1326 - Alone

 

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

This weeks words are: 

breath, cruel, escape, river, away, sorrow, kitchen, licked, dust, whispering, spin, gown

Alone.

“When you lie in bed and cry, the tears tickle your ears”

– Margaret Kennedy.

The mind is not cruel

But it is not kind either.

It has no agenda.

It’s a landmine, waiting.

Everything is a trigger.

◊

Dutch irises bloom,

They were planted for her,

Her beloved white dogwood,

Unfolds its kissing flowers.

The wedding gown.

Nothing too fancy.

Laura Ashley, off the rack.

Kept safe. Packed away.

But now, what do I do with it?

In the kitchen,

Favourite soup bowls,

Blue, with a handle.

We used them every day.

I still do.

A bra…

(You have a pair of pants 

Why not a pair of bras?

But I digress.)  A bra

Hangs on a door handle

In her study.  Still.

Memories.

Gathering dust.

◊

Everything has a connection.

Sadness, regret and sorrow.

Tears that reach your ears

Puddle there.

Salty little ponds.

I lie in bed at night,

Warm but no escape.

I her her clock chime.

My fault, I wind it.

Voices whisper and spin

Salty memories.

These warm salty tears.

Not a river, a trickle

Remember when there was

A breathing beside me—

Like so much in life,

You never know when

Something happens 

For the last time.

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1325 - Roll Over, Supernova

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

This weeks words are: 

back, flash, vanishing, tap, top, trip, yearning, blind, sigh, vine, strong, fear

Roll over, Supernova!

The sun rose today

And will rise again tomorrow.

You can have no fear about that.

Well, perhaps just a little fear.

There is a small, vanishingly small

Probability that the sun

May just, well, explode tomorrow.

Strong chance that it won’t happen.

But it would take the edge 

Off an otherwise top sort of day.

Not even be a blinding flash,

No time to scream even.

Just a sudden onset of crispness.

No time to take back library books,

That trip to Japan, too late I’m afraid.

That yearning for the widow Smith

In the townhouse down the road—

Unrequited, that love.  Sorry.

But don’t sigh, there is good news:

The possums will not eat your vines,

That dripping tap on your to-do list,

Is no longer an issue. Nothing

On that list is any longer an issue.

But that is all about tomorrow.

Today the sun is shining.

◊

1324 - The Stranger

 

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

This weeks words are: 

scratch, bones, branches, gathered, blow, words, stone, stranger, keep, tilt, feathered, we.

I played with Haiku.  Probably Senryu, in truth.

The Stranger

Be not forgetful to entertain strangers: 

for thereby some have entertained angels unawares.  

– Hebrews 13:2

The wind was blowing.

Branches screeched on the windows.

It was a bleak night.

A scratch at the door.

A dark figure stood outside.

He offered no words.

Barely skin and bones.

A coat gathered around him,

To keep the wind out.

“What brings you, stranger?”

But it garners no response.

He stands like a stone.

“Come in, have some soup”.

He tilted his head, thinking.

Then nods and enters.

The coat slips open.

A glimpse of something feathered.

No answers offered.

Fed and most grateful,

He silently leaves again.

We may never know.

◊

1323 - Going Against The Grain

 

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

This weeks words are: 

Bliss, leaping, memory, particles, arms, breath, story, pieces, heartache, beings, thunder, called

Going Against the Grain

“If two people love each other there can be no happy end to it.” 

– Ernest Hemingway.

In due course

They will return your ashes.

How do I reconcile

Those coarse beige particles

With the memories 

Of your warm embrace?

Being held in your arms?

Your rhythmic breath

As you slept beside me?

Our moments of heartache 

And moments of bliss?

The joy of laughing

In thunderstorms?

Of walking in the rain?

Of lying in the sun?

Just being together.

My mind hops from memory

To memory, leaping, weeping.

The story called life; 

A kaleidoscope 

Of pieces, 

Tumbling, 

Falling,

Recalling.

And now?  

What does the future hold?

A plastic box of ashes.

◊

1322 - The Passing Crowd

 

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

This weeks words are: 

Vast, alone, silently, novel, wake, unable, secrets, world, river, darkness, face, ache

The Passing Crowd

In this vast world, I am alone.

A world that is full of people

Who have their own lives 

And are unable to see or be aware

Of the darkness others face.

In this vast world, I am alone.

Surrounded by strangers.

