A Picture Haiku ~ Tanka 2
By Robert Kingston
We are a diverse group from all walks of life. Our passion is to write; to the best of our ability and sometimes beyond. We meet on the 2nd and 4th Thursday each month, to read and critique our work in friendly, open discussion. However, the Group is not solely about entertaining ourselves. We support THE ESSEX AND HERTS AIR AMBULANCE by producing and selling anthologies of our work. So far we have raised in excess of £9,700, by selling our books at venues throughout Essex.
By Len Morgan
Aldor entered the small room and looked down
at the bundle of blankets on the floor and the pale battered-looking face,
barely recognisable as Hestor.
“How is he,” Aldor asked.
The physician shook his head. “He has been cruelly tortured; it’s just a
matter of time...”
Though still fatigued from his exhaustive scan
of Zofira's mind, he made an immediate decision to enter Hestor's mind. He was met by confusion and anger at this final invasion. ‘It is I, Aldor’ he said gently and respectfully ‘I know you would like my head in a basket
but we have very little time. Do you
know what they plan to do?’
‘They are seeking the
death of my old friend Dan. I have
refused to aid them but they are holding his son Gavein. They intend running him like a puppet, to
use him as an instrument, to bring about the demise of the Empire and the
Emperor.’
‘Your mind can rest
easier, on that count, Gavein is back in the palace and safe out of harm's way’ Aldor assured him.
‘You do not
understand, she holds dominion over his mind and free will.'
‘I had suspected as much’ said Aldor, ‘is it a physical or chemical bond?’
‘It must be the
latter, she only had him for a short while; they used physical means in their
attempts to turn me, over a much longer period, and they were not
successful. Have a care Aldor, she is
ruthless and totally lacking in humanity.
I shudder to think what harm she has done to that boy's mind…’
“We know of it and
will wrestle him back from her, but at this moment our main concern is you.’
Hestor raised a grim smile, ‘No need for pretence with me Aldor, I know
the truth of it, there is just so much punishment an old carcase like this can
take, and this one has been pushed way beyond the brink. You would be well advised to vacate, as soon
as possible, before the spark of life extinguishes trapping you in my empty
shell,’ he warned ‘the man in black
has been standing patiently at your elbow these past few minutes, waiting
to take me at the conclusion of our conversation.’
Aldor smiled, displaying a confidence he
didn’t feel, ‘Dan knows you remained
loyal; even if you had not; he said he would still double your stipend and
increase your standing to induce you to return to his side. He misses you terribly and wonders how he
can go on without your wisdom and support.’
‘You are too kind, he will find others, less
argumentative Tell him I wished him well; and will wait to serve him, to the
best of my ability, in the next life.
May the wait be long…’
Aldor was forcibly ejected by the shock of his
passing. He stood shaken and unable to
move, for several seconds, then he glanced towards the physician.
“He’s gone!”
Aldor looked down at the man he had known for
almost ten years, watching his still warm flesh seemingly turn to wax before
his eyes. Slowly the man exhaled, and he
saw those bright intelligent eyes lose their sparkle, becoming dull and inert,
his life force had departed. He watched as
the physician closed the eyelids, for the last time, placing two small coins,
one on each of his lids, to keep them closed.
His eyes watered in silent absolution.
He hadn’t liked the man, discovering only at his death, the motivation
for his life vindicated all his past actions.
Hestor had been a good man.
Service to Dan, his friend and Emperor, had always been uppermost in his
mind; he had indeed been a selfless man.
A full
search of the building found nothing of interest confirming they did not
intend to return.
Aldor
cast his mind back to Zofira who had not known of this place, because of the
cell system, but he knew they would contact her soon that was not in
doubt. At this moment the needs of the
empire were more immediate; the games would start today. Today an attempt would
most certainly be made to end the Emperor’s life, and perhaps more than
one. He felt the weight. The safety of the Emperor, the Empire, and
the future of the Tylywoch rested heavily on his shoulders.
.-…-.
“I’m sorry your friend is gone, but your main
consideration now must be the Empire.
