faster; how fast can you go beating speed, racing time,

empty road all of them cowering indoors, THIS IS YOUR TIME! 

Faster and faster no rules just speed, speed on and on. No limits...

Why stopped?  Where are you?  Who are they?  Wow! 

 Such brightness orange and yellow and black and there's a car on its' side...not yours...

this is red and who's that?

The police found your twisted body bleeding into your precious machine.

You can die of more than Covid-19.

Copyright Rosemary Clarke

SONNETS FROM THE PORTUGESE

SONNETS FROM THE PORTUGESE

NO 43 TRANSLATED

By Peter Woodgate

Why do I hate you? Let me make a list,

I hate you to the height and breadth and depth

That you can sink to when you come home pissed

With greasy hair and awful smelly breath.

I hate you to the level of every nights

Torment, when your snoring keeps me awake,

Or when you’re wrong but still insist you’re right

And when you burp out loud whilst eating steak.

I hate your ear and nasal hair, seldom cut,

And clippings round the bath from sweaty toes,

I hate you when you remark on my big butt

And that awful habit when you pick your nose.

I hate your looks and God-dam horrid smell

And, should Satan choose, I’ll hate you more in Hell.

Copyright Peter Woodgate