1918 - Time Machine

 The Sunday Whirl presented these twelve words for us to use in a creative writing piece. 

waves cake strays strand churning spot buzz colors sudden flow early stirring

D'verse Poets has an Open Night too.

Time Machine.

I

The Kenwood—it was hers.

It shudders and buzzes

As it churns the thick mixture.

Given the chance

It would walk off the bench.

Did once.

It has a fruitcake mixture in it.

Granny’s recipe, by inheritance,

Mrs Kiers’ recipe, by attribution.

Butter, sugar, eggs, flour,

Spices, strands of peel,

Lots of fruit.  

No brandy, she was Methodist.

Finally, too much for the machine,

I take over the stirring.

The mixture flops, not flows

(fruitcake mix does not flow)

Into the paper lined tin,

And into the oven.

Then comes the aroma…

◊

II

The aroma coming from the oven

Is a time machine—

Suddenly the mind strays 

To earlier days—

To memories that come

In the waves and colours

Of a special spot, 

A kitchen in my childhood:

Her work-worn hands,

Her face lined by life,

Her practical frocks and aprons,

The patterned lino floor

Of the kitchen where fruitcakes

Just magically appeared

From her old gas oven.

Same recipe.

Same Kenwood.

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1917 - The Gift

 

MLMM Monday Wordle #491 
presents the following words for us to work with:

cash, huge, monkey, much, grin, shovel, birthday, carry, took, back, trailer, grab

The Gift

Why a monkey?

He stared inside the box.

Huge monkey teeth 

Grinned back at him—

A birthday present

From Uncle Leo in Botswana.

It tried to grab him and then,

Much to his horror,

It took a leap 

Up onto his shoulder

And perched there

In the manner

Of a pirate’s parrot.

Last year, Uncle Leo

Had a trailer full 

Of elephant manure

Delivered to his driveway

And he had to shovel it away

To get the car out.

Maybe the monkey

Was a step up?

Although it was apparent

That the monkey expected

To be carried everywhere.

Why couldn’t Uncle Leo

Just send him cash

Like a normal uncle?

The monkey was silent

On the matter.

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1916 - The Sirens of Aisle 3

 

The Sunday Whirl presented these twelve words for us to use in a creative writing piece. 

siren chanting startled pulse sighs night basket answers heart shape badge stay

The Sirens of Aisle 3

The list is very specific.

Fruit, vegetables, pulses—

All the things that please

The Heart Foundation

And bear its logo,

The badge of dietary approval.

But once there, basket in hand,

The rhythmic beat is heard—

A subliminal calling,

Like primal chanting in the jungle.

Unconsciously, as if in a trance,

The body answers. “Mmmmm….”

Drawn as if posessed,

Towards Aisle 3,

Unable to stay away

From the sirens who call it.

Sirens in the shape of biscuits.  

Chocolate biscuits.

Until, later that night,

When the groceries are unpacked

You find yourself startled 

To find things there

That you have no memory of buying.

A deep breath, a sigh,

But you have them now

And it would be a waste

Not to eat them.

Wouldn’t it?

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1915 - A Non-Prophet Organisation

 

MLMM Monday Wordle #490 
presents the following words for us to work with:

dashing, morning, bed, forecast, always, sighed, give, neck, head, warmth, laid, part.

A Non-Prophet Organisation

Morning.

A hand emerges 

from the bed covers

And turns on the radio.

The forecast is upbeat,

Promising sun and warmth.

The rest of the body,

Head, neck, shoulders,

Slide slowly from the cocoon

Where they have been hidden

From the morning chill.

No dashing here—

Glacial speed, give or take.

The curtain is parted—

Rain batters the window.

Rain!  As always, the forecast

Was wayward, off the mark.

He sighed, laid his head

Back on the pillow,

And slipped

Under the covers.

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1914 - Chains and Mud

 

The Sunday Whirl presented these twelve words for us to use in a creative writing piece. 

keys drumming rare morning lazy humming odd whispers open chain urge ghosts

Chains and Mud

They know, of course,

That their good life

Is supported by those

Living in chains and mud—

But living somewhere else.

Those living in chains and mud

And the ghosts of those

Who preceded them

Keep the machines

Running, humming along.

Money machines.

It has always been so.

On the rare occasions

Of friction, with radicals

Drumming up dissent,

Urging rebellion,

The barons dub them lazy

In pointed editorials.

Should those below

Wish the odd morning off

The tame press divides them,

Spreads whispers of betrayal,

And trust vanishes.

The chains remain intact.

Those with the keys

To open them

Have no intention

Of it being otherwise.

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