Through his mothers eyes

She watches, he, a picture of his father

beautiful and flawed

forever and always in her heart

protected, loved , adored

She watches, he, a picture of his father

beautiful and flawed

forever and always in her heart

protected, loved , adored


A world awaits, alone she prepares

first steps, first words, forehead kissed

hand held, knee scraped tears wiped

he – birthdays, Christmas missed


Held tight she wishes a life far more

than she can ever give

love overflows, it’s all she has

to pave his way to live


And seasons pass, she watches

he grows, eyes bright, unknowing

not realising what he does not have

the scars hidden, unshowing


Such pride she wears on tear worn face

a life surrendered without regret

to see him grow from boy to man

though her heart cannot forget


the life now passed her by,  in days

each lived but not her own

freely given yet taken too

by the man he has not known






Time and time again #writephoto

Sue provides the picture, the rest is up to you!


Sue provides the picture, the rest is up to you!

I walked past your window today

with it’s sun bleached glass and flaking paint

memories of fingerprints and noses pressed against it

as seasons passed slowly one into the next


Laughter long passed into time remembered like yesterday

Words lost like summers past

but clear as day I hear your voice

closing the window and heading in for tea


I stand and wait now as I did then

light filtering through roses wild and untended

a warmth like summer sun

from the heart and hearth within


and as I walk away I recall too well

how time has taken its toll

but memories live on where we turn to dust

and in our hearts are carried until sunset

Dripping with Drudgery

‘Tis the season to be jolly, tralalalalalalalala

Let’s do another month of M’s prompts shall we.

Slumped against the cold brick of the station wall Darryl pulled the ragged hood of his coat over his head and twisted open the lid of the bottle of white lightning cider gripped between his legs.  It fizzed invitingly as escaped snowflakes danced on the biting breeze and he took a deep drink watching the masses pass by.

“Funny lot aren’t they” he said passing the bottle to a dirty faced, fair haired man sat next to him.

He took a drink and passed the bottle back, yellow fingers taking a cigarette from a crumpled packet.  He pulled from his pocket.  “Fun to watch though” he said struggling to light it, eventually resorting to pulling his jacket over his head to provide protection from the wind.  “So many of them yet all so very alone.”

“Do you think they’ll ever be ready” Darryl asked the fair haired man as the snow started to fall more heavily.

“My Friend” he replied, a fat bottomed girl in a red coat dropping pennies into the cup at his feet.  “Merry Christmas” he shouted as she scurried on her way.

“There are days when I think they are going to get it right but sadly each time they fall so very short.”  He ran a sleeve under his nose and sniffed.  It really was rather cold, next time he would have to ensure he had a warmer placement.

“I think they could be quite great you know” Darryl said taking another drink.  He coughed as he felt it trickle down inside him.

The fair haired man laughed.  “You really do like them don’t you” he said drawing deep on the cigarette.

“Yes I do” Darryl replied.  “They’re fun, creative, passionate, excitable, caring and…”

“And they’re violent and careless and selfish” the fair haired man interrupted.

Darryl sighed.

“I know I know“ he said picking up the cup and tipping out the coppers into his hand.

“How much did we make then” the fair haired man asked finishing the cigarette.

“One pound twenty” Darryl said, sadness etched across his face.

“And there you see my point exactly” the fair haired man said getting to his feet and dusting himself down.  “All we need is a tenner, just a tenner and they’re in” he said sharply.  “But they don’t care mate, not enough.”

Darryl put the change back in the cup and took another drink of the cider.

“I’m going to give it another ten minutes” he said rubbing his hands together against the cold.  “I’m still on the clock and you never know, this could be the day.”

“Good luck” the fair haired man replied, “I will see you back in orbit, I really need a nice cup of tea.”

Thistles and Thorns

The things that hold us back…

Let’s do another month of M’s prompts shall we.

