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212 Archived submissions found.
Title
Thank You Guru (posted on: 29-07-16)
Beware the Guru's and pseudo messiah's. The worst ones are those who believe their own words.

I heard your word, I was motivated Taking on the world I felt elated Yourwisdom seemed as from the gods To forge ahead and sod the odds You sold your dream with messianic zeal Nothing's impossible you made me feel I could walk on coals of fire Soon achieve my heart's desire You manipulated my every emotion I thought that I could swim the ocean I chanted your affirmations, went for glory To be the hero of my own life story And when it started to go awry You told me focus harder, try Every effort, every penny I plunged into it Now I am bankrupt and deeply in the shit! (Thank you guru!)
Archived comments for Thank You Guru

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Terror Strike London (posted on: 25-07-16)
Read it here before it happens. This is the opening to my just completed novel

Terror Strike London By Anthony Flint Chapter One Hot Turkey In the top floor penthouse suite of the Istanbul Pasha hotel John Westaway carried a home made looking drone onto the broad roof terrace. It was a substantial ultra-lightweight machine full four feet across with a large propeller on each of four arms each coupled to its own powerful electric motor. It had the look of an expensive toy, like something an amateur film maker would use, except its purpose was lethal. This was likely to be Westaway's last active operation as a senior CIA field officer. He needed this one to go right then a comfortable posting to London as a liaison officer would be his. It had to go right. Westaway took his laptop with its attached joystick and tested the machine in safe mode yet again. He concentrated on each check feeling relieved that everything still worked despite the rough transport and the torrid heat. He glanced at his watch it wouldn't be long now surely? He checked his watch again a few seconds later betraying his nervousness. A twinge of excitement ran through him as he experienced the old, familiar tingling buzz as the time for action drew near. It ran from his hairline, to his finger tips, to his balls and down to his toes. That the machine would be carefully reassembled and forensically examined afterwards he had no doubt. Nothing could be traced back to America or the CIA there were no fingerprints and no DNA on anything. All of its components were easily bought on the Internet. There were no manufacturers' marks or serial numbers on anything. This strike had to be effective yet appear slightly amateurish, like the work of any one of the many warring factions in the region. The job could have been done more easily with a modern drone and a Hellfire missile flown from thousands of miles away. However America could not afford to be seen striking at the citizens of a friendly power especially when some of them were high ranking military officers. He looked admiringly at the rocket slung under the drone 'beautiful' he muttered to himself. It had been built to his specifications not that he was a rocket expert the explosive warhead was his field of expertise. He required only a short rocket motor because range was not a factor so a larger warhead could be carried. Around the two kilograms of commonly available military explosive charge was a jacket of aluminium slugs, lightweight but they would shred any human flesh within a hundred feet. In a confined space it was simply non-survivable. Westaway's phone rang 'Yes?' 'You ready?' 'Yes.' 'The last one arrived two minutes ago. Stand by' He cut the call. This was it. Game on. Taking the laptop back inside he poured himself a scotch, tumbled in a couple of ice cubes and sat down in a leather armchair. He knew he wasn't supposed to drink this near the start of an operation but hell, this was his bit of rebellion and he felt a thrill of childish pleasure. Slowly sipping his drink he let the smooth liquid roll around his mouth savouring its fiery flavour before swallowing; god he felt alive. This had been a long intricate operation with hundreds of intercepted e-mails and phone calls. The Pentagon and GCHQ in Britain had spent months of painstaking analysis, of plotting and planning. Bribes had been paid bugs planted and even a homosexual honey trap used in this cat and mouse game. Now all the pieces of the puzzle were in place; this was it, the culmination. Ten long minutes passed before his phone buzzed again the text simply read ''Pegasus Executive Travel. Thank you your flight is confirmed.'' It was the final clearance code though why his controllers found the need for coded massages when the phone was encrypted he could only wonder. He supposed it was that old habits die hard. 'Thank God' he muttered and went over the procedure one more time running through the details in his mind. After swallowing his remaining drink Westaway washed his glass in the bathroom wiping it dry carefully. It was time. ***** On the fourth floor of a shabby administrative building in a heavily guarded military compound on the outskirts of Istanbul was an incongruously clean and luxuriously appointed suite of offices. They belonged to Lily Pad Oil Brokerage Services though no sign advertised its presence. Around the boardroom table sat the seven directors holding their Annual General Meeting. General Abdulla Abdullah sat at the head of the table coldly eyeing his fellow directors his fingers slowly revolving a string of worry beads. When the monotonous voice of his colleague finally stopped Abdullah spoke impatiently. 'I think we can accept the minutes of the last meeting as a true record now to business.' He paused and fussily brushed a speck of cigarette ash from his crisp linen uniform. 'Last year was good as we know but this year is even better.' A self-satisfied smile spread across his swarthy face. 'The dividend for this the final quarter will be twelve million U.S. dollars each plus an extra six million for me as chairman's annual bonus.' He glared a challenge around the room feeling contempt for his four civilian directors. He needed their contacts and capital to finance the project and they needed his influence and protection from official interference. He raised his right hand 'All in favour?' six hands shot upwards. 'Carried unanimously.' 'The purchase of oil from Daesh at a third the market price continues to make us great profits' the general continued 'whilst the stupid Americans and their foolish friends dither and dally dropping a few bombs here and there we shall continue to prosper. Now that the Russians have involved themselves there will be further confusion, endless bickering and yet more dithering.' The general rubbed his hands together rolling his beads 'our customers at home, in Iran and Jordan are keen to buy as much oil as we can supply so we shall prosper even more gentlemen.' He glanced down at his notes as the board members thumped the table in enthusiastic approval. 'Expenses' Abdullah announced immediately silencing the room. 'The fact that we have to pay $1200 per truck to pass through the Peshmurga checkpoints is, I know, a bone of contention among some of you. He scowled sensing that the civilian board members were critical of his failure to negotiate a better deal. He lit a cigarette blowing a cloud of smoke towards the ceiling before continuing. 'If among our members there is someone who believes he can succeed with the Peshmurga he has my permission to try.' As he scanned them several pairs of eyes looked down towards the table. The general turned his attention to more domestic matters. 