A river of humanity that flows past

Unperturbed by my presence,

Parting, passing, rejoining. 

In this vast world, I am alone.

They move past silently

Engrossed in their own thoughts,

Their secrets, their fears—inner lives

Behind their budded ears.

In this vast world, I am alone.

There is nothing novel in this ache.

People are afraid of the thought of it 

And, afraid it may bring discomfort,

They slip pass and leave me in their wake.

◊

1321 - Blight on Bald Mountain

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

This weeks words are: 

Demons, wings, flickering, heat, omen, dark, end, cunning,

shadows, unfathomable, gloaming, despair

Blight on Bald Mountain

By the pricking of my thumbs, 

something wicked this way comes. 

– Macbeth

The unlocking of demons,

Released by the cunning words

Of politicians with devious

Self-interested ends in mind.

Not unfathomable, to be sure.

In the shadows, the oil lobby

Gloats as their puppet

Does his dance, tells his lies

With a flickering, forked, tongue.

The unlocking of demons,

Cleaving to produce heat.

Heat to power us

Heat to chill us.

Heat to distract us.

Heat to kill us.

A dark foreboding wings 

Its way through those

Those souls who despair

Of man’s lack of wisdom.

The unlocking of demons,

The omens are not good,

The world enters a gloaming,

The demons are easy to define:

Strontium

Caesium

And

Plutonium-239.

◊

1320 - Haunted by Clichés

 

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

This weeks words are: 

tangle, surface, call, back, deep, room, kisses, edge, sense, sketches, silhouette, windswept

Haunted by Clichés

Silhouetted on a windswept hill,

Surrounded by a tangle of brambles,

The house stands clearly ill-kept

A sense of neglect, 

A dark, foreboding, shambles.

You get a sense…

◊

Stop a minute.

Was it always this way?

Could it once have been a home?

When did the rooms fill with dust 

And lethargic but hairy spiders?

When did the music just stop?

(Or, if not stop, at least move 

To dramatic organ chords.)

When did the laughter stop?

The love and hugs and kisses?

Did a family live here back then,

Back when it was not so dark.

Were there gardens?  A park? 

Did the trees echo with the calls 

Of birds and not bats. And children

Playing, running, sketching, giggling.

Beneath the niggling surface lies…what?

Deep, dark secrets perhaps?

But do they survive the sunrise,

When the sun edges over the horizon?

◊

1319 - Marrakesh

 

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

This weeks words are:

Sing, trembling, zigzag, connected, mind, silk, dreams, moon, prayers, crow, road, prophets

Marrakesh

Forget Rome.

Here, at sunset,

All roads 

Lead to the market.

An explosion

Of light and noise.

The smells,

Spices, warm,

Rich, beguiling.

Perfumes hint 

Of the harem.

Leathers and silks,

Food, aromatic,

Sweet, luscious.

Brassware. Stoneware.

Everywhere.

The noise,

Oh, the noise.

The call to prayers,

The call to buy.

Different gods.

The people,

Connected 

But disconnected.

Someone sings,

Some tout dreams,

Promise the moon.

Some are prophets,

Trembling in fervor,

The curious wander,

Zig-zag in wonder.

Crowds flow 

Or not.  Mesmerised.

No-one minds.

Time is not important.

It is an assault

On the senses,

While

On the roofs

Pied Crows watch,

Silent prophets,

Bemused.

◊

1318 - An Electrician named Roy

 

There was an electrician named Roy
Who was clearly a girl, not a boy.
There was some distrust
About the size of her bust
But her skills were the real McCoy.

◊

Written following a discussion about the possible gender 

of an electrician named Roy, coming to certify some work in my home.

The photo is AI generated.  No electricians were harmed

in the writing of this limerick.

1317 - Travelling Flat Out

 

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

This weeks words are:

air, embraced, pearls, perfection, turtle, altar, garlands, reveries, vanish, name, built, mist

Travelling Flat Out

The place where the story happened was a world on the back 

of four elephants perched on the shell of a giant turtle. 

– Terry Pratchett

From their expressions, you’d never have guessed

But the elephants were far from impressed.

While their air was of calmness and grace

As they surfboarded their turtle through space.

Their inner thoughts were contained and not spilt

About the awkward lifestyle they’d built.

But on the flat earth that balanced above 

The occupants showerd them with love.