I’ve a tale I would tell, and it might do you well

To pay heed and perhaps give some thought

To the things that constrain and the things that we blame

And on which were eternally caught


They’re the things in our heads, that live under our beds

And that lurk when we wake late at night

Paralysed by the doubt and the voices that shout

they defeat when we just cannot fight


Or you think you’re no good and that one day you could

be redeemed if you just do not stray

so you live only just and you hope pray and trust

that divine you’ll be carried away


so we stop in our tracks and we always look back

never trying to push on ahead

and were tangled in thorns and our minds they get torn

cant make sense of the thoughts in our heads


and you’re lying there scared and your wholly ensnared

to the things you believe are the truth

now perhaps they are not but you’ve sadly forgot

how to look for a sign or some proof


Unencumbered you’d find that the world can be kind

and there’s joy to be found and much more

we can live, love and learn and eternity spurn

for there’s hope here and now, life galore

George and Alice

The old clock in the hall struck seven as George sat down at his writing table as he did every night.

Let’s do another month of M’s prompts shall we…this one is in response to the Weaving Words prompt.

The old clock in the hall struck seven as George sat down at his writing table as he did every night.  He opened the drawer and took out the pen she had given him on their 25th anniversary, then carefully took a sheet of the finest paper from a sheath and placed it on the desk in front of him.

He rolled the pen between his fingers and smiled as he read the inscription:

“My heart remains yours always.”

He pulled his chair to the desk, made himself comfortable and began to write.


My dearest Alice

Winter has come at last it seems, and the days grow shorter and we have had the first flakes of snow this evening.   Fortunately I have a good store of wood this year, and the new people on the Henderson farm have assured me they have plenty to spare should I run short.  They seem very nice, though I am not quite sure they are cut out for this life.  Time will tell.

I took a walk by the river this morning, the air cold and crisp and the skies blue with the feintest whisper of cloud.  Sadly the old bridge we built at Millers crossing has collapsed, and I fear age would insist that I am now well beyond repairing it.

Such memories it brought back and I remembered the yellow dress you wore the day we finished it.  It seems like only yesterday, and the smile you wore with it remains with me to this day.  As time passes it’s funny the things we remember and those we forget.  The smallest details of our life together I still recall and yet major events now seem like a story told to me by someone else.

Sometimes I do wonder whether I have forgotten days we spent together, yet my heart remains full of those that are still so clear to me.

My heart remains yours always


Gently placing the pen on the desk George then folded the paper and placed it in an envelope that he pulled from the bottom drawer.  Sealing it he then took a bundle of identical envelopes and slowly unknotted the string that bound them together.

Taking up the pen he wrote ‘Alice’ on the front and then bundled it with the others, refastening them together with the old coarse string and placing them back in the drawer.

He smiled as he stood from the desk, pushed the chair back in and turned out the light.

It had been a good day, she would have enjoyed it he thought smiling to himself as he climbed the stairs to bed.

A letter to my family – Daily Prompt

On Sundays I think I will on occasion re blog an early most which post of you will never have read.

For my darling wife and my beloved children.

I write this to you in a moment of clarity, which these days are sadly so very few.  They tell me I do not recognise you any more and that your names are lost to me, my mind fragile and my memories faded.  I write this with haste as I know not when the clarity will slip through my fingers.

Today, of all days, I remember you.  I remember it all.  A lifetime of memories too many to repeat and my heart swells with joy at the life I have lived.  The face of my beloved wife on our wedding day, holding each of you in my arms and the laughter – such laughter – of a life well lived and so widely shared.

Each and every Christmas is as clear in my mind as the day I lived it first, I recall each first day at school, each scraped knee, each lost tooth and every candle blown out on each and every cake.  I remember those special moments that I shared with each of you that I cherish while I can and that overwhelm me so suddenly that I am given to tears of joy. 

To my beautiful children, the pride I felt as you grew and blossomed and built lives of your own fills me now as it did every day watching you.  To my wife, my love, my friend , my everything you were my inspiration and my light and I would gladly give every day I have left for just one more walk with you arm in arm.

Do not remember me as I am but rather as I was, and I ask that you mourn not the loss but rather savour each moment we have lived and loved and laughed.

They tell me that you may be here later, it is my Birthday after all, though alas I fear by then I will be lost to you again.  If that is so then I would have you know that I will love each of you always, and in my heart I remember you.


The place where he once sat

In her final few years, her family now long gone,  she would simply sit and watch the seasons change from her chair in front of the window.

The challenge…In 99 words (no more, no less) write a story about a chair on a porch. Why is it there, and what might it mean? Think about using it as a prop or the main thrust of your story.