'The level of ex gratia payments among our countrymen still poses a significant drain on profits. Some people, who believe themselves to be indispensable, keep demanding more and more.' his eyes narrowed to slits 'I can report that arrangements have been made for certain people to be removed and replaced by much more co-operative officials' 'But surely the Minister cannot be...' one civilian director began to object. Abdullah silenced the man with a glare. He felt a surge of cold satisfaction and his glare turned into a mirthless smile 'Oh of course not Mustapha my friend' he spread his arms in a sarcastic gesture of magnanimity 'your dear cousin the Minister is far too important to be swept aside like some petty official.' he paused savouring the moment 'he has, however, recently been videoed in the er... 'in the throes of ecstasy' shall we say, with a very attractive young man.' Satisfied smirks and nods of approval went round the table. The Minister's ever increasing demands would, from now on, be curtailed. ***** Westaway pulled the arming pin from behind the rocket's warhead and a second from the rocket propulsion pack. He went indoors again closing the blinds against the bright afternoon sun. He sat down at the laptop and started the drone flying it up above the terrace rail the faint hum of its motors was barely audible from where he sat. He panned the camera downwards. The street was as busy as ever but no one was looking up. The penthouse had been chosen because the hotel was the tallest building in the district and was not overlooked. He swung the drone outwards then flew it up to five hundred feet. The co-ordinates were already set so he pressed the 'auto fly' button and the machine took itself the four miles to its target. Over the heavily guarded compound it flew unseen. Identifying the administration block Westaway made the drone descend rapidly then expertly slowed it to hover outside the window of the boardroom of Lily Pad Oil Brokerage Services. Below the guard on the door of the building heard a faint humming and stepped out of the doorway where he'd been sheltering from the hot sun unseen by Westaway. He looked up and for a second he stood staring, mouth agape, unable to believe his eyes. Giving a startled shout of alarm he clawed the Kalashnikov from his shoulder letting go a wild burst in the general direction of the drone. Westaway zoomed in the camera swinging it left and right. All seven targets were positively identified from the pictures he'd studied. 'Great' he muttered feeling a calm satisfaction at the certainty of success. On a whim he suddenly flew the drone in to six feet from the window. He wanted these bastards to see what was coming as the guard fired a second better aimed burst. Most of the bullets passed harmlessly through the space vacated by the drone but one bullet clipped a rotor. The machine immediately fell away to its starboard side the front dipping earthwards as Westaway fought desperately to control it. The camera swung crazily up and down for a moment and he caught a glimpse of the sentry grabbing at his webbing for a fresh magazine. The drone had dropped five feet below the window level. He corrected a yaw to port and eased back the joystick. The machine responded sluggishly to his coaxing and he blessed the hours of practice he'd put in on emergency drills. In the boardroom several directors ran to the window alarmed at the shooting staring down puzzled at the twisting machine failing to grasp its significance. Abdullah drew his pistol and cocked it as he ran for the door several yards to his right. Westaway saw the boardroom window now four feet above the drone and three faces suddenly reflecting the full horror of realisation. The ceiling of the office steadied as he canted the front of the machine upwards. He pressed the firing button and the rocket flew through the window bursting on the ceiling with all its lethal fury. The laptop screen flashed and went blank as the drone was destroyed by its own rocket. Westaway's hand was shaking his mind reeling. That had been a damn close call, far too close for comfort. He cursed himself for a fool why the hell had he not fired the instant he got the chance? Throughout the reconnaissance period there had never been a guard on the building but then General Abdullah had never been present until today. He felt deep relief that the rocket had found its mark but had it been a total success? Had the delay given any one of them time to reach the door and maybe survive? One thing for sure was that almost all were too far from the door to have reached it in time. The only one who maybe had a chance was the most important target General Abdullah himself. In the boardroom six of the most prolific Turkish oil smugglers and a multi-million dollar source of ISIS funds were reduced to heaps of torn flesh. In the corridor outside the boardroom a badly injured General Abdullah lay underneath the door he'd so recently slammed behind him. He moaned semi conscious the blood oozing from his shattered body. Outside on the ground one of the sentry's lifeless legs protruded from under a mass of fallen rubble. Westaway connected to the Dark net and sent an encrypted message after which he dismantled the transmitter equipment placing it in a suitcase along with the laptop, phone and the two arming pins. The specialist cleansing team would deal with that very shortly. Picking up an Irish passport in the name of Seamus O'Hare he took his unhurried departure. Twenty four hours later, at RAF Akrotiri air base on the island of Cyprus, twelve British Typhoons and six Tornado GR4's took off heavily laden with 500 pound Paveway laser guided bombs. From Incirlik air base in Turkey American bombers were climbing skywards and all around the Mediterranean French, and Russian bombers were becoming airborne. The Russians had cooperated at last and now a co-ordinated air strike of huge power made its way towards the oilfields of ISIS their mission to destroy the wealth producing wells that funded the jihadists. At Ajeel north of Tikrit in Iraq and at Qayara, Himrin and other key targets the oilfield workers had no inkling of the devastation about to be wrought upon them. At sea American, British and French war ships arrested a number of oil tankers carrying their illicit cargoes to refineries in Jordan and elsewhere. Only one tanker refused heave too when ordered. The Ali Wahid captained by a fanatical IS supporter defied the 'weak West' to arrest him firing on the would-be boarding party with small arms. The captain of the arresting American Destroyer saw no reason to endanger his mens' lives and ordered the boarding party's immediate recall. Seeing the boarding party turn away the men aboard the Ali Wahid were jubilant, dancing, waving their weapons in the air and shouting Alluha Akbar. Minutes later the American captain gave another order and the Ali Wahid was sent to the bottom with all hands by an anti ship missile. A clear message had now been sent to those who grew rich on the black markets buying and selling ISIS oil that they had no hiding place. In destroying the ISIS oil wells the head of the snake was being struck but the creature was far from being dead.
Archived comments for Terror Strike London
pdemitchell on 28-07-2016
Terror Strike London
Good stuff, Anthony, but it needs a bit o' editing as punctuation and continuity is off in places. Penthouse suites are usually on the top floor and if John carries out the drone he's no longer IN the suite for example. The repetitive techno-geekery in the opening paragraphs can also put a reader off and some nit-picky noodle like me could not find a real Pasha hotel with a penthouse rooftop balcony. May I suggest the following:



