Short stories and Poems

May 18, 2021

Dance of the Butterflies A semi-circle bay of liquid turquoise as still as a deep secret and barely a sound as the languid waves touched the pebbled beach. It was so much warmer than expected; unneeded layers draped over our arms. Merlin panting; concerning us for lack of fresh water until we found a Jurassic filtered stream. All of us excited for his first trip to the sea All of us excited for our first day to be free. I’d only thought yesterday I was yet to see a butterfly, but as we walked the stony track to the car we saw a pair of them, unidentifiable by their urgency. Enchanted by each others’ spirit they were trapped in their frenzied jive of spring. Unable to leave each other, or to leave the dance Unable to be completely released; unable to take the chance. Whispers of the Stones Imagining recollections of the lives of here The way they felt; the joy, the fear The mundane, their day to day The colours of spring, the winter grey The salty breezes absorbed in their bones Their secrets and memories whispered by the stones I’ve started an art journal! And these are the words I wrote to go with the mixed media art I came up with. It was all inspired by the first time we were allowed to leave the house for actual fun! We went to Tyneham Village – an abandoned place where everyone was evacuated for the Second World War, and weren’t allowed back. A short walk from there is Worbarrow Bay; and with the sun shining, the sea really did look turquoise. If you’d like to see our day out, I have started back on YouTube again, and it’s in this week’s video:

Rebecca in Rome

August 28, 2019

Rebecca had planned her trip to Rome since she was eighteen. Her degree was in ancient civilisations and the Roman empire captivated her imagination. Friends were supposed to be accompanying her, but their lack of money; lack of time; lack of interest, meant that she took the journey alone; her first time abroad….

A poem for Stephen

April 4, 2019

Our good friend Stephen is getting married on Saturday! (Photo above from Glastonbury Festival 2002 – Steve on the left with his best man, Mark.)

Mirror reflection - challenges of self love

The challenges of self love

August 14, 2018

‘Do you think I’m pretty?” The nine year old girl asks eagerly. Her parents had just told her older sister she was looking pretty that day. It was a compliment she had never heard for herself, and is keen to be included. Her cheeks are pink from the uphill walk and her face clashes with her red tracksuit (bought for comfort and ease of washing). Her parents don’t lie. ‘It’s what’s inside that counts,’ her Mummy says….

Silence is more beautiful than any song

May 4, 2018

After the entire restaurant hears a plate crash in the kitchen. When the final and most devastating insult is slung in an argument. When there’s an unexpected pause in traffic during rush hour. When you remember…..

I knew I should never have given her that fifty pounds

March 19, 2017

It was one of those freezing cold miserable January days. Everyone is depressed because the fun of Christmas is over and cold and flu bugs are going around everywhere and it was no wonder I’d caught it too. There was no-one at work to cover for me, so I trudged in, coat and scarf wrapped around me, and hoped I wasn’t on the perfume till near the door. My manager took pity on me and gave me the best spot at the back and near the heater. Amy must have forgotten I work at Boots on Mondays. Or perhaps she didn’t know – my shifts do change around a bit. Anyway, I spotted her browsing over the other side and I admit, my attention wasn’t wholly on my customers. She was at the makeup aisles for three-quarters of an hour! Has she not got anything better to do? She swatched lipsticks and tested eye-shadows and I couldn’t believe it when I saw her take a basket of expensive make-up to the tills on the other side. I knew I should never have given her that fifty pounds. It isn’t like I’m rich; it isn’t like I wouldn’t like to spend fifty quid on make-up for myself. How dare she?…..

Wrong Words (A writers’ group exercise)

October 28, 2016

‘Pass me the flibberdegibbet would you?’ ‘No, I was in here first.’ ‘You’re not even watching anything – you’re flicking channels.’ ‘I happen to enjoy flicking channels.’ ‘Oh don’t be an asparagus about it; just give me the galloping flibberdegibbet will you – the Eastenders ominous is on and we need to catch up.’ (…..)

pink alarm clock - a short story about Kurt Cobain

Insomnia

July 21, 2016

Here’s a poem / piece of writing giving you an insight into what goes on in my mind at night….

What is 50,000 divided by 30?

December 4, 2014

The answer is 1667. If you’ve just completed National November Writing Month, otherwise known as NaNoWriMo, then you’ll know what I’m talking about. For those of you who don’t, the idea is that you write a 50,000 word novel in just the 30 days which make up the month of November. Many people around the world get involved and local events are organised where people get together and just write. Well anyway, I decided to have a go this year and this is what happened….

There’s a hole in our kayak

October 17, 2014

This is a genuine post on our local Freecycle forum: “We have a very old kayak to get rid of. I don’t know anything about it except that it has a hole in it but still floats and that it is too small for my 6’3″ son to get into. It appears to be made of plastic. There is no paddle.” It inspired us at Writers’ Group to write a poem! Here’s mine…

You can’t trust March

March 13, 2014

This is a mini story I wrote in half an hour at Writers’ group last week. We were given the topic: ‘You can’t trust March’ and it had to be written in dialogue. ‘Oh I wouldn’t do that if I were you.’ ‘What?’ ‘That – planting out those begonias.’ ‘Why not?’ ‘It’s far too soon.’ ‘Too soon? It’s lovely and warm. I’m in a t-shirt.’ ‘But you could have your coat on tomorrow. You can’t trust March.’

A silly poem for Valentine’s Day

February 14, 2014

Can you guess who it’s about before the end? (This was just a little homework exercise with Writers’ group.)

Short stories and Poems

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