A Rat in every Port

A Rat in every Port – Three Line Tales

 

Photo – Timothy Meinberg  via Unsplash.

‘The Jellicle’ sails on the morning high tide,
Hurry Captain Growtiger, get on board,
and quick before Miss Kitty wakes.

Is She my Type?

Blind Date.

Street Art in Glasgow, Scotland

They said she’s nice, so don’t be late
You’ll recognise her beautiful smile
And she’ll be wearing the latest Prada style
My nervous excitement, on a blind date

I saw her, gorgeous, laughing at the bar
Dressed in fashionable hugging stripes
Enchanting, attracting extroverted types
Like a prowling stag, ready armed for war

There is something about the fading light
That brings out an instinct in my mind
A sort of sublime emotional mating kind
That drives survival, but perhaps not tonight.

 

 

A Cabin in The Woods

A Cabin in the Woods. 100 Words Week 7

 

 

Olivier Guillard

Adam and Eve ran away from disapproval and family shame
Where people pointed since their unmarried love was a sin
They disappeared into the woods to start their life again
Where they built a cabin and a home for future children.

They built it far away from the well-trodden paths
By a lake with bulrush reeds and darting dragon flies
that hovered in the air with warm dog-rose scented wafts
drifting in the idyllic afternoons under the cloudless skies

Where behind the purple rosebay ran the bubbling brooks
They washed and bathed naked in the clear shallow pools
Guarded and watched over by a parliament of silent rooks
As they dried themselves slowly with white woollen towels

Alas with naivety of nature’s fruits, a mistaken death cap
was added for nourishment into a warm mushroom soup
As they peacefully slept, in their veins ran the poisonous sap
And in drifting dreams their souls followed a heavenly route

After fifty years, there were no records of the cabin in the woods
Or of the skeleton lovers huddled beneath a blanket of dust
The mystery became a myth full of folk songs with solemn moods
of young couples entranced by forbidden love and mistaken trust.

Dream Lover

Dream Lover – Three Line Tales

Roman Kraft via Unsplash

My dreams of you are beautiful, and in mornings I wake shivering in cold fear.

I know you are watching me and today you’ve made your feelings very clear.

Choking and claustrophobic in this café, as my dream lover – a stranger – is near.

Life’s Neglected Past

Three Line Tales. Life’s Neglected Past.

Photo by Sean Tan via Unsplash

Our sunshine filled childhood days, we ran and splashed, swimming in the lake.
Those dream filled teenage years promising, as we sat dangling our wet feet.
Years gone, but have we become so dull and grey? Let’s leap naked into the deep.

Hollywood Star – Villanelle

 

Dance Lessons Boston

Hollywood Star.

When we met in the September’s heat one lonely night
They were playing soft Jazz in the Bertolt Brecht bar
Where she was sipping mojitos in the shadows of a flickering light.

I noticed her sulky red lips and her dress all glittering white
She asked me to drive her somewhere, anywhere not far
When we met in the September’s heat one lonely night.

The Jazz switched to latin and couples were holding tight
I said let’s Salsa and away from drinking at the bar
Where she was sipping mojitos in the shadows of a flickering light.

She crossed her legs, flashing her bare thighs for my sight
What happened here, she whispered and caressed my facial scar
When we met in the September’s heat one lonely night.

I said, it’s a sad reminder over a woman I lost in a fight
We could go to a room, she smiled and I lit up my cigar
Where she was sipping mojitos in the shadows of a flickering light.

She asked me for money, to help pay for her flight
As she told me of her dreams of being a hollywood star
When we met in the September’s heat one lonely night
Where she was sipping mojitos in the shadows of a flickering light.

Poetry – I am Clyde.

In the following piece I have concentrated on alliteration with a cadence and rhythm that mimics the flowing waters of the river Clyde. For the poetic technocrats you will notice I have sacrificed both metre or any form of iambic stress patterns and for that I apologise. Oh, for free verse!

I have adopted a lamenting tone of a lovesick character, but then you the reader may decide your own interpretation of the theme.

Sandy River Bank on the Clyde. Clyde walkway Scotland.

I am Clyde

I need you.

I confer with you my Clyde

Disillusion in my distemper

I lay lazy by your side

Pleasures past I still remember.

 

I sense you.

