Tuesday, December 5

A Poem for Thursday...The Fall




The Fall

Watched rusty leaves turn brown
bend over in the autumn winds
hang on a little longer then fall
and lie in all their glorious
shades now safe from any
sudden squall that might
blow unexpectedly and hit
the birch trees. Old trees 
in the grove. Too tall for
this small garden.

Watched chestnut and oak trees
 against the end wall where 
conkers fall and squirrels
scurry to hide them all in
shallow holes for springtime feasts.
And acorns where striped wasps 
once flirted, laid eggs and changed
the cupped balls to magic creatures
we foolishly name galls. 

All this
from a saggy chair, through blue
painted doors, an autumn shawl flung
lightly round old shoulders. Recalling
the shout of children in the field
once young, now tall with lives
uninterrupted by the thwack of ball 
on bat or cry of yield.


Ahead of the game...it's only Tuesday.

Sunday, December 3

Lost.....and found.


I have a green cardboard folder full of my writing from the Thursday morning group at The Gateway in Warrington.
Until Friday evening when I suddenly realised I had no idea where it was...it was just my Thursday folder...albeit packed full of years of flash fiction, short stories and quick poetry.
Then yesterday it dawned on me that I must have left it on the bus I took to get home from town.
The potter's mobile wasn't picking up so no lift.......then get on a bus.
But my pensioner's card is out of date..I know I should get it renewed and I only had a £10 note...embarrassing.
I felt ashamed...but thought that the driver could probably see that I was no spring chicken...definitely over 60!
After Cafe at The Oaks Community today we went to the bus station fearing for the worst.....but lo and behold..as the angels said...there was the precious folder still in it's linen shopping bag.

I just hadn't realised how precious those written words were to me.

It was my prompt on Thursday and I took a handful of old snaps to inspire everyone to write a five minute "flash fiction" with each one.
Fun all the way.
Here is my very..Flash...fiction of a poem....



She loved them all
But which to choose?
They lingered near
She made no fuss.
He threw his arm 
around her shoulder
She liked him
As he was a wee bit older.
But Stan on the end

Had money and house
And Bert was strong
Tho' feart as a mouse.
She turned them down
And lived alone
With ten feral cats
And a dog with a bone.

The best I could do in five minutes.