You must carry on in public as if nothing has happened, and do your
mourning in private” said Rhynor.
“I know you are right, he would have
counselled likewise, but to think I will never see or speak with him again
fills me with despair,” his eyes moistened and he turned away. Rhynor intuitively walked to the window
gazing out, beyond the gardens and parkland, to the city beyond. His eyes returned to the lake where he saw
nameless faceless people roaming its banks, swimming in the warm water, and
sailing boats with brightly coloured triangular sails.
“Life goes on” said Dan finally, putting
Rhynor’s thoughts into words.
“Yes,” he replied absently.
(to be continued)
Copyright Len Morgan
Peter Woodgate
His nose grew longer, will he
sneeze?
Oh no, it’s just the latest
slease.
A penalty, it seemed to most,
But just in time, he moved the
post.
Oh Boris, forgot there’s V.A.R?
You cannot move the posts that
far.
The referee, (the opposition)
Have caused this rather glum
position.
They have wingers who just dribble
Whilst the home team gladly
fiddle.
To think I bought a season ticket,
Come on you cheats it’s just not
cricket.
Your players other teams will
dread
Their dreadful tackles don’t get
red.
For a blatant fowl not even a
booking
After the match some books need
cooking.
I despair those calamities time
after time,
They are certainly not a team of
mine.
But worst of all in my throat
there’s a lump
As Boris has now morphed into
TRUMP.
Copyright Peter Woodgate
by
Richard Banks
They are all here now: George, William, Frederick, Herbert, Mary-Anne, Elizabeth, Esther and their mother. Hushed voices by the bedside and in the room beyond. Don’t whisper. I want to hear what you say. Come on, you can be candid, now that I can no longer see or speak, almost dead, but not quite away. What do you really think of me? What have you discovered? Have you separated out the myth from the reality, or have I covered my tracks too well? Speak up now, I won’t be around for the funeral eulogy. What’s that George? - “
He was one of the founding fathers of Your grandfather also told a good story;
tales of Huguenot ancestors who fled from persecution in
In truth, we had outlived our usefulness. Machines now ruled - power looms that produced woven cloth more quickly and cheaply than we ever could. The old skills were no longer needed and we were cast aside to eek out a living as best we could. Many dropped down to become labourers or street hawkers. Others, like myself, stubbornly persisted in the old trade, hoping against hope for better times. Lucky the poor weaver who had only himself to feed!
Five good souls depended on me and a
sixth grew ever larger inside my wife. They were starving, and I was desperate,
too desperate to pass by an open window in a deserted lane. The sovereigns I
stole that day kept us in food and lodging for a month. It was my first robbery
and I vowed it would be my last, but in the absence of honest work I soon sank
into the residuum of
Three months later, I was seen leaving a
house in Stepney and pursued through the streets by a parish constable who knew
me by name. I gave him the slip in a warren of dark alleys and laid low in a
common lodging house, but there was little hope for me now. There was a price
on my head, and within days I was seized by thief-takers and taken to the
nearest police office.
The guilty verdict at my trial was as inevitable as the sentence of death which accompanied it. But the times were changing and capital sentences for robbery were often commuted on appeal. Accordingly, seven honest tradesmen of my acquaintance petitioned the Home Secretary and my sentence was reduced to one of transportation for life. At once I was full of hope and wrote to my wife, urging her to also petition the Home Secretary, asking that she and the children be allowed to follow me abroad. It was a forlorn hope, dashed almost as soon as it was conceived.
My brother came and gave me news that had
hitherto been kept from me; news that made me the most wretched man on God’s earth. There had been an outbreak of typhus fever in
the eastern parishes and two of my children, who had been lodged with friends,
were dead. My wife, despairing of the filth and squalor of Bethnal Green, had
left
I joined the ship at
At first there was much sea sickness and the medical officer was oft amongst us, dispensing calomel and other medicines. He bid us to be of good cheer and promised us fair treatment if we conducted ourselves like good men. Gradually the weather became warmer, our fetters were removed and we were allowed to exercise daily on deck. We had our sea legs now and were put to work swabbing and holystoning the decks, washing clothes and cleaning the privies. We worked hard and in return were given two meals a day, a gill of wine when the weather was inclement and lemon juice when it was fair. What greater irony could there be than we were now provided with the necessary things previously denied us and which we had sought to secure by our crimes.