Chapter One: Hot Turkey

=======================

John Westaway had to suppress a curse as the surly bellhop contemptuously dropped the luggage to the floor with a thud and snatched the 100-Lira note out of his hand. As he locked the door and laid the suitcases carefully on the bed, he made a mental note to complain to the manager tomorrow as a guest booking the penthouse suite of Instanbul's most prestigious hotel should expect a better service.



He knew this was likely to be his last active mission as a senior CIA field operative so it might as well be in luxurious surroundings. He wanted that post in London as a liaison officer badly so he could not afford to make a single mistake - like shoving that cretinous bellhop into a dumb waiter for example.



It took him twenty minutes to assemble the drone and carry it out onto the rooftop verandah. It was a substantial ultra-lightweight machine nearly four feet across with a large propeller on each of its four arms. It had been built to his specifications from parts that could not be traced to any US suppliers and it had to look as though a local insurgent had constructed it - especially the lethal rocket that it would carry to the target.



~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ETC



This is a great first draft chapter for a spy thriller but it needs continuity, grammar and punctuation edit sweeps. Eg "The laptop screen flashed and went blank as the drone was destroyed by its own rocket." - no it wasn't destroyed by it's own rocket, it was destroyed by the blast so the sentence is illogical. I'm the same - rushing through the story but it is the edit after edit after edit that squeezes out the good stuff. Hope this constructive crit helps - I look forward to the next chapters! Onwards! Mitch



Author's Reply:
Cheers mate I appreciate the effort you have put in to reading this. Most of the points you make I agree with. The penthouse suite, however, was chosen because it was not overlooked not for luxury. Most of these suites have access to an open patio. I hope you won't find a Pasha hotel in Istanbul this is after all a work of fiction. Last thing I need is some bugger saying I'm connecting his business with the CIA. Dafter things have happened.

I shall review it in light of what you have said. One can get too near the woods to see the trees.Punctuation is not my long suit so I have to be careful I admit. The whole completed story is around 80k words so it will take me a while to re-edit it. The two friends who have read it have enjoyed it but one cannot rely on the opinions of friends.
Thanks again

Tony


Race For Life (posted on: 18-07-16)
A simple plea couched in a simple poem

Race to be first place, race to be best Mine is the best race to hell with the rest This attitude holds most worldly sway And living it causes horrific affray But God chose us over all other races We have to keep them firm in their places They choose a different way, one we find odd Using divers rituals to serve the same god And because they're born in another land We fain must dismiss them all out of hand Their skin colour's different, they speak a strange tongue We don't want them here they just don't belong Their skin may be different their accents seem odd But we shouldn't judge them leave that to their god And all join as brothers and share the same space We're all the same people just one human race Three thousand religions since time began All have been 'right' the top of god's plan 'We are the righteous all the others are wrong' Same tune, same words, same simplistic song Instead of jihad we need holy peace Nurture each other all troubles will cease Then if there's a god (which I seriously doubt) The meek will inherit paradise brought about.
Archived comments for Race For Life
pdemitchell on 19-07-2016
Race For Life
Yep - the obvious truth is out there. Reminds of Frank Zappa a tad... https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=li7FZ6E8HOo
Mitch

Author's Reply:
Wow Mitch thanks for the comment and thanks for the clip mate. I never knew that existed. Brill.

Savvi on 19-07-2016
Race For Life
I like were this is going Pronto and why not reach for it, all as per your usual high standard, very much enjoyed, Keith

Author's Reply:
Thank you Keith for your kind comment. I was inspired by a video clip of a hate preacher and thought 'I wonder what would happen if these guys pursued love and peace as eagerly as they scream for their unholy wars'? I guess we'll never know.

Mikeverdi on 19-07-2016
Race For Life
Everyone has God on there side...Bob Dylan said that. Nice piece mate. Maybe a typo on last line, second verse.
Mike

Author's Reply:
Hi Mike,
Thanks for the comment mate Yup every bugger's religion is right and they adopt the silly attitude that "If I'm right everyone else must be wrong" There are many usable paths to the well.


Half Way up a Rhubarb Tree (posted on: 15-07-16)
I love a wild day out in foreign parts!