The deadline for the piece has passed but I figured I’d write it anyway.  


In her final few years, her family now long gone,  she would simply sit and watch the seasons change from her chair in front of the window.

As memories faded into nothing, time racing by unrelenting, neighbourhood children passed by and waved occasionally before running off excitedly.  Spring enticed summer, and autumn blew away into winter and always she watched.

When snow fell she would pull a small blanket across her knees.   It was the one he had given her all those years ago.  Before he left.  She smiled to herself and waited, he would be home soon surely.

Spirit and Joy – Colleen’s Weekly Haiku Challenge #52

My very serious attempt at a Haibun is in there somewhere!

Courtesy of Colleen Chesebo, another weekly Haiku Challenge.  It is the 52nd weekly anniversary, so I’m going to have a crack at the haiku, the Tanka and the Haibun.  Congrats Colleen!



Moved by the spirit

Preacher shouts loudly in tongues

Joy makes us donate


Let’s build on that with a Tanka

Moved by the spirit

Preacher shouts loudly in tongues

thrashes on church floor

he having a seizure? No?

apparently that’s god’s joy


Haibun. I think this is how they go based on what I have read.  They can vary.

As I watched him lowered into the ground I remembered the things I no longer have and am for that I am grateful.  At peace, I remembered and was thankful for those who’s beliefs and behaviour has guided me and helped me find my own path.  As I say goodbye Late spring sun shines dappled through the trees and the distant laughter of children at play serves to remind me of what matters most.

Returned to the earth

A life so well lived and loved

memories abound

A breeze promises rain and as I walk away I am content knowing that there were few regrets and  the echoes of life will ring on until they are no more and replaced by those influenced by what has gone before but has been forgotten.

Light fades at days end

Sleep and pass into darkness

a job so well done


See, I can kind of do serious 🙂

Something different?

Harvest – 99 Word Challenge

Like at your own risk…

A Pinch of Happiness


Pic courtesy of Pixabay.

Badger and Fox

Badger appeared slowly from his set.  Sniffing the fresh morning air he had a rather pleasant and leisurely scratch and considered the day ahead.

In response to the daily prompt word:Amble

Badger appeared slowly from his set.  Sniffing the fresh morning air he had a rather pleasant and leisurely scratch and considered the day ahead.

“Worms might be a good start to the day” he mumbled to himself  “or maybe some bugs” he continued “i do rather like bugs.”

As badger decided on whether it would be juicy worms or crunchy bugs there came a familiar voice from the nearby bushes.  “Are you taking to yourself again my old friend?”

Badger knew that voice only too well.   It was fox, and if fox was about this early it could only mean trouble.

“What do you want fox?” Badger asked impatiently, his black and white stripes bristling.  “I was just going to go and have some breakfast.”

“Oh my good badger, no need for such grumpiness” said fox grinning, “it is such a lovely day and that is no way to greet an old friend.”

Badger gave a low growl.  “You are no friend of mine Fox” he said rearign up to his full height “either speak your mind or hold your tongue for I am hungry and wish to have my breakfast.”

Badger had long claws and a short temper when he was hungry, and fox knew too well what happened when you crossed a hungry badger.

“i have a proposition for you” Fox said smiling, “and it is one that you surely will enjoy”

“And what exactly might that be” Badger asked.

“Well you see” Fox continued “I know a place where you will find the juiciest worms.”

“Hmm” said badger.  “i do rather like worms.”

Smiling, Fox continued “all I ask is that you do a little digging for me, and in return you will have the most plump and juicy worms.”

Badger thought for a while.  He did enjoy digging, and he especially enjoyed plump and juicy worms.  “is it far?” he asked.

“Oh no no” Fox replied.  “Not far at all. In fact it is just over the brow of the hill and beyond the large oak tree.”

“That is not far at all” Badger replied.  “And I am yet to have my breakfast.”

“Perfect, just perfect” exclaimed Fox his bushy red tail swishing.  “How about we set off now then?”

With tummy grumbling badger followed Fox up the hill through the long green grass and over the brow and further on past he old oak tree.