On the thirty-seventh day of our voyage,
in worsening weather, we sighted the coast of
Occasionally, the tedium of our ordered lives was enlivened by the misfortune of others: two prisoners who fought at cards were consigned to the cramping box, a seaman fell from the rigging and broke a leg, an old pickpocket was found dead in his bunk and buried at sea. For the rest of us, misfortune consisted chiefly in the slow passage of time, which grew ever more oppressive to us.
At last, after one hundred and thirteen
days at sea, we arrived at Port Hobart, on the island now known as
My hopes were fulfilled seven years later
when I was given a conditional pardon and Johnstone took me into partnership.
He opened a new store on the far side of town, where I was not known, and put
me in charge. It was there that I met the young woman, a free settler from
In the next twenty years she bore me nine children, of whom seven have survived. As my business interests expanded I invested much money in their education. What clever children I have: two solicitors, a banker, an aspiring politician and daughters with wit enough to marry into good families. None of them know of my criminal past and none of them must know. God help them if it should ever became common knowledge.
They say that life is a journey. If that be true I have journeyed far. In my lifetime I have traveled from one side of the world to the other. I grew up in a country that denied me opportunity and condemned me to poverty and servitude. I prospered in one that valued the hard work of willing toilers. I exchanged the disease and destitution of the slums for the clean air and water of an unspoiled land. I have been a weaver, criminal, convict, shopkeeper, merchant and speculator in property. I was born a pauper, I die a gentleman. Much has happened. The journey has been a long one. Is it about to end, or is death just a staging post on some longer journey? Soon I will know what those on earth can only guess at; will see what those before me have already seen.
Not
long now. The voices by the bedside say their last goodbyes. A final prayer is
said.
Remember me, who journeyed far, and journeys on in hope.
Copyright Richard Banks
By Rob Kingston
climate change
the itch
I cannot scratch
autumn budget
heaps of carbon ahead
of the cop meeting
at the cliffs base
fallen rubble
keeps rattling
tired of the wrecking ball
the queen
issues a swerve ball
Autumn showdown
leaders at the cop meeting
spill the beans
in the green pages
who what when
an old man
a cross earring
waves in his bowl
Copyright
Robert Kingston
By Janet Baldey
None
of us can escape our ancestry, it follows us every step we take on our way
towards the end. But, sometimes, we
cannot even evade the ancestry of others.
This is what I have learned.
Right from the start, I sensed she was different. Special – as they say today. But that hardly mattered; from the moment she
opened her eyes and stared at me out of eyes so dark blue they were almost
black, I was caught and wanted her with all my heart.
The orphanage was quite open about her.
“She’s a difficult baby, you will have
to be patient.” The matron leaned over the cot and laid the back of her hand against
the baby’s cheek; her workworn skin starkly emphasising the flawless porcelain
of the child’s.
“Sleeps all day and screams all
night. Almost impossible to feed. Seems to hate the taste of milk and vomits
most of it back up. But we have managed
to keep her alive and she does have the knack of drawing one in. We all love her deeply.”
She sat back down and stared at us over
the width of her solid oak desk. My
heart was thudding in my chest as I returned her gaze. What was she thinking as she looked at us? A
late middle-aged couple, too old to deal with a new born - we’d already been
turned away by half a dozen other orphanages.
I fought against my body’s urge to cringe and lowered my lids to hide
the need in my eyes. I struggled to douse
my smouldering resentment; what did this woman know of the grief of six
still-born babies or the silence of an empty house that was slowly suffocating
the love my husband and I once had? I must have this baby. It was our last chance.