Half way up a rhubarb tree in the mountains of Brazil I met a gorilla wearing shorts who said he was trying to chill I said my word gorilla sir you're a long, long way from home He said 'Yes sir I am on holiday piss off, leave me alone' So I wandered down the mountain side and found a lava lake I dipped my tootsies into it boy what a big mistake For it was scorching hot you see and ruined my painted nails And so I sang a lullaby to a school of flying whales Though I did my best to soothe them they instantly took fright And soared off up a waterfall to a nearby elf's delight His missus wasn't happy though, declared she was getting thinner 'I had my eye on a pair of those for me and the old man's dinner' Next I met a dragon whose fire had gone out When I lent him some matches he gave a grateful shout He flew me up into the sky where we had such fun We were shot down by a bully with a water pistol gun The dragon chased the bully boy and caught him in a cave He scorched him to a cinder a saying 'a lesson for you knave' Then I awoke I was sat astride a polka dot pink pony My mate was standing next to me 'More magic mushrooms Tony?'
Archived comments for Half Way up a Rhubarb Tree
sweetwater on 15-07-2016
Half Way up a Rhubarb Tree
Haha I guess I should have done, but I didn't expect the last line. Cleverly worded poem, enjoyed it very much. it's good to start the day with a smile πŸ™‚

Author's Reply:
Thanks you Sue. If it gave you a giggle I'm glad. I get dafter as I get older. πŸ™‚

pdemitchell on 19-07-2016
Half Way up a Rhubarb Tree
Ah hah - a secret afficionado of the psylocybin mushroom, eh? This ode planted that darned whimsical song 'hole in my shoe' by Traffic in my head or some reason... https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a77yHpjdUtU
Mitch

Author's Reply:
Ah yes I remember it well! Thanks for commenting Mitch and taking so much trouble in finding and uploading that clip.


The Wall Eyed Witch (posted on: 08-07-16)
Careful when you cast a spell the results may turn out none too well!

Myrtle would hurtle upon her broom Round and round her living room Knocking pictures off the wall Her eyesight wasn't good at all Myrtle was a cross eyed witch With casting spells there was a hitch Her wand was crooked as her sight So her magic rarely did go right The vicar called her a nasty name 'Right' said she 'I'll fix your game ' She drew out her witchy wand To blast him into the village pond Alas she missed and hit a horse In the dangly bits (Of course) Down the street tore the angry beast Into village hall and a wedding feast People yelled, taking flight As it smashed tables left and right Women shrieked, the children quaked The bride face down in her wedding cake Folk dived in panic through the exit doors One poor lass got hooked by her drawers As she swung from the chandelier Exposing to all her ample rear On raged the horse its rider screaming Myrtle groaned hoped she was dreaming Waved her wand to put things right Only worsening the plight She missed the horse and hit a cow Which caused a quite amazing row As it charged through a coffee shop Bellowing wild it wouldn't stop Constable Bobbins left his luncheon And pulling out his trusty truncheon Tried restoring peace and quiet But just got caught up in the riot Down the high street cow full pelt Caught a horn in the copper's belt Bobbins thought that he was dead As his fat arse bounced upon her head The cow and horse charged on a-pace Straight into the market place Overturning traders' stalls One kicked the vicar in the balls At last poor Bobbins he flew free Head first down the public lavatory With devastation all around The witch was nowhere to be found They hunted Myrtle day and night But on her broom she'd taken flight And as far as anyone can tell She's taking a holiday for a spell
Archived comments for The Wall Eyed Witch
Mikeverdi on 08-07-2016
The Wall Eyed Witch
Well it made me laugh 😂 Seems to be a problem with the loading, maybe needs an edit.
Mike

Author's Reply:
Thanks for your kind comment Mike and your keen observation. I've corrected the double uploading now.

stormwolf on 09-07-2016
The Wall Eyed Witch
hahaha excellent! I think this would sound really good recited!
I was carried along on the mahem.
Liked the double meaning of last line too.
Life is too short not to have a right laugh. well done.
Alison x

Author's Reply:
I'm glad it gave you a giggle Alison. It was just a moment of madness when I couldn't find the right words for a serious novel I'm writing. It worked, too. After a brew it all fell into place. (For now)
Thanks for dropping by.

Tony

pdemitchell on 09-07-2016
The Wall Eyed Witch
Eeh, Tony, I do like a wee bit o' whimsy me. The meter was out in places but it did not detract from the sheer fun. Made me smile - a rare feat! Mitch

Author's Reply:
Thanks Mitch the only 'meter' in out house reads the gas and 'lecky' Glad you had a laugh!
Tony.

sweetwater on 10-07-2016
The Wall Eyed Witch
I too had a smile as I read this, poor Myrtle, and poor horse!
I dont blame her for getting out of there.Like Alison I also liked the double meaning of the last line, rather clever that. πŸ™‚ Sue.

Author's Reply:
Thanks Sue for your kindness. I'm glad it gave you a laugh.

Tony


Forward Thirty (posted on: 27-06-16)
Forward Thirty is an imaginary scenario of the future EU. It is not aimed at any group religious or otherwise. It's simply a dream of a possibility.

