Feathers to dazzle
Cock pheasants show off to hens
Springtime wooing game
Every Sunday at dawn, March through to September, the Balderton Brass Band met up for a musical jamboree in a residential area. Their tone-deaf conductor, Jimmy ‘Spring Chicken’ Gilbert, delighted in aggravating his neighbours.
The instrumentalists — all octogenarians or nonagenarians — preferred to exercise their lungs from a sitting position, to put less stress on their knees.
“We will have a concert soon,” said Jimmy, just to keep the pensioners sweet until he’d stolen their souls.
On the bandstand, his tail twitched in time to the music and his retractable horns zizzed beneath his toupee. Off to the next town soon.
Dale, from A Delectable Life, has issued me with a challenge to write a poem about love in ten lines and produce a quote on the same subject. My fault entirely, as I’ve been busy issuing her with challenges over the last few weeks. Apparently I’m responsible for her new addiction to haiku and for her spending an entire morning reading 100-word short stories by Friday Fictioneers, as well as penning a piece of fiction of her own.
The poetry challenge has certain strictures that you can read about below, but first my poem, followed by a quote from my speculative fiction novel, which is presently under the submission microscope.
Shout love from mountaintops
Kayak over love’s waves
Sink into love’s deeps
Drown in impossible love
Passionate love without cure
Love supernovas consuming all
Such love slays commonsense
Insanity becomes love’s bedfellow
Love itself the aphrodisiac
Obstinate love without cure
“Life has fractured us both, yet we deserve love.”
– Sarah Potter, Counting Magpies
[*No obligation to take up the challenge, or time constraints, as that’s not how the poetic Muse works!]
Girls in pink gymslips
Fragile desert flowers bloom
Brief moments captured
Many thanks to Cindy Knoke for her kind permission that I use this image to inspire and partner my Monday Morning haiku for this week.
You can see her further amazing shots of Californian desert flowers at http://cindyknoke.com/2015/03/16/anza-borrego-desert-wildflowers/.
Consumed by slime and locked in haze, the forest wore a visage of enchantment. A once-loved spot in dank despair.
The odd array of outbuildings stared, open-mouthed and blank-eyed like a creature forever stunned. Not a peep from the birds, not an animal brave enough to show its whiskers. Even those of lightest claw or paw feared how the waterlogged leaves squidged underfoot and threatened to drag them under.
Then there was the wishing well, its waters a phosphorescent green, unmoving but for the coins tinkling in its depths; or was it the shifting of tiny bones? A child lost.
Many thanks to my dear friend, Sherri, who has tagged me for Tell 5 Secrets Blog Hop. Those of you who haven’t yet stumbled upon Sherri’s blog, do check out A View From My Summerhouse after your visit here, as it is a veritable treasure trove.
For the challenge, I decided to take five snippets from my early childhood and compose a 31-syllable Tanka poem for each of them.
Clipped copper beech hedge
divides half-acre garden.
~neat lawn, wild woods~
Small girl stands before curtain
watching midnight fairies flit.
Boy likes to show off,
his latest two words.
High-pitched squeaks ~ferocious beast?~
Shrew breaks out of cardboard box.
Never mind Dad’s lungs.
Cigarette cards stored in tins
bound to impress boy next door.
Bee stings boy’s bum. Bad timing.
Off to hairdresser with Mum
~latest auburn tint~
Girl swivels around in chair,
awaiting the rising sun.
Girl climbs up high tree,
determined to outdo boy.
On ground, far below,
cracked cases of horse chestnuts
remind her of broken skulls.
And now who’s the lucky person I’m going to tag for the Tell 5 Secrets Blog Hop? No less than the indomitable Blondeusk at Blondewritemore, who blogs every day and manages to make me smile often, with her wonderful turns of phrase and her ability to laugh at herself.
The girl stepped out from behind a beech tree, her hair a crest of gold. ‘Over that bridge lies forever-winter.’ Icy breath twirled out of her mouth, although she stood in the sunshine. She pointed towards a frosted glade full of broken stalks, clumped grass, and bedraggled seed-heads, all glazed with frost.
‘It’s in the shade, that’s all,’ I said.
‘I dare you to touch that stump in the middle.’
I crossed the stream and crunched over the white, sure I was heading towards the gnarled remains of an ancient alder tree, until it winked, yawned, and swallowed me whole.