The outcome of that interview was pure joy but ‘be
careful what you wish for’ is a wise saw that never entered our heads as we
drove away with our precious newly acquired daughter asleep in the fastness of
her carrycot.
Difficult is
an inadequate word to describe the trial of raising Meriel. The orphanage hadn’t lied, she did indeed
scream all night and sleep all day, which did nothing to improve my husband’s
mood. She clamped her rosebud lips
against the nipple of every bottle of milk and a geyser erupted, drenching both
of us, if she was forced to swallow even the smallest drop. In the end, going against all advice, I
improvised. Like Meriel, I grew used to
sleeping all day and staying awake all night.
I also found that she would tolerate a clear beef broth and this way, managed
to rear her until she grew teeth and could eat meat.
But I don’t want you to think this was a
chore. Once we had established our
routine, she was a delight and we grew very close. From early on it was clear that she was
highly intelligent. She learned in a
flash and by the age of three was reading and writing fluently. She had many talents but dance was her
speciality and every evening I watched, filled with pride, as she flitted
around her room with an airy grace, her silhouette mimicking every move.
By this time, there was just the two of us. Albert hadn’t been able to get used to the
idea that she had special needs and his love for me wasn’t strong enough.
“Children must fit in with their parents, not the
other way round.” This became his mantra,
and one that I constantly ignored. At
last, during yet another row and infuriated by my adamance, a blood red tide
suffused his face. “She’s an aberration” he roared. Afterwards, he apologised but it was too
late. The word was out and hung between us like a dagger of ice. He left a few weeks later. I think he thought I would grovel for him to
return but he was wrong. I had my
daughter now and she was enough.
Meriel knew that she’d been
adopted. I remember the evening I told
her. I was sitting in my armchair listening to the music of the fire as it sang
in the grate and Meriel was sitting in her usual spot, behind the sofa. Her head was bent and she was crayoning
furiously. I chose my moment. The dark had already stolen the light from the
sky and I knew she would be in a good mood, this was her favourite time.
I patted the seat beside me. “Come and sit next to me sweetness, I have
something to tell you.”
She looked up but she didn’t move. Then she looked towards the fire and I knew
what was wrong. She wasn’t afraid of
much but she hated the orange sparks of flame that spat from the coals with a crack
as loud as a pistol shot.
So, I went to her and crouched down to her
level. I looked at what she was drawing,
a black and crenelated castle straining against a purple sky. I marvelled at
the detail and wondered where she had seen such a sight. Then, with an effort, I returned to my task.
“Although I couldn’t love you more, Meriel, I have
to tell you that I am not your birth mother.”
“I know.” She didn’t look up from her drawing.
How could she possibly know? But I didn’t challenge her, perhaps this was
the way she channelled information.
So, I told her about the orphanage and my lips
formed the old adage that she was a “chosen” child and that I loved her and had
never regretted my “choice”. On her
part, she asked just one question.
“Where did I come from?”
“I don’t know darling. I wasn’t told and I wanted you so much, it
didn’t seem necessary to ask.”
This seemed to satisfy her and we never spoke of it
again.
I knew that there were difficulties ahead. Soon I would be forced to send her to school
and she would detest that. Although she was now used to normal ‘office’ hours,
she still hated the sun and refused to leave the house if it was shining. Even on dull days she insisted on long
sleeves and kept a nervous eye on the sky.
Also, on the rare occasions we visited the playground, she avoided other
children and this worried me. I wanted her to socialise and not be ‘the odd one
out.’
When the time came, surprisingly, we had very few
problems. I had already primed her class
teacher that she suffered from a skin complaint, aggravated by the sun, and
arranged that she should not go out at playtimes. I also said that she had food allergies and
should only eat the packed meal I would prepare for her. I didn’t mention that her sandwiches were
filled with raw liver, because I knew that would be found strange.
Her other classmates seemed to accept that she was
different and largely left my little girl, sitting swaddled in dark clothing at
the back of the class, to her own devices.
Meriel was quite happy with this.