Today is the thirtieth anniversary of the UK leaving us. Oh woeful day! My grandfather still weeps at the memory. Of course I wasn't born then so I've never known anything different. Grandfather said we used to be Christians but since the Muslims took over the EU parliament it's best to be Muslim. Oh I know we're not forced to be yet but if I want a job I have to wear the hijab and use my Muslim name of Rihana even though I was born Christiana. My parents keep telling Grandpa to keep his opinions to himself for his own good. He's an outspoken man who was born into a different world and rails against what's happening to us. Grandfather says the UK is now the only decent place to live in Europe but of course they don't just take anyone these days. They have a strict point's based system which, sadly, we do not qualify for. My eighteenth birthday yesterday was also my second wedding anniversary and Abdullah and I celebrated with a quiet meal at home. We can't afford expensive meals in restaurants now that little Mohammed is one and growing out of clothes by the week. I'm pregnant again so money will get even tighter soon. Abdullah is a decent, hard working husband but, as a convert, he only has access to menial jobs. He has erased his degree in Modern art from his CV as it is deemed 'undesirable.' Anyway with the closing of the art galleries and museums (ostensibly on economic grounds) there is no call for his degree any more. Still, we were lucky to get this caretaker's position as it comes with our flat. We are more fortunate than a lot of folk. Abdullah is very careful always to proclaim his faith and to show it by his actions. He never misses Friday prayers even when he's ill. I'm finding Ramadan hard to cope with during pregnancy but I'll manage somehow. OK I'm legally excused because I'm pregnant but the majority of pregnant women who were born Muslim observe it and look down on women who don't. I would hate to be denounced to the Mullahs as non-practising as that could mean the end of Abdullah's job. We would then be forced to live with grandfather in his tiny house. I worry about the great influx of people from and through Turkey now she is a full member of the EU. A lot of those people are over-zealous and are screaming for full Sharia law to be brought in. Already we have seen an increase in violence on the streets as the hotheads protest for change to their way. In Germany, according to the BBC, there are full scale riots between the right wing and the radical Muslim groups. Bloodshed has increased and now the use of firearms has been reported, too. Our Belgian media either make no reports or condemn anything that gets through as propaganda. I wish we still had access to the Internet but it was banned as anti-Islamic. War with Russia is a terrifying prospect but also a real one I believe. Boniakov their president is cracking down on Islamic protesters in his country even harder. We've read he's banned the wearing of Islamic apparel and the destruction of Mosques by the godless mob is a daily occurrence. Grandfather says it's lies put about by extremists out to cause trouble. I don't know the truth but I'm scared for the future. Russia is a very powerful country. News from the BBC, always decried as lies and propaganda, is that they continue to prosper. People freely choose their own religion and there are plenty of well paid jobs. It is said they have a huge trading surplus from dealing with the whole world tariff free. I know they have sent aid to the smaller struggling EU countries because my Danish cousin said recently that rice and grain was coming in sacks marked with the Union flag. The crippling inflation, grandfather says, is caused by countries that are unable to repay loans plus joblessness and corruption in high places. The Government says it is because of greedy international speculators forcing the Euro down. Since Greece and Spain collapsed and were thrown out of the EU the armed insurrection in those countries makes it seem the whole world has gone crazy. Anti-Islamic feeling in those places grows stronger with innocent people reportedly being beaten and even murdered in the streets. Turkey has threatened to invade to protect Muslims but so far it's been threats only thanks be to Allah. America and Britain seem reluctant to become involved in any way at all. They make pious noises about peace but do little else. Since the late Donald Trump was American president (Thank god he was assassinated) and almost caused a nuclear world war three their peoples seem keen to mind their own business and focus on domestic matters. Time to hide my diary now Abdullah's due home.
Archived comments for Forward Thirty
Mikeverdi on 29-06-2016
Forward Thirty
Ah....a world I have no use for. Well written piece showing the possible outcome, though hopefully not.
Mike
ps. Australia is looking good πŸ™‚

Author's Reply:
Hi Mike, I wrote this as a piece of mischief to stir the shit a little on another site to see what sort of reaction I would get. So far it's been 'interesting.' It is of course just one scenario from millions of possibilities. I think the EU will implode long before anything like that actually happens.

Thanks for your comment Mike.
P.S If I could afford to retire there I'd be off to Perth like a shot. πŸ™‚


Euro Cup Final (Free Offer) (posted on: 24-06-16)
I have a ticket for the Euro cup final but ran into a snag so first come first served.

I applied for a ticket months ago Never dreaming I'd get in But I was lucky don't you know Oh boy that was a win The football Euro finals match To watch the champions play But I'd forgot just one small catch It's on my wedding day I'm sorry but I just can't go So to take my place for free Quickly then let me know You can go instead of me It's at St Andrews in Lever Street Be there at half past two She's the nicest girl you'll ever meet Oh yeah, and her name is Sue
Archived comments for Euro Cup Final (Free Offer)
sweetwater on 26-06-2016
Euro Cup Final (Free Offer)
Haha, well I fell for it, did not expect that ending πŸ™‚ Sue.

Author's Reply:


Critic's Choice (posted on: 17-06-16)
We all take criticism of our work in different ways. Sometimes we thank the critic and sometimes we are cut to the quick by brutal honesty.

If I say your poetry's great Please don't reciprocate Just say what you think It won't cause a stink I will not shout or berate If you find my wit makes you weary If you think my poems are dreary If my purple prose Gets right up your nose Then say so no need to be leery An honest opinion's worth much Though it feels like a kick in the crotch If given false praise I'll ne're mend my ways And be lost and way out of touch Then next time we meet out on the street Say hi and ask how it goes In answer to that I'll call you a twat And punch you right on the nose (Yes I know the last stanza is imperfect. I have to leave something for the critics!) πŸ™‚ A
Archived comments for Critic's Choice
Mikeverdi on 17-06-2016
Critics Choice
HaHaHa! Love it! Yes it can be hard to take, but without it we never improve. As long as it's constructive, we all need to accept it's said in good faith, in the end we don't have to agree.
Mike

Author's Reply:
Thanks for the kind comment Mike. I knew you'd see the right of it Mate. The ego, especially the male ego, can be a little fragile at times. πŸ˜‰

sweetwater on 18-06-2016
Critics Choice
Hehe loved the last line especially. I think false praise is more unfair and cruel in the long run than fair and helpful critique. Ok critique can hurt if it's not what you hoped to hear especially if unexpected, but in the end if listened to, and the advice taken it really can help.

