Alone

Alone

By Phillip Miller

Tick tock, tick tock and the sound of passing cars

Is all I hear, sitting quietly, staring at the stars.

So many fill the sky at night, shimmering like precious stone.

I wish I were a star tonight, so I wouldn’t be alone.

Or, maybe a blade of grass, surrounded by others, standing.

A busy airport then, where planes are always landing.

How about a cherry? I’d go well with a dry martini.

I know! A sarong, yes, that hugs a tight bikini.

Ah! a pair of socks, no good, one without the other.

All right, a canal with locks, or a twin with his brother.

Forget wars, woes, and suffering of man,

Nothing destroys him quicker than ever loneliness can.

© Phill Miller

THE PLIGHT OF LADY CATHERINE

THE PLIGHT OF LADY CATHERINE

By Bob French

He turned and waived to his mother who was standing by the gate.  She had meant everything to him as he grew up.  But now it was time to break out.  The journey down to the fishing village didn’t take him long and once there he started to look for the ship that held the one person who meant so much to him.

As he wandered the coves, his mind started to wonder as the hours past, then, just along the coast, he saw it.  The Mermaid, Old Grey Beard’s pirate ship.  It looked deserted and forlorn as it gently rocked on the idle tide.  As he drew closer, he could see that it was tied up to one of the mooring jetties and standing on the deck were two people.

Old Grey Beard steadied himself as the weather-beaten deck rocked and swayed on the tide.

“Well, Missy.  Looks like your knight in shining armour, ain't goin’ to show is he?”  Old Grey Beard’s voice grated on the young lady. “Sun’s near gone down the back of the world for the day, which means, accordin’ to your promise, you belongs to me.”

Old Captain Grey Beard boomed out his laughter, sending the Seagulls that had decided to perch themselves on the old cabin roof, screaming and squawking into the afternoon sky.

“First thing you can do for me Missey is to swab the decks.  There be a  bucket over yonder and be sure to make a good job of it or there’ll be no vittles fer yer tonight.”

Lady Catherine had been on a ship bound for Jamaica to marry, her childhood sweetheart, Sir James Buckingham, the famous buccaneer and scourge of the Caribbean, but the ship she was travelling on was attacked by the dastardly and evil Captain Grey Beard.  After a brief struggle, her crew had surrendered. 

Old Grey Beard was going to throw the crew, and her, over the side until she explained who she was and what kind of danger he was now in.  The mention of Sir James Buckingham brought fear into Old Grey Beard’s crew and after an intense period of parlay amongst his rough and smelly crew, it was decided to drop her crew off at the first island they came to, but keep Lady Catherine until they reached Port of Spain, in Trinidad and Tobago, where they knew they would fetch a much higher price.

Lady Catherine realizing the situation she was in and demanded a parlay with Captain Grey Beard, in accordance with the Pirate Code.

“If no harm comes to me or my crew and you still have me captor by sundown today, I shall turn my back on Sir James Buckingham and be yours.  But, if my future husband rescues me before the sun gives way to the moon, I shall speak on your behalf and ask him to save your worthless soul.”

After much soul searching, Old Grey Beard slapped his thigh and yelled that he agreed to the terms.

“Now missy, pick up yonder bucket and start swabbing the decks.”

Old Grey Beard was a hard taskmaster, driving Lady Catherine to near exhaustion.  Then, as Old Grey Beard went aft to look to the horizon again, there was a huge splash of water on the port side.  Without thinking, Grey Beard quickly drew his cutlass and rushed to the side, expecting to see Sir James Buckingham climbing up the side of the boat, but there was no one.

When he turned around, there standing in front of him was Sir James Buckingham.

“Grey Beard you old scoundrel, how easy it is to trick you.  Hand over my Lady Catherine, or face the consequences.  I can assure you that I shall not be lenient with you if you should refuse.”

Old Grey Beard stood with a confident look on his craggy old face. By a stroke of luck, Lady Catherine and the sun were behind him which meant that  he could guard Lady Catherine and Sir James had to stare into the bright sinking sun.  He knew he had the advantage.

Before Sir James Buckingham realized the danger he was in, Old Grey Beard lifted his heavy cutlass and swung it at Sir James.  From then on it was a fight to the death.

The boat rocked, sending Old Grey Beard staggering across the slippery wet deck. The fight was fast and furious.  Blade clashed against blade, chunks of wood splintered as both men slashed wildly at each other, hitting the side of the boat.  Throughout this terrible fight to the death, Lady Catherine tried her best to move around behind Sir James, but Old Grey Beard was wise to her attempts and dragged her back each time.

The fight went on for nearly half an hour and Sir James could see the old pirate was starting to tire.

“Grey Beard you old braggart, yield, or I swear I shall run you through.” Then with a flick of his wrist, Sir James disarmed Old Grey Beard.  There was a plop, as his cutlass fell into the water.

“Wait! I have an accord with your dear Lady, who I have looked after until you would come and rescue her. She had agreed to speak on my behalf.”

Lady Catherine rushed into the arms of her lover, but Sir James was taking no chances and gently eased her to one side.

“Is this true my Lady?  You have struck a deal with this common, good for nothing pirate?”

“Yes, my love.  I promised that if he took care of me and my crew, I would speak kindly in his defence.”

“Aye, that’s it. Your lady speaks the truth, Sir James?”

“Alright you scoundrel, I shall abide by my Ladies wishes and save your scurvy skin. 

Just then all three heard a voice calling them.

“Cathy, Jimmy, Grand Dad, it’s tea time.  Come on your dinner is getting cold.”

Instantly, their imagination was dragged back to the twentieth century and their summer holidays.  Wooden swords were cast into the sea, and Grand Dad, who sported a neat grey beard yelled at the top of his pirate sounding voice.

