Category Archives: Uncategorized

Every Piece a Memory

Rochelle Wisoff- Fields.  Friday Fictioneers.

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Photo by Sarah Ann Hall

Every Piece a Memory

Early morning when I am alone I think of you.
Do you remember when we argued in the flea market, and I bartered furiously to please you. My reward, a glowing smile and a hug like mulled wine on a frosty day.
You saw ‘must have bargains’ and I told you I couldn’t carry any more, you pecked my cheek. I was annoyed lugging them through the Underground. Now, every piece is a memory together, each one a moment when we talked. Each you begged for, and whether you won or lost, your collection grew with our unfathomable love.
I miss you.

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Last night I dreamt of Carmen.

Carmen. 100 word Wednesday

Good morning sunshine, you make my heart sting.
Cycling along to meet Carmen waiting by the falls.
My darling Carmen what secret do you have to tell?
I’m coming, cycling as fast as I can, I’m coming.
Please wait, I’m coming, I’m cycling as fast as I can.
What is it? What do you have to tell me, waiting by the falls?
I’m coming, cycling as fast as I can, I’m coming.
I see you smiling, crying. What is it? Keep away from the falls.
I’m coming, cycling as fast as I can, I’m coming.
I am cycling as fast as I can, tears rolling down my cheeks.
I wake, let me sleep, let me cycle. Every night Carmen waits.
I cycled as fast as I could.
Good morning sunshine. You make my heart sting.

 

Thank you to the readers.

A big thank you to everyone who downloaded a copy of “” Falling Leaves , “”during the promotional FREE period.

We (Lanark Writers) only usually sell a few copies of our work mostly to friends and family, but at the same time having a wider distribution is a delusional ego boost.

If you have enjoyed the poetry and stories let me know.

Once again thank you.

Character Absorption

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Image Credit Brooke Lark

Character Absorption – 100 Word Wednesday

“Mary sobbed, more dreadful news from Vietnam, and she switched off the radio. She dried her face, now she would make the same breakfast she had once shared with Abe.”
Elizabeth slammed the novel shut. ‘Wait!’ she rushed off and returned to the garden with pancakes and strawberries.
Like Mary, she tasted the sweet softness and warmth of chocolate, the cool refreshing juice from the strawberries and she wiped Abe’s lips with a napkin – Would they ever see him again?
“Mary’s hair, blown by the hot prairie wind, flapped around her face. She watched a dust cloud race across the plain and screech to a stop by the porch. A solemn faced priest and a soldier came towards her. She gasped.”
Elizabeth gulped and spilled her coffee turning the last page.
“It was Abe. Mary threw herself into his arms. The priest gave a small cough.”
Elizabeth sucked a strawberry through her lips.
““Mary Charlene Baxter, will you marry me.” Abe held out a glistening ring.”
Tears rolled down Elizabeth’s cheeks and mingled with the chocolate sauce dripping from her chin – ‘Yes’ she screamed.

 

 

A Secret Lover’s Diary

Three Line Tales Week, Week 88.

A Secret Lover’s Diary.

My intensity is afraid and when you read my words don’t judge me as a fool.
But every day I have written about my desires and dreams, and of your beauty.
Please; my secrets will remain invisible until you breathe life on my pages.

 

Short Story – New Appliance

New Appliance

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ArtsyBee from pixabay.com

Mary finished cleaning the kitchen sink and she gazed out of the window at the dull dark clouds. Rain was on the way and everything seemed miserable as if her whole world had a screw loose, and she wasn’t sure how to fix it.

The fridge motor switched on and interrupted her day dreaming, its humming sound took on a rhythmic beat of da daa . . .  dum dum and she imagined herself in a Viennese Waltz cavorting with a tall Austrian Hussar and so she twirled and turned across the floor.

The hoover in the corner perked up. ‘May I have the pleasure?’ said Mr Dyson.

‘Delighted,’ said Mary and curtsied. She took the hoover by the handle, and they swept around the kitchen dancing to the music.

The sound of the fridge rumbled on as rain washed against the windows sounding like soft violins, the slow-cooker gurgled in delight and the kettle whistled as a flute. The washing machine shuddered out the bass of beating drums and the Dolce Gusto joined in with a whoosh, whoosh, sending aromatic plumes of percolating coffee into the air.

Mary skipped and spun, swinging on the arm of her handsome Mr Dyson as she moved around her tiny ballroom. From the clock, a cuckoo sprang out and trumpeted like a hunting horn as the timer on the oven played an allegro bleeping in consonance with the kitchen orchestra.

The house front door slammed. The music stopped. Mary dropped the hoover into the cupboard under the stairs, it groaned. She walked into the hall.

