Poet?

 POET?

She picked up her #pen

to express her grief

at losing the bloom of youth -

her poems weren't great

and brought her no fame,

but they carried the #ring of truth.

FLIGHT

 FLIGHT

I’ve never seen the moon so bright

as it was that night

of the long watch,

shining through the slatted blind

of the side-ward window -

harvest moon rays lighting

the way for him to take his last flight

pain-free home.

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My first post on my blog for over a year, written following a prompt from @FromOneLine.

TIME TRAVEL

 

TIME TRAVEL

Dave and Roscoe were the acknowledged computer whiz-kids of their college, so when they announced they’d built a time machine, everyone was agog to try it.

Benny drew the first ticket. ‘Take me back to the fifties, when booze was cheap, and I’ll bring back a bucket-load.’

Laughing, Dave turned the dial, and they all waited. And waited. And waited.

Two days later Benny returned, unmistakably drunk, his arms full of bottles.

‘Guess you had a good time?’ Roscoe said.

‘I’m not going there again,’ Benny said. ‘They only have black and white television – and only two channels!’

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I've been AWOL from Friday Fictioneers for far too long. Life has thrown various obstacles in my path, but here I am now, hoping this select group hasn't forgotten me completely!

Thanks are due to Ted Strutz for the image and to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for running FF.

KENYA

They flew to Kenya

those boys just out of school

sent to ‘resolve’ the MauMau situation -

their legacy was sights and deeds

rarely spoken of

but never forgotten.

National Service taught discipline

people say -

it may be so

                                             but they were forever scarred.

 

 

WOKE

 

WOKE

Punch and I have been performing on Swanage beach for a century. I don’t look old enough? So kind. It’s amazing what a touch of lipstick can do – and years of covering bruises with greasepaint!

What was I saying? You’ll have to forgive me – memory’s not what it was. Oh yes – the Woke Brigade. They’ve decided we’re too violent. Can you believe it? Compared with the way those kids’ parents behave, a few head-bashes are mild.

Here we are, two pensioners without an income, and they’ve stopped our winter fuel allowance. They want rid of us.

That’s the way to do it!

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It is a month since I joined in Rochelle's Friday Fictioneers' party. I have had major surgery on a badly broken ankle, and my mind hasn't been in the right state for writing. But Sandra Crook's photo of Swanage Beach - I could hardly resist, could I? I spent a summer there 50 years ago, and have fond memories of my children digging on that very beach. There were even donkey rides in those days - something else that has gone, I suspect, with an increasingly obese population becoming too much for the poor beasts to carry.

This was us back in 1973!

BUNKER

 

BUNKER

We won our places in the nuclear bunker in a lottery. Five thousand people who’d bought the right to live and, eventually, re-populate the world.

After ten years I was too busy raising our kids to worry about the anarchy – no-one had thought to stock birth control pills.

The building contractors hadn’t followed the specifications either, and things were always breaking down.

Ted and I were, naturally, the maintenance team, so we were first to spot fungus growing through the skylight.

“Get the kids,” Ted said, “I’ll grab some guns.”

If outside was breaking in, we wanted a head start.

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It's a whole month since I last wrote any flash fiction - life has been busy with family visits, a damaged ankle, and working on my next novel. I've kept my short fiction and poetry going with frequent posts on Twitter - @young_liz if you'd like to follow me.

Meanwhile, thanks to Lisa Fox for the photo prompt and to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for encouraging us to join her select group Friday Fictioneers. 

Next month I've been invited to join a small group of local poets to read our work at an Arts Festival, so my next job is to decide which poems to choose from my recently published book: Footprints, which you can find on Amazon along with my other books. Be aware that I'm not the only Liz Young out there!

 FIRE!

Yesterday, with my back door open, I smelled smoke. From my garden I saw smoke coming from my neighbour's upstairs window. Banged on the door, no answer, so I called 999.

The firefighters arrived just in time to save his dog.

It reminded me of ten years ago, when my daughter's apartment burned due to a candle and a wafting curtain. A whole month it took us to erase the stink.

A salutory lesson never to leave a naked flame burning, and keep your insurance up to date!

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And my poor neighbour! His windows are no longer blackened - the glass has all been replaced by boards, and he can't even clean up until the insurance assessors have been. His dog survived by a whisker - scorched but alive.