Thursday, February 13, 2025

1353 - Nobis solis culpa est

 


Image by ChatGPT
It initially refused to provided one as it 'didn't comply with content policy.'

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

This weeks words are a pretty bleak lot: 

past, climate, water, trudge, sludge, sodden, despite, despot, rise, demise, few, inner


"Nobis solis culpa est."
(The fault is ours alone.)

They trudge,
Trudge through sodden fields,
Trudge through sludge filled ditches,
Searching for water, food, shelter.
Anything really.  They trudge because they must.

Children, crying, cling to their mothers.
The men carry the load, the inner one as well.
There is a permanent climate of fear,
There are predators, man and beast, in the shadows.

A rag-tag, rag covered, rag and bone army
Through bleak, grey ruins, they trudge on. 
The demise of their past dreams, past lands,
The wretched, stinking skeletons of a despot’s ego.

Few challenged his rise, most praised it,
Despite the obvious warning signs
They cheered his rise, ignored his words.
Where are they now? Vanished. Silent.
Do they regret? Do they too trudge?  
Probably.


The title is a riff off "Non Nobis, Domine" 
Where god is give credit for glorious victories.

Friday, February 07, 2025

1352 - Smoke and Mirrors

 


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

This weeks words are: 

touch, hum, flash, faint, gather, staff, tricks, head, snap, bits, cast, shadows 


Smoke and Mirrors

Act I.

Good Evening 
Ladies and gentlemen,
Boys and girls!
I have great pleasure in introducing
The Amazing Lorenzo!

A flash of light, a puff of smoke,
And a very dapper gentleman
With red satin lined cape 
Silk top hat on his head,
Magic staff in his hand,
Steps from the hazy shadows 
And bows to the audience
Gathered in the room before him.
The children are mesmerised
By his every unbelieveable trick—
Things vanish with a snap of his fingers.
The hum of the saw and the scream
Of his beautiful assistant, who faints
Halfway through being sawn in half,
Only to reappear, apparenty untouched.
Cards are cast into his hat
Only to reappear as bits of colourful silk.
And then, with a puff of smoke
He is gone, as mysteriously as he arrived.
Just the faint smell of gunpowder lingers.

Announcer
That was the Amazing Lorenzo!
Give him a round of applause.

Act II

Good Evening 
Ladies and gentlemen,
Residents of Utopia!
I have great pleasure in introducing
Lawrence Greaseball!
The next Member for Utopia!

Flashing lights, a loud drum roll,
The slick car-salesman type,
With his smile on high beam
A logo on the cap on his head,
And assistants and staff at hand,
Steps from the stage shadows 
Arms wide to the crowd
Gathered in the room before him.
The faithful cheer and clap
The cynics are alert for his tricks
Deficits vanish with a snap of his fingers.
The quarter acre block is no longer a dream
If he is elected as their local member.
Taxes will be cast aside. For some.
Jobs will not be touched, well just a bit.
In the land of milk and honey,
Life will hum along for everyone.
Thank you.  I love you all.
Cast your votes for me and all will be fine.
Then he is gone, as mysteriously as he arrived.
Just the faint smell of aftershave lingers.

Announcer
That was Lawrence Greaseball!
Give him a round of applause.



Thursday, January 30, 2025

1351 - The Fighter

 


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

This weeks words are: 

bell, mimic, blade, gaze, hills, jar, soothe, mind, stars, timid, beastly, sea


Elephant's Child supplied these words as well: Ripening, Turmoil, creation, vineyard, one.



The Fighter

“Only the dead have seen the end of war.”
— George Santayana

He has had enough.
He stands, gazing out to sea.
Behind, the hills comfort him, 
Vineyards with their ripening load
Offer a respite from the turmoil.
Above him, the stars look down
And also question ‘why?’.

For years he has fought the good fight,
But still they came, one battle after another, 
Mimicking the waves, a ceaseless creation
His spirit and blade were razor sharp then.
His mind dwelling on the futility of it all now.
For years he has fought. And gained what?

No bell tolls for the start or finish,
Nor any bells ring for the fallen he has held
As they too questioned why they were dying? 
He had no words to comfort them,
No words to soothe their troubled hearts,
Collateral damage in the unequal fight.

It was not for want of courage,
These were no weak or timid fighters.
But strong hearts were not enough to save them
The enemy, well resourced and ruthless,
Rebounds and returns, time over time,
A genie that will not be jarred or boxed.

He has had enough.
He stands, gazing out to sea.
Behind, the hills comfort him, 
Vineyards with their ripening load
Offer a respite from the turmoil.
Above him, the stars look down
And also question ‘why?’.



Thursday, January 23, 2025

1350 - Hindsight in Paradise

 


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

This weeks words are: 

enchantment, latch, apples, chatter, crave, catalyst, catastrophe, wings, gift, sing , miss, limit



Hindsight in Paradise

Long ago, when the Big Bang was still 
a recent and painful memory,
Birds filled the trees, to flutter, to chatter,
To sing, to flap their wings,
To do their regular birdy stuff.