“I am shattered,” her husband said, “I’m completely worn out.” He gave her a gentle peck on the cheek and slouched into the living room where he slumped onto the sofa.

‘Did I hear our white goods singing?”

“No,” said Mary shaking her head, “besides that’s racist.”

“What!” he said.

“They are not white goods.” Mary undid his jacket.

“I’m too run down to argue.” He kicked off his shoes and laid back.

“We refer to them as appliances these days,” she said. She reached into his trousers’ pocket and pulled out a long flexi-cord that she then plugged into a battery recharging pack and switched it on.

“Ah . . . that’s better,” he said and closed his eyes.

Mary returned to the kitchen and made a call on her mobile.

A loud voice answered. “Mr Wong’s Magical Electrical Emporium, what can I do for you?”

“Mr Wong, it’s Mary.”

All the appliances in the kitchen gave a short gasp, the Dolce Gusto hissed, the hoover peeked out from the cupboard.

“Yes Mary, you need a replacement.”

“Sort of Mr Wong, do you have any Hussars?”

All the appliances gave out an expressive sigh, they were safe, she wasn’t disposing of them.

“You need a new man . . . why not repair the one you have?”

“Mr Wong, my husband is clapped out, worn out and completely flat.”

“We can fit a new battery.”

“It’s no use, he has lost all his energy. I need one with spark, style and stamina.”

“Okay, Mrs Mary I will bring a new one tomorrow, anything else.”

“Yes, there is a screw in my head that rattles and seems to be very loose.”

“Oh dear,” said Mr Wong, “sounds very bad, an emergency.”

“It is, an emergency. Oh, it really is, Mr Wong.”

“I will come very immediately,” Mr Wong laughed. “I bring new parts . . .  again.”

Mary put her mobile down, she grinned. There was always something special about the way Mr Wong fiddled with her parts. He was gentle and made her feel so invigorated that her whole world no longer felt so miserable.

Marie – Short Story

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Photo – Kirkandmimi – pixabay.com

Marie’s father has vowed to kill Carl if he ever returns to Italy, but after twenty years will his love for Marie prevail.

Read the short story – Marie

 

Selfish Betrayal

Three Line Tales Week 82

Selfish Betrayal

I am spirit and naked flesh, promised with eternal heavenly peace.
In a world filled with joy and gifts of fruit, in a beautiful garden of Eden.
However truth, in an apple core, reveals my skeleton on the evolutionary scale.

On the Road to Paradise

Three Line Tales, Week 80

I dream of freedom and traveling on the road.
In the morning I’d be ecstatic to see our new van waiting.
Please don’t wake me, I am living in paradise.

Falling Leaves – Anthology

Final Cover Falling Leaves Three

Available on Amazon – Paperback and e-book.

Falling Leaves – Lanark Writers Anthology 2017.

I have had this mad idea of becoming a writer and so completed a Creative Writing Course with the Open University in the UK a few years ago. The fun part was meeting other inspirational people with similar ambitions and we had some great debates on the merits of writing literature.
Once the course was over I self published my preliminary work in two books, more as a test to see what I alone could achieve, rather than go straight for the New York Times best seller – at this stage. (We are all allowed to have ambitions).

Two years later (because I didn’t know they existed previously), I joined the local writing group in Lanark and discovered, although they had been together since 1994, they needed a publisher. I took on the role and have now complete three books for them, the latest is “Falling Leaves.”

I wonder if this is what I’ve become; a publisher?

Editing and proofreading are controversial issues within the group and they insist on doing their own – (try making a slight change, and – oh dear – I am left wondering, what have I done?). I relent knowing they are a wonderful bunch who are set in their ways and it is all just a bit of fun.

Falling Leaves is available in paperback (wait for the price drop) and will be out on 4th Sept as an e-book.

I will be announcing the FREE period in September so you may all have a chance to read the complete anthology at your leisure.

If anyone of you great readers wishes an advanced PDF copy and, in exchange, are willing to provide an honest review on Amazon – (One stars reviews are better than NONE), please make contact. See my e-mail address at the bottom of the Web page.

One of my favourite pieces in the collection is by Edith Ryan. “The Elephant and the Bat”

It is a love duet between Earnest Elephant and Belinda Bat. It is six verses long in free verse, below is the first.

Dearest Little Furry Creature,
It was very nice to meet you.
Could we meet again quite soon?
I think of you, I start to swoon.
I’d like to hold you on my trunk.
For love of you, I feel quite drunk.
Write to say you’ll be my friend.
My love for you will never end.

Yours, Earnest Elephant.