Author's Reply:
Thanks Sue
Thank you for commenting. Yup, we can all be a bit thin-skinned sometimes especially when we've put a lot of work into something. However if we analyse the criique we usually find that there is a valid point or two made.

Keep smiling

pdemitchell on 19-06-2016
Critics Choice
I does crit, me, as often as I can. No need here with the wry self-crit in place! Mitch

Author's Reply:
Thanks Mitch your comment/crit are always welcome. πŸ˜‰


Rat Race (posted on: 13-06-16)
An observation on the entrapment of work and how most of us are so busy earning a living we don't have time to make any money and thereby escape the rat race.

Once fulgent, verdant, fecund fields Overbuilt these centuries past Generations growing once flowing Now car-choked folk Pedester your disaster Seeking solace Where none is to be had Spirits scoured by acid rain Arteries of asphalt Canyons of clay Oven baked to biscuit brick Concrete corridors Funnel fools To where toil and turmoil rules Demeaned, demanded, commanded For paltry payment Struggle to the weekend Brief time to borrow Brief time to spend The very soul inured, endured Simply for existence sake In life-long lunacy Counting each weekend Each meagre jolly day, holiday Smile then at fellow fools Mask the misery Make merry the Yule But sing not too long This silly saviour's song Offering hope Where there is none All hope's long gone Freedom in another year Pension draws near Out to pasture To look longingly back At the life sentence served Unnerved Now that I'm free to be me I'm scared. Who was it I used to be?
Archived comments for Rat Race
Mikeverdi on 14-06-2016
Rat Race
Well that's different, I guess I was lucky, never really joined in with jobs I hated....usually left in days. Mostly self enployed or the boss. I get the point though, as I say, I was lucky. As to retirement, it's okay if you are fit and well and have money...this where I screwed up 😊
Mike

ps. Maybe look at the last line "who was it I used to be"

Author's Reply:
Thanks Mike, you're a star. I never got trapped myself but I know a few who have. I've messaged you.

sweetwater on 14-06-2016
Rat Race
Loved all the imaginative word usage, my favourite line for some obscure reason was 'make merry the yule'. I can relate to this poem, I had a job which at times I hated, plus it was shift work, and the early starts after a week of lates, made my feel so dreadfully ill. Thank goodness for redundancy then retirement. I love each day now, the freedom from the chains, time to roam among all the nature around me, (closing my eyes and mind to the new houses going up ) and finally finding the person I was always meant to be, not much money of course but enough for me. Of course the drawback for such blissful abandon is that I never know for sure what day it is, with no compass points of the weekends, days just roll over! Oh well there is always a date on the TV guide πŸ™‚ Sue.

Author's Reply:
I can relate to your kind comments Sue. You are quite right I have stopped 'money chasing' and settled for 'enough.' This includes enough 'want' be be able to appreciate the great blessings I have. Lovely wife, good health and an active mind.

I, too, revel in my freedom but seven Sundays a week is not viable. So I do a bit of charity work (Mostly at weekends)keep fit by walking and swimming and of course writing to keep my head working.

Whatever you do Sue avoid daytime TV like the plague you'll get brain damage watching it! πŸ˜‰

pdemitchell on 14-06-2016
Rat Race
An alliteration celebration and lovely internal rhymes like "Each meagre jolly day, holiday" that rhythm well. Mitch

Author's Reply:
Why thanks Mitch it's kind of you to say so. I did wonder of I'd overcooked it a bit so your message is very reassuring.

Ionicus on 15-06-2016
Rat Race
An interesting composition with an abundance of alliterations.
Worth reading.

Author's Reply:
Thanks poet you are very kind.


An Island Parish (posted on: 10-06-16)
I miss writing for the comp so here's a piece of 400 words I did anyway!

Jonathon Jackson moved from the London Gazette to Whale Island off the coast of Nova Scotia looking for the quiet life. He'd been appointed editor of the local paper. He soon found the island was very 'different.' The Islanders where farmers and fishermen descended from Calvinist Scots. They had a patois all their own and insisted the paper was printed in it. Jonathon struggled to learn this at first but eventually got the hang. He learned that something 'ken't' was something known. 'Nay ken't' equalled unknown. If the island's only bus was 'oo'wer foo' it had too many passengers. If something was 'hooked' it had been stolen. Not that much ever got stolen on the island because the inhabitants all knew each other. They would gladly lend or 'forward' tools and such willingly to help neighbours. The only thorn in Jonathon's side was the Minister who scoured the paper every week looking for things that offended god (or himself, who was rather more judgemental than the almighty.) If any bride was pregnant or 'bairnswait' on her wedding day he couldn't report that. When the child was born a month or two early he wrote that, by a miracle, God had blessed them 'wi' a 'soo-in' birth.' Jonathon resented this interference and tried often to disguise coarse words in his writing just to annoy the minister should he miss them. He never did and Jonathon eventually desisted though he never gave up his dream. One claim to fame the island had was its prize herd of Aberdeen-Angus cattle. They fed on lush sweet meadow grass in the summer and silage and hay from it in the winter. These 'Coos' drank mineral rich water from mountain streams and were extremely contented. (Oo'wer chuffed) People willingly paid a high premium for this delicious meat. Mainland farmers queued up to buy breeding stock and the island prospered. One evening some men in an old army landing craft were spotted in the bay. They were sitting around with fishing rods but didn't seem too interested in fishing. Next morning they were gone so, too, were several 'rare coos' and a 'booluck.' There was great consternation among the populous. Jonathon saw his chance not only to wreak revenge on the parson but to simultaneously express the islanders' shock and surprise.                                 WHALE ISLE BEEF HOOKED! Read his headline
Archived comments for An Island Parish
Mikeverdi on 10-06-2016
An Island Parish
HaHa! Yep I get it, very clever. A typo.. the islanders were?
Mike