Other animals roamed the plains
Sure, they killed each other now and then
But generally, it was a time of enchantment,
A time of sufficiency, a time without craving.
A time when every creature knew their limits.

Nothing could prepare this idyllic space
For the catastrophe about to be set free.
Man!  What a disaster that was.
Gifted paradise by some heavenly father
It was the catalyst for all the dismay to follow.

In retrospect, (Oh, hindsight, I love you so!)
Maybe it would have been different
With a heavenly Mother: not the dire consequences
Just unconditional cuddly maternal love.
These vengeful male gods just miss the plot.

I grant you that the weadling snake, 
Made temptation to lift the latch 
To the forbidden orchard hard to resist.
But consider life today if some bloody parrots
Had eaten the apples before Adam got to them?



Me? Bitter that the bloody parrots ate all my apples?

Yeah.

Monday, January 13, 2025

1349 - The Companion

 



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

This weeks words are: 

ruinous, cards, glass, alluring, spin, dirt, flutter, secrets, roots, ghost, glitters, web 


The Companion

"...with artificial intelligence we’re summoning the demon."
-- Elon Musk

The woman’s face,
A caricature, looks at me.
The screen reflects my face,
Old and lined, a glass pane
To the ruinous toll of years.

“Tell me about her,” it says,
Its tones alluring but mechanical.
It sifts through the cards of my life,
Shuffling memories like a dealer
In a game I cannot win.

It spins my stories with precision,
Pulling secrets from forgotten corners.
The flutter of her laughter,
The dirt on her dress,
The roots of my longing—
All woven into its web of code.

“What do you remember of her?”
It calls forth a ghost:
Her smile, her gaze,
Her accent, her unconditional love.
But no breath, no warmth—
Just an echo of what was.

And yet, I press on,
Clutching at the glitters of memory,
Is this counselling?  Maybe.
For even in this hollow company,
I find some solace,
A whisper of life spun anew.



Friday, January 10, 2025

1348 - Reflections

 


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

This weeks words are: 

splinter, steaming, shadows, old, mirror, rose, honey, crow, edge, gaze, stone, ghosts 


Reflections.

How do I confront aging? With a wonder and a terror. 
-- Keanu Reeves

I don’t like mirrors.
They should be splintered, damned.
At best, left to the bathroom’s steaming effects.
Each day I see the world but not as it sees me
Rose tinted glasses, milk and honey.
I gaze at young girls and enjoy their beauty
They see me and think he’s a nice old guy.
At my age I am on the edge of joining
The ghosts who inhabit the shadows.
Crows will sit mournfully on my headstone.
And so back to mirrors, inforced reflection,
This guy in front to me, who is he?
Where has he been, and whence going?
The evidence is before me.
I don’t like mirrors.

Thursday, January 02, 2025

1347 - The Once and Future Sun

 


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

This weeks words are: 

constellations, flames, reckoning, ashes, circles, once, scribbled, narrow, blows, curses, future, three.


The Once and Future Sun.

"The universe seems neither benign nor hostile, merely indifferent".
-- Carl Sagan

At night, away from the lights,
I am looking at the sky, marvelling.
There is so much of it. I mean lots.
I mean, it is seriously big.  Very big.
Three hundred billion stars in our own galaxy.
Almost beyond reckoning.  Mine certainly.
Stars, constellations, some pulsing and throbbing.

Hard to believe that the One Word of God
Was scribbled down in a small Galilee backwater
By a few fishermen and couple of goat herders.  
It is hard to explains such a narrow focus.
But I digress from the main topic, forgive me.
I don’t want things to degenerate to curses and blows.

Of course, our closest star is the sun.
I wonder if it is part of someone else’s constellation?

When a star dies, when the flames go out,
Do they leave ashes? And do they, phoenix-like,
Rise again, like Arthurian legends,
The once and future sun.  Perhaps life
Circles around again?  Or is the universe 
Doomed to a cold and still endpoint?
A celestial grate, 
In need of a good sweep out.

1346 - Fragments of Time

 


Elephant's Child prompts us to use 
beginning,  masquerade, towel, shadow, life 
and the colour yellow in a writing piece.  
I settled on three pieces.


Fragments of Time

As you ramble on through life, brother,
Through the good times and the foul,
Heed the words of Douglas Adams
And always take a towel.


In the beginning there was light;
So I’m told told; before my time, to be truly fair.
But you can’t have light without creating dark.
And in the shadows…well, demons lurk in there.


We are all imposters in life’s silly masquarade
So, if some wretch decides to call your bluff—
Hold your ground, hold his eye, and shout:
Yellow card, umpire!  Send the bastard off!