She was entranced by the school’s library and was rarely seen without a
book. Due to her superior intellect, she’d
hoovered up the children’s section in no time and was now working her way
through the junior adults.
Her class teacher, Miss Read, although slightly
baffled by her odd pupil, was quite amenable.
She did, however, voice her concern about Meriel’s social skills.
“It’s not that she’s unpopular, it’s just that the
other children avoid her. And, she in turn, avoids them. Would a birthday party
help, do you think?”
Meriel would soon be turning six, so this seemed a
good idea but when I suggested it, her eyebrows drew together and she shook her
head so violently her hair rose up and swarmed around her head.
“No. No party. No one would come. They hate me.”
“Why do they hate you Meriel?”
“Once a girl gave me a sweet and I was sick all
over her. And they say my sandwiches
stink.”
“Why did you eat the sweet? You know they disagree
with you.”
She looked at me and I shall never forget that
look. Her eyes were so full of sorrow
and anguish that I knew that I would protect her forever, with my life if
necessary.
“I think they are afraid of me. And, I ate the
sweet because I wanted to be like them.”
It was in secondary school that things came to a
head. I knew that puberty would be
difficult and I had already sensed a difference in Meriel. Restlessness, evasion, an inability to meet
my eyes, these were just some of the changes I noticed. In the mornings I would find her bed hardly
slept in and she grew picky with her food, although I made sure I gave her all
her favourites, raw beefsteak and entrails so fresh they were almost steaming.
One morning, the telephone rang and I rushed to
answer it. It rang so rarely I knew it
was important and my thoughts flew to Meriel. Sure enough, it was the headmistress. They wanted me to come immediately. Meriel had attacked a fellow pupil.
I followed the sound of sobbing as I hurried down
the corridor. Through the open door of an office, I caught sight of a tumble of
glossy curls and the slim column of a young girl’s neck, as white as alabaster
- except for the blood.
We were lucky. The parents didn’t want to take
further action; the girl had a history of bullying and had been in trouble
before. The biter bit, I couldn’t help
thinking as I sat in the headmistresses’ study.
The school were also more than happy with my suggestion that Meriel be
home-schooled. I chose the tutor. A
squat, middle aged individual, whose jowls seemed to fit squarely between his
shoulders. There would be no temptation there.
Above me, I can hear the faint shuffle of feet whispering
across the floor. Meriel is dancing, as
she does every evening and her appetite will be good. I worry that soon I won’t
be enough for her. I know that old Dr
Sanders is concerned about my iron levels and has prescribed Vitamin B
Tablets. He says that it’s just a matter
of age but I know better and am taking double the dose. I take off the scarf that I habitually wear
and start to cream my neck which is both wrinkled and deeply scarred.
Nevertheless, every evening I religiously apply emollients and afterwards dust
it with the finest of powders. I lower
the lamp and in the half-light my neck looks almost normal. Satisfied for now, I
dare not think about the future, I sit and wait for my daughter to come to me.
Copyright Janet Baldey
Sis Unsworth
I
often thought I’d like a pet, but not sure what to choose
to
give something a loving home, that has to be good news.
At
first I thought about a dog, but then found a few flaws
we
do go out an awful lot, and he’ll have to stay indoors
but
then I thought about, a friendly homely cat.
But
my family visit with their dogs, so it puts an end to that.
What
about a hamster, that may be just right
However
they’re nocturnal, and we’d only meet at night
I
thought about a budgie, now I’ve reached a certain age
But
I never liked to see a bird, trapped inside a cage.
At
last I’ve found my perfect pet, In fact he just found me
he’s
environmentally Friendly, I’m sure that you’ll agree.
He
stays at home when we go out, and doesn’t mind at all
We
don’t even have to feed him, or like a dog play ball
He
doesn’t pollute the atmosphere, and helps with climate change
He
really is the ideal pet, but now I’m filled with gloom
I
think he may be leaving me, as winter coming soon
Some
may find him scary, while others may just laugh
We
call him ‘Sid the Spider’, & he lives above our bath.
Copyright
Sis Unsworth