They built sacred altars to adore them

Made flower garlands and then actually wore them,

And then danced naked in the light of the moon

Such reveries usually finished at noon.

They viewed the elephants with loving affection

And, with the turtle, considered perfection

To be clearly outlined, for everyone to see.

The universe was defined by what needed to be:

Celestial transport, willingly embraced—

A beast, twenty limbed and five faced.

But the reason for being of this craft

Vanished in the far mists of time, probably graft.

Someone received pearls, gold and myrrh,

To win a contract, lucrative you can infer,

To provide a cheap spacial transport

And the fine print didn’t name the sort.

So, this menagerie sails on through space—

Two creatures not known for their grace

And the flat earth above them, so supported,

Is right royally, and galactically, transported,

No matter what the physicists implore

Existence is nine tenths of the law.

◊

1316 - The Galaxy

 

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

This weeks words are:

jerk, void, breath, gap, vast, blinked, curling, sky, wish, wrap, edge, ever

The Galaxy

"The cosmos is within us. We are made of star-stuff. 

We are a way for the universe to know itself.”

-- Carl Sagan

The Milky Way.

Four billion stars.

As you lie on the grass,

Looking up at the sky,

Consider just how vast

Our curling, swirling galaxy is.

You can, if you wish, ponder why

Our curling, swirling galaxy is.

The answer is elusive if you try.

No answer satisfies.

To wrap your mind around

A problem that has no edge,

No sensible beginning.

Be it found in a Big Bang

Or a diety’s breath,

A blink of creation

A jerk of the time-space fabric,

Filling the void—

Both have a credibility gap.

Will we ever know?

Does it really matter?

Theoretical physics 

Is trumped by physical theories.

Live local.  Hold what you know.

Hugs are real.

◊

1315 - The Consequence

 

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

This weeks words are:

riddle, hunt, barren, bits, ominous, thud, grave, keys, box, drop, temper, secrets

They took me down a dark rabbit hole.

The Consequence

“How much more grievous 

are the consequences of anger 

than the causes of it.”

– Marcus Aurelius

The consequences of anger

Are so disproportionate to the causes.

That ominous rush of blood,

That fatal burst of temper.

He looked at the city before him

Hardly worthy of the name.

Burnt, broken, barren.

Scared, furtive animals hunt for food,

Finding bits here and there 

And defending them from the jealous.

Snarl.  Teeth bared.  The new world.

He walked slowly through the wreckage

A city that was no more.  A grave.

The drop saw to that.  Dropped in anger.

It did not fall with a thud. 

It did not even fall really. Delivered.

It delivered light.  

And wind. 

And heat.

And death.

How many died? he wondered.

Pointless speculation really.

That is the secret of the drop.

He knew it had dropped.  The riddle—

The riddle was why.  

Why was the genii released from the box?

Did it solve anything? he pondered.

The keys to the city

Have little value now.

◊

1314 - The Ephemeral

 

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

This weeks words are:

holy plains waters beats travel weeping veins cradle rained taste brief glorious

The Ephemeral

Those glorious moments,

Those brief and fleeting moments

They only last a second 

But travel with you forever.

A brief play of the sun on waters,

A taste of a sweet Moroccan tea,

A mother cradling her young infant

The sanctity of the Holy See,

The long and sweeping shadows

Of the camels on the plains,

The drums, beating in the jungles,

The scent that follows rains,

The junkie weeping with frustration

Searching for her veins,

The mosque, so intensely blue,

You could cut it with a knife.

The tear shed at that ancient cove,

To mention but a few.

Those glorious moments,

Those brief and fleeting moments

They only last a second 

But travel with you forever.

◊

1313 - The Oasis

 

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

This weeks words are:

Spark, languid, opening, magic, hope, cross, clear, cloud, holy, birds, water, shadows

The Oasis

Happiness should be like an oasis, 

the greener for the desert that surrounds it.

- Rachel Field

A fenced garden.

There is magic here.

Spiritual, holy, hopeful.

Life is languid here, calm.

Trees, flowers, weeds.

A floral democracy.

Birds come.  And feed.

They are messy bathers,

But happy in the water.

Minor disagreements.

Lorikeets always win.  

Sparky bullies 

In rainbow jumpers.

Magpies at the back door,

Their beaks look mean 

But the eyes are pleading.

Noisy miners, commandos,

They take any opening

To dart in, dart out, 

Snatch and run.

Magpies protest too late.