Fragrance clear as your falsetto

Odour sweet from an orchid flower

Timeless temptress I am besotted

Disinterred my soul you devour.

 

I hear you

Musical tunes a mysterious song

I relish the resonance and harmony

Oratorio orchesis flowing along

Whimsical waters dance the melody.

 

I drink you.

I slip and slide into your mist

I grip and grasp for air

Racing pulse and pounding fist.

Screaming alive in my aphonia

Bonnington Linn – River Clyde – Scotland

I feel you.

Driven deep over worn cliffs

Enchanted silence warm embrace

Drowning in orgasmic bliss

Spiritual essence of milky lace

 

I was.

Flotsam flirting amongst the rocks

Thrown and torn my human waste

Morticians work the mourners’ corpse

To bury somewhere, in a pointless place.

 

I am you.

Sagacious spirits we are entwined

Now nature’s eternal souls

So I am you,

I am Clyde.

—————————————————–

Aphonia:    Loss of voice from hysteria.

Omniety:    The condition of being all.

Oratorio:    A story set to music, with soloists, chorus and full orchestra.

Orchesis:   Art of dancing or rhythmical movement.

Sagacious:  Keen in perception or thought. Wise.

A Girl on the Train.Short Story by James McEwan

On my journey by train into Glasgow yesterday I was reminded how anonymous we are to other passengers and seemingly invisible -unless they try and sit on your lap. We become strangers thrown together for a short period – and we sit in silence. Or do we?

I tried to capture this in a short story I wrote sometime ago where the interaction of sounds, furtive glances and seemingly disinterest is a cover for our instinctive curiosity.

Tell me what you think, can you envisage this situation?

A Girl on the Train.

(She Blew Me A Kiss.)

 

The girl rushed into the train compartment and she dropped into the seat diagonally opposite me, to my right by the window. Seemingly agitated, she looked out and down the platform as if searching for a friend or relative, who perhaps might wave. But no one was there. Rapid beeps preceded the closing of the doors and the train smoothly moved off.

Her red hair was tied in a ponytail. Freckles dotted around her nose, her cheeks were clear and soft. She wore a white blouse underneath a tight tweed jacket, a short skirt and her faint green tights stretched down her legs into the ankle boots that matched the light tan of her satchel. Early twenties.

A woman directly opposite from me shook her Hello magazine and we exchanged glances.

I returned my attention to the crossword. Four down, the colour of jealousy, five letters. Green and isn’t that also the colour of envy?

An increasing volume of a ring tone from a mobile telephone had the girl rummaging in her satchel. I looked up. The woman opposite lowered her magazine, tightened her lips and shook her head at me as she glared over her glasses. I tried to ignore her and returned to the crossword.

Six across, slight discomfort in the organs. Ten letters, try irritation.

The girl placed a notebook on the seat, before retrieving her telephone from the bag.

‘Where are you?’ She spoke into her mobile.

The woman opposite rustled her magazine to a new page and turned sideways.

‘Well get the next one.’

I stared at my crossword. What kind of boyfriend misses meeting this girl, with bright blue eyes? Seven down, an inferior assistant, three letters. Slave, no that’s five, try cad.

‘Carol, you always say that.’

Not a boyfriend then, perhaps it was just a friend with a lame excuse, and who had probably slept in.

‘No its Ok, I can wait in Starbucks, you owe me.’

The woman opposite stared through her glasses at me. Well don’t listen I telepathically glared back and clearly you should avoid Starbucks.

‘He did what?’ The girl stamped a foot on the floor. ‘Oh Carol he didn’t. … He did.’

The woman took a deep breath and lifted her hand to cover an ear. Perhaps she doesn’t want to know what he did. I do.

Three down, something rare or unusual, nine letters. A curiosity. What was it he did?

‘But, is he coming with us? … He is.’ The girl stamped her foot again.

The woman folded her magazine and shifted in her seat, she crossed over a leg and accidentally kicked me. Ouch that hurt, I telepathically smiled at her and rubbed my shin.

‘I’m going to ask Mark along, if that’s Ok?’ The girl continued on her mobile and looked at me.

The woman opposite mouthed sorry.

‘No harm done.’ I said and return to my crossword.

‘What do you mean?’ The girl continued her conversation. She glanced at the woman and then stared across at me. She shifted the mobile to her other ear and turned to look out of the train window. ‘But Carol he’s good looking and …’

Eight down, having no choice eleven letters. Involuntary, now that’s an interesting word.