“Last one in dose the washing up.”

They all leapt off the old wooden boat that had seen better days and rushed up the hill to the holiday cottage.  Another great day.

Copyright Bob French

France mourns

France pleure, nous pleurons avec vous.

(France mourns, we mourn with the people of France)

By Rob Kingston

They say there is calm now,
smells of spent munitions subsiding.
Lying around and ferried under a different blue the viewers and listeners, the diners and walkers.
One witness speaks of the bodies so high his wife could not climb over, 
another of explosions a block away.
Carnage the reporter says as a man mentions the sight of men in black entering a music hall with Kalashnikov rifles, he gifted a choice not to enter.
The news speaks of pierced body parts, an arm, a leg, a shoulder, so many dead, 120 the number that exist no more, rising, many many more the casualties of this next step in a new world war.
Flashes and bangs, whistles and booms, sirens scream as forces reign down.
Tears, shock, the misery on faces, much sadness heaped on a peace-seeking nation.
We now know some say why they chose Paris, some claim it is the fault of the west.
Others of ignorance by intelligent beings that choose violence instead, of democracy, though democracy to them has lost its edge to a world full of capitalist cronies who themselves choose numbers over humanity so's said. 
We are left to pick up pieces of what is left behind, we will grow stronger in the face of adversity. 
Hoping one day that the so called wise people are wise, seeing solutions instead of this continuous cycle of violence and death. 
Nos pensées vont à tous ceux qui sont touchés, nous montrons la solidarité avec le peuple français et à leurs invités.

(Our thoughts are with all those affected; we show solidarity with the French people and their guests).

© Robert Kingston 14.11.15

Books I’ve read 01

Books I’ve read 01

By Jane Scoggins

I thought I would offer some ideas for reading by letting the bloggers know what I have been reading during the lockdown.

Hilary Mantel's 3rd book in her historical fiction series THE MIRROR AND THE LIGHT published in March 2020 (follows on from Wolf Hall and Bring Up The Bodies) It is the story of Thomas Cromwell, beginning in 1536 just after the execution of Ann Boleyn. It is a huge book expertly researched and written. A must-read for anyone who enjoys historical fiction.

Mind Your Own Business

Mind Your Own Business

By Len Morgan 

For two years Jon Ellery had let out rooms on the second and third floors of his townhouse, just across the road, in an area noted for affordable student accommodation. 

.-…-.

Evelyn peeked between the curtains.   He was a nice young man, neat and tidy, kept himself to himself never caused any trouble.

She’d watched students arrive, bright eyed and eager to graduate with honours from the local University.

 Her nose wasn’t always stuck to the front window like some. She was too busy getting on with her own life to watch the comings and goings of neighbours.  

 Her nose moved closer to the window now, as a procession of body bags were removed from the house, to a large black mortuary van.   Then, two pale emaciated patients on stretchers were carried to a waiting ambulance.  Finally, Ellery appeared in the doorway between two hefty police officers.

She’d always prided herself on being a good neighbour who didn’t pry.   What manner of atrocities had Jon Ellery perpetrated just across the road, safe in the knowledge that in England people can be relied upon to mind their own business?

Copyright Len Morgan

TREES

TREES

^{By Peter Woodgate}

^{Within the woods and forests,}

^{rain or snow,}

^{all are mankind’s saviour,}

^{this, I know.}

^{They help us breathe, of course,}

^{which we just take for granted}

^{alas, we cut them down}

^{so many more than planted.}

^{Natural propagation,}

^{it’s an uphill task,}

^{seedlings crushed beneath our feet}

^{are not allowed to bask}

^{within each season’s detailed plan}

^{or thrive in nature’s scheme,}

^{they do not fit or profit}

^{within our wealth, would seem.}

^{Yet, what reward surpasses}

^{a stroll through a woodland track?}

^{So much to gain in sight and sound}

^{within our senses pack.}

^{And what of vital rainforests}

^{destroyed without a care}

^{where multi-million lifeforms}

^{their havens need to share.}

^{I fear that we have lost our way}

^{priorities awry,}

^{the axe will swing, sap will flow,}

^{another tree will cry…..then die.}

^{Copyright Peter Woodgate}

 

How old are you?

How old are you? (A failed magazine snippet):

By Len Morgan

You may be surprised to learn that the person standing before you today didn’t exist eighteen months ago and bears only a passing resemblance to the person you knew, sometime in your past.

Nails hair and the surface of your skin is composed of dead tissue.   Blood and plasma cells live for about six months, soft tissue for approximately a year.  The cells making up bone live slightly longer, for up to eighteen months.  In fact, the only non-renewable tissue in the human body is the brain.   When brain cells die they are absorbed by the body and the brain shrinks by an equivalent mass.   All the old tissue is absorbed and excreted or reused in a cannibalistic colony of cells that we know as the human body.   In fact, the only living tissue you can see, when you look at me, is my eyes.

So, if you haven’t seen me for eighteen months you are actually looking at a different person, one you have never seen before.   Yet we recognise each other despite the changes; wrinkles witness that many cells occasionally replicate imperfectly.   As you and I grow older, all the cells of our body will stray from the perfection of youth; (our original stem cells).   The process is known as ageing. It is why we only have a finite time on this earth and cannot live forever.   Each successive replacement cell becomes a little less like the original, each mutating slightly from the pattern until the body is no longer a viable colony capable of sustaining life.   The brain cells live longer because they do not have to continually replicate, but even they cannot live forever.
 

Every time you get drunk, approximately a thousand (non-renewable) brain cells are destroyed – and the brain mass is reduced.

So, now you know why I hesitate, before answering when asked how old I am.    

How old are you?

Copyright Len Morgan