Author's Reply:
Hi Mike thanks for the comment mate. I thought I'd fixed that typo but clearly not. Many thanks for pointing it out.
Tony

pdemitchell on 12-06-2016
An Island Parish
Hi Tony - I really enjoyed this lovingly laboured pun and the phonetic background. Heh. Mitch

Author's Reply:
Hi Mitch truth to tell I was a bit pissed when I wrote this tongue-in-cheek groaner but next day I thought what the hell! So I gave it a quick edit to reduce it to under the 400 words usually allowed in the weekly comp and stuck it up for a giggle.
Thanks for the kind comment mate glad it gave you a giggle, too.


Dead Clever (posted on: 03-06-16)
The cleverest of clever people can sometimes out-clever themselves.

What a glorious island darling sunshine, sparkling sea, this romantic bungalow, our own sailing dinghy. Simply perfect.' 'Drink your iced tea my dear or it'll get warm.' Moira drank deeply 'shall I call the houseboy to bring more?' 'I gave him the afternoon off dearest.' 'Well I've had enough tea anyway.' Yes, you certainly have my dear.' Whatever do you mean John?' 'I poisoned yours dearest you'll be dying soon then I'll have all your lovely money.' 'Oh you silly boy! Did you think I didn't realise why you brought me to this remote place? I swapped glasses when you went to the loo.' He smiled smugly 'I knew you suspected me darling, that's why I poisoned my glass not yours. I simply let you switch. 'Really? That was clever.' John smirked 'I've bribed the local police chief to falsify cause of death my sweet. A thousand now, two thousand on receipt of your death certificate. That's eighteen months pay on these impoverished islands. These poor, unsophisticated people are so easily bribed you know.' She grinned broadly 'You know John the trouble with clever people is that sometimes they run away with the idea that they're the only clever people.' 'What on earth do you mean darling?' 'I knew you'd try to murder me for my money. I also knew you'd use poison. You simply haven't the guts for violence beloved. I also noticed that our glasses weren't quite identical. Yours has a tiny chip in the base so you'd know which was which.' 'So why swap them?' 'Ah that's my clever bit sweetest. I poured the contents of your glass into the empty tea jug then poured mine into yours. I then poured the poisoned tea back into mine.' John looked aghast but before he could reply the houseboy walked in. 'I thought I gave you the afternoon off?' 'Yes sir, I just popped back to remove your bodies.' Moira looked astounded 'What on earth is going on?' The boy smiled 'I poisoned the whole jug before I left.' John was horrified 'But why?' 'You have ten thousand in cash, your cards and jewellery are worth thousands more.' The boy laughed 'you'll be put in the dinghy and sent out to sea. A tragic accident.' 'But how....? 'My uncle's the police chief sir he's a very clever man and we poor, unsophisticated people are so easily bribed you know.'
Archived comments for Dead Clever
Mikeverdi on 05-06-2016
Dead Clever
HaHaHa! Love it, the best laid plans. For me its a great piece of flash, not over written. I would say you need a full stop after darling on the first line, just a thought. Thanks for posting it.
Mike

Author's Reply:
Glad you enjoyed it Mike and I take your point about the full stop. Cheers.

pdemitchell on 06-06-2016
Dead Clever
Excellent bit of flash yokel-karma that made me smile and check my gin cupboard... again... Mitch

Author's Reply:
Quite right mate Gin cupboards should be checked regularly! Glad you enjoyed it.Thanks for commenting.


A Hollow Promise (posted on: 27-05-16)
A tale of missed opportunity and what might have been, if only.

My hand slid up her slender thigh. 'Ouch!' I was shocked 'you're a virgin?' She blushed 'yes.' Amrita was a slim, alluring Indian girl of eighteen with huge melting eyes set in the face of a goddess. Oh how I wanted her! We were lying in a hollow in the sandy beach. The sea was thick and turbid with the outpouring of the Demerara River mud. Over the sea wall to our right the bandstand's leaden roof shone dully in the late afternoon sun. Georgetown British Guiana 1964. 'Nice' girls came on a first date with a chaperone (You'd better believe it) otherwise it was assumed all systems go. I felt bad. She'd trusted me without a maiden aunt's presence. I backed off 'you sure you want to?' 'I,...I think so' Think so? Jesus! Not bloody good enough I thought. We soldiers had to be so careful.We couldn't afford to give anyone an opportunity to cry rape. There were plenty of willing girls about and I didn't need a court martial or her father hunting me with a machete. I'd met her whilst on patrol a few days earlier. Some rioters had tried to burn her father's shop; we 'persuaded' them not to. Her old man was very grateful, so was she; the shop was their home as well as their livelihood. First date over we agreed to meet the following day, my one full day off that month. We parted with a kiss and a promise. I was tingling with anticipation unable to believe my good luck. Next day it all went shit state, all days off cancelled. We had to sort a spot of bother in town. We got back knackered. I cleaned my weapon then took a 'short' nap. I awoke at ten in the evening. She'd been and gone of course. Next night I fell for the charms of a bar girl we called Nellie-The-Belly because of her fantastic belly dance that gave every bloke with a pulse a raging hard-on. Amrita saw us together, her face fell as she turned away. I'd buggered up big style. A few days later I was reading a book written by a Canadian bloke who'd been successfully panning the rivers of Guiana for alluvial gold and diamonds. He described how, on a break, he was lying in a hollow on the Georgetown beach with the bandstand roof in view over the seawall. He and his girl were enjoying some 'afternoon delight.' Ironically I was reading this sitting in that very same hollow hoping against hope Amrita might show. Post script: Nellie quickly moved on to her next conquest and then we were shouted upriver to quell another troublesome pisshole. I never saw my virgin again.
Archived comments for A Hollow Promise

No comments archives found!
Interlude (posted on: 27-05-16)
Sometime we all need a little solitude but we can take our desires too far to the annoyance of all.