I watched the girl’s reflection flicker in the window where her face appeared contorted by the diffractions of light and passing background.

‘No no Carol … Mark said what?’ The girl stomped both feet.

Oh dear, what did he say? Perhaps Mark is too good looking or perhaps he is a two timing selfish sort. The woman turned a page in her magazine and a picture, of George Clooney with a beautiful woman in an evening dress, smiled at me. Oh how the celebrities live their lives.

‘I never want to speak to him again.’ The girl hugged the satchel resting on her knees.

So many times I’ve heard that before. Nine across intended to mislead, six letters. Deceit, yes we all fall for the same old excuses.

She started to laugh. ‘I know … you should have seen him.’

So clearly he made a fool of himself, somewhere.

‘I know what an idiot.’

So you’re better off without him, he can’t be trusted and you’ll find someone else. Twenty-four down, influenced by proximity, ten letters. Attraction, what does she find attractive?

The girl looked at me. ‘Who should I invite?’ She said into the mobile.

Why not me? I smiled.

Next clue: four across, an impractical person, and eight letters. Idealist.

‘No Carol, he’s too old for me.’ She looked out of the window.

She’s noticed me, but surely we could try. The woman turned over another page of her magazine and I saw Michael Douglas with Catherine Zeta-Jones holding hands. It works for some.

‘I don’t care, I am not going to ask him.’

She has no sense of adventure, I am sure if she got to know me, we’d be a perfect match.

‘That’s what you think.’ She spoke into her mobile and looked at me. ‘I’ll tell you later … later I said.’

The train announcement called out, ‘the next station is Central Low Level.’

In a connecting glance with the girl I instinctively felt a mutual desire and a perception of more to come.

‘No way,’ she said. ‘I’ll meet you in Starbucks, bye … bye.’ She returned her mobile telephone into her satchel.

Sixteen down inspired with foolish passion, ten letters. It can only be infatuated.

The girl shouldered her satchel and left the train. Rapid beeps preceded the closing of the doors and the train started to move off.

Someone knocked on the window from the outside. It was the girl. She frantically pointed at the seat where she had left her notebook. I grabbed hold of it. The top window was jammed and I rushed to the next compartment. The girl was running along side the train and I threw the book out to her. She picked it up, smiled, waved and then she blew me a kiss.

‘Oh really,’ the woman said as I returned to my seat. She shook her magazine to a new page. Renée Zellweger was smiling at me from a picture, as if she knew why the girl blew me a kiss.

Stormy Love Affair

Over the last few weeks we have been battered by some tempestuous weather, some unfortunate people are still suffering the consequences of flooding. Two years ago strong winds damaged sections of my roof, but I must praise the insurance company for their quick and prompt reassurance.

Tempestuous Love Affair.

It was off the shores of St Lucia
Where Henry first fell for Imogen
As warm waters washed along the beach,
And on the soft white coral sand
Henry proposed to the besotted Imogen.

Their love was fuelled by Bacardi rum
With idyllic days beneath the Caribbean sun
of fun filled frolicking in the cooling sea,
and off on their honeymoon they sailed free
Embraced in the hot humid nights of passion.

Their journey took a northward course
Where snowflakes fluttered like confetti
In one dark silent night what Henry said:
Gave Imogen a fright and was terribly upsetting
She leapt through the air in flight across the sea.

A thunderous storm -free pictures

Their passion had swept into a whirling rage
Love melted into a cynical cold and icy mood
Biting anger turned to a torrid tempestuous swirl
That raced and chased across fleeing frothing waves
Raining tears and fighting as cats and dogs would.

Their gathering menace built to a mighty storm
That ripped off roofs from homes and barns
And tore up trees out from their earth fixed roots
As Imogen’s tears soaked into the sodden earth
The rivers flooded and poured water into homes.

Henry lashed out wailing all through day and night
As the land felt the flaying of his mighty force
Feeling the agony of the lovesick Henry’s plight
Since Imogen and gone forever and never forgiving
For that one dark night and of what Henry had said.

Thousands sat in homes flooded in cold darkness
Powerless to respond or intervene with nature’ way
They understood the pains of love’s broken promises
And waiting, praying for peace and their family’s safety
From the unrelenting love between Henry and Imogen.