After a short while the pair reached a small mound between two great sycamore trees which was covered in meadow flowers.  “Now Badger” Fox said, his eyed wide, If you would just be so kind as to dig through this mound here you will not only be doing me a huge favour but I believe that you will find some of the most plump and juicy worms in the wood.”

“I will?” Badger asked warily “And how do I know you aren’t lying Fox?”

“Oh my good fellow” Fox replied “I have it on very good authority I assure you.”

Badger’s tummy rumbled. “And why exactly am I digging?” he asked.

“It’s a new den for my family” Fox replied “but I have an ache in my paw and find it very hard to dig you see.”

It sounded reasonable badger thought, and with his tummy rumbling he began to dig.

Now badgers are very good at digging, much better than foxes – especially foxes with achy paws and it was not long until Badger had managed to uncover rather a lot of juicy worms, just as fox had promised.  As he chewed a particularly fat and juicy worm he asked fox “is this deep enough?”

“Just a little more” Fox replied.

Badger ate a little more and then dug a little more.  “How about now?”

“Just a little more still ” Fox replied.

“This is rather deep for a fox den” badger remarked slurping up an especially long and wriggly worm.

“it will keep us warm in the winter” Fox replied, his tail swishing back and forth in the morning sun. “okay, stop!” he shouted excitedly “That is just perfect.”

Nibbling on more worms in the freshly dug soil Badger backed slowly out of the hole.

“Splendid job, quite splendid” Fox exclaimed.  “i could surely never have dug so deep.”

“Is that it then?” Badger asked.  “All finished?”

“Oh indeed yes” Fox replied smiling.  “I can do the last bit of digging myself”

Badger turned and began to wander off.  “Thanks for the worms Fox” he shouted back.

Fox didn’t reply, he had already headed down his freshly dug hole and Badger could hear him digging furiously.

Badger ambled slowly back in the direction of the old oak tree, the warm sun spilling through the canopy of the wood in warm pools.

“Good morning Rabbit” said Badger as rabbit raound the old gnarled tree.”

“Goood day Badger” she said hurriedly “Cant stop, can’t stop for I have left my babies alone in the between the two great sycamores!”


Fancy something else?


Photo courtesy of tpsdave@pixabay


What has gone before

The slow passage of time

My crack at a 75 word piece on the picture of that rock up there for Friday Fictioneers

Before you I watched and I waited.  Before trees and ice and flame I was alone and the world was silent and time passed without record.

I watched you crawl into existence with so much promise, and I witnessed fleetingly your true light and the beauty within.

But having everything was never enough for you, and you were consumed by your desires and the darkness that lurks in your hearts.

I do not miss you.

75 words!  Boom!

Photo courtest of , c.e. ayr

Traditional – Daily prompt

“Bloody hell Charlie! his father shouted, dragging himself upright.  “Could you not just give me 5 more minutes like I asked?”  His head pounded and Charlie could smell the cigarettes on his breath.  “Why cant you just be patient?”

“Dad, dad are you waking up?” Charlie asked, tugging at his dad’s sleeve as he slept.  There were bottles strewn across the table and his father was still in yesterday’s clothes.  “I’m hungry dad and there’s nothing in the fridge.”

His father stirred briefly.  “Just 5 more minute Charlie”  he mumbled,  pulling away and turning his back sinking further into the sofa.

“But dad” he insisted, pulling on his father’s shoulder “you said you’d buy food yesterday and you never.”

“Please Charlie, just give me a few minutes and I’ll get up I promise.”

“But dad I’m so hungry” he pleaded.

“Bloody hell Charlie! his father shouted, dragging himself upright.  “Could you not just give me 5 more minutes like I asked?”  His head pounded and Charlie could smell the cigarettes on his breath.  “Why cant you just be patient?”

Charlie started to cry.  It had been this way for a while now, ever since the accident.  Things weren’t like they used to be when mum was still around.

“Please Charlie, come here” said his father, reaching out and pulling him close to console him and suddenly sobbing uncontrollably as he held him.

“Will it always be like this dad?” Charlie asked.  Memories of her were already fading and some days he didn’t think about here at all.  “Will I get a new mum or will we never be a family again?”



Want to read more of my stuff?  There’s a few links below you might like. There are aliens and zombies and poems and letters and loads more.