Possums come too, 

Shadows in the night.

I hear them cross the roof.

The days can be clear.  Or not.

Clouds are there.  Or not.

It doesn’t really matter.

Nothing really matters here.

◊

1312 - The Biggest Adventure

 

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

This weeks (very awkward) words are:

Strategy, enemy, thieves, red, dragon, air, hint, water, rock, nest, face, channel

The Biggest Adventure

We travel not for trafficking alone: 

By hotter winds our fiery hearts are fanned: 

For lust of knowing what should not be known 

We take the golden road to Samarkand.

- James Elroy Flecker

The Punter

I’m planning a trip to who knows where,

To kingdoms across the sands.

Where the food is rich and the women fair,

Where philosophers learn and understand.

Who will join me on this escapade?

Who will come to see what there is to see?

Life is too often a great charade,

Pack your bags and come with me!

A Man in the Crowd

How do we know that we won’t be killed?

The hills are full of brigands and thieves.

You hint of excitement, but I’d not be thrilled

To die in the desert while my woman grieves.

The Man’s Wife

Yes, how do I know that my man would return

And not be buried beneath a pile of rocks

On the plain where water’s scarce and air can burn.

At least here, if he dies, he gets a box.

The Punter

Surely you don’t guess that I want to die?

Your fears understandable, are unfounded.

‘There are no demons or dragon’s nests’ is my reply,

The trip’s well planned, the strategy’s grounded.

A Young Man

So what’s the point of this expedition?

Where do you go and what’s there for us?

The Punter

Life in a rut is a most deadly condition

Escaping from boredom is a definite plus.

The world is an exciting place, so come explore,

Who knows what delights are there, to see

To face, to marvel on some foreign shore?

Don’t rust your life away, come! Come with me!

Another Young Man

I take the point you so forcibly make,

Habit is the enemy of an interesting life.

We’ll all die sometime for heaven’s sake,

Who knows, perhaps I’ll find an exotic wife!

The Punter

Fine words, well said.  Welcome to our band!

Who else will channel their courageous bent,

To see red sunsets in some foreign land?

To sleep beneath the stars in a communal tent? 

A Third Young Man

I’ll throw my hat.  What will my parents say?

This is a chance to explore foreign lands

And I’m going to die some day anyway,

So why not trust in kind fortune’s hands?

The Punter

It is well.  We will make a fine team

As we venture forth into the unknown.

Most will just stay here and sadly dream

We brave few head off; the dice is thrown.

Epilogue

Out in the desert, where no-one goes,

Where all is bleak, just sand and stones,

And the wind moves the sand in rippled rows,

You’ll find a pile of sun bleached bones.

◊

1311 - The Cafe

 

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

This weeks words are:

clicking, whimsical, leap, poetry, songs, be, whirring, dangling, fates, talk, grant, storm

The Cafe

Cold, shivering, dripping wet.

The door clicks shut behind you,

Leaving the storm outside.

Coats are put to dry, dangling on hooks.

The room embraces you, warmly.

Behind the counter, within sight,

There is clatter and bustle, 

Orders shouted, in and out.

Bells ting, wait staff flit to and fro.

The whirring of the engine house,

This is what it is all about.  

The feeders and the fed.

Symbotic.

The smells of coffee and raisin toast,

Vanilla and cinnamon permeate—

Grant the room a separate warmth,

A thick poetry of the senses.

People sit, talking.  Conversations 

Leap haphazardly, fates are discussed,

The whimsical and the serious.

Songs and great novels are typed to life,

And some just sit and be.

◊

1610 - Call of the Wild

 

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

This weeks words are:

trample crack swept untethered hum urge scrawled bees sky ritual leap brambles

Call of the Wild

“People from a planet without flowers would think 

we must be mad with joy the whole time 

to have such things about us.” 

― Iris Murdoch

Hollyhocks, foxgloves, 

Daisies and delphiniums.

I do so love that word.

Phlox are there too,

Both the plant and as a collective noun 

For the floral herd.

Brambles too, of course.

The polite term 

For this feral floral fantasy

Would be untethered.

Untrampled, unswept, unleashed.

Bees, butterflies and other insects

Hum and buzz, crawl, climb and nibble.

Mother nature sees an opportunity,

A crack in the restraints, 

In the desire to impose order and ritual,

And leaps at the chance to run wild.

No need to urge her on,

The sky is calling.

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