An interlude of solitude Respite from work and play Peace at last, tranquillity The world locked far away To rest recoup and meditate In deepest contemplation Then the urgent shout Comes from without Have you got constipation?
Archived comments for Interlude
sweetwater on 28-05-2016
Interlude
Oh, haha, I was really getting immersed in your deep thinking then..Bam! The last line, brilliant. Really brought me back to earth. Great poem πŸ™‚ Sue x

Author's Reply:
Thank you Sue it' was just a moment of madness! Glad it did what it was supposed to do!

pdemitchell on 02-06-2016
Interlude
Ha - killer thumbnosey last line - nnnnnnnnnnn! Mitch PS check out my ode - http://www.ukauthors.com/modules.php?name=News&file=article&sid=32628


Author's Reply:
Thanks Mitch for your positive comment. Encouragement is always appreciated mate but it is becoming an increasingly scarce commodity on this site don't you think?

Enjoyed your piece by the way thanks for pointing me to it.


The In's and Outs (posted on: 23-05-16)
Are you as confused as me with the bullshit and lies? Out or in it's time to stop the spin.

In or out? What's it all about? It's the bullshit and lies I despise On one hand if we lapse The economy will collapse If we stay Five million Turks are on the way Forsooth Is there any truth? To be heard It's absurd But this country will thrive As long as truth and honesty are alive But when it dies And vested interest vies Dishonestly for your vote Like you were just a goat Led, mindless and blind To follow Promises hollow It makes me wild To be treated like a child The neglect of respect It's too serious an issue for spin Truth only please Out or In?
Archived comments for The In's and Outs
Mikeverdi on 24-05-2016
The Ins and Outs
Another great piece, I'm still on the fence for exactly these reasons. It's too important to screw up.
Mike

Author's Reply:
Thanks Mike I, too, am sick of the cretinous crap we're fed in the hope we'll swallow it. Both camps are guilty of propaganda peddling. I feel, though,looking at his past pronouncements Cameron is pushing me further towards the out camp by the day.

stormwolf on 24-05-2016
The Ins and Outs
As the old saying goes...it does not matter who you vote for..it's all decided by the invisible few. I cannot even begin to tell you my feelings.
We are lost either way... by treason.

Alison.x

Author's Reply:
Hi Alison,
Thank you for commenting.
I feel your frustration and sense of helplessness. I, too, fear it will be a stitch-up no matter what the result and we, the long suffering electorate, will be shafted yet again. Makes me glad I'm old.

pdemitchell on 24-05-2016
The Ins and Outs
I like the political sentiment and the dig at the doctors of spin but it didnae work as a poem for me as it had the subtlety of a mallet mating with a housebrick forsooth. Sorry to be a bit crit but it did what it said on the tin I suppose. Mitch

Author's Reply:
Hi Mitch,
No probs with a bit of honest crit mate. Thanks for taking the trouble to comment. The poem was not meant to be subtle or even very good as a poem. I was merely lashing out at the tossers who are trying to shovel beams of sunshine up our arses. Both side are guilty of this and it angers me because it's too important an issue for spin and short term gimmicky thinking.

Blessings upon you.

sweetwater on 25-05-2016
The Ins and Outs
I greatly enjoyed reading these words that came from your pen, but straight from my own voice. I am another one who understands the huge importantance of this vote, but completely fed up with the total lack of any real and honest information. How can we possibly reach the right decision if we are lead by lies all the way. Sue.

Author's Reply:
Thank you Sue I understand your frustration with it all. Never has it been more obvious that we are being lied to, spun and misled than right now. If some of the pathetic nonsense we are currently hearing is the best that our politicians can come up with then we're being led by fools.

Gee on 29-05-2016
The Ins and Outs
I went to a talk by Eddie Izzard last night and he focussed on the positive aspects of deciding. Everything I heard up to that time was so negative, it felt as if we were doomed either way, which is something very clear in your poem.
I've no faith in the people leading the campaign, so it was difficult, but I've finally reached my decision.

Author's Reply:


Invictus (posted on: 23-05-16)    
The fact that one cannot comment upon the Golden Egg challenge reduces it's appeal at a time when we are trying to recruit more entries. Last week's task: Take the last line of a poem and make it the first line of a new poem/prose piece. Limit 400 words. Based on Invictus by W E Hendley

I am the captain of my soul? What's this shit? 'You asked for help.' 'I meant money mate, spare change. Poetry's no damn use to me' said the homeless ex marine. 'You're ex forces aren't you pal?' 'Yes ' 'Not short of a quid are you?' 'No.' 'Then why won't you help?' 'I just did' said the man 'I was you once, it helped me.' The homeless man looked bewildered 'Bollocks!' 'Suit yourself' the man turned to leave. 'Hang on mate how did it help?' 'You really want to know?' 'Yeah, I reckon.' 'It stopped me buying alcohol' 'But I need it mate.' 'Bullshit! Booze only perpetuates your situation.' The man sighed 'what mob were you in?' 'I was a corporal, Royal Marines. Three tours of Afghan mate, it fucked me head up.' The man nodded knowingly 'yeah, the Falklands did that for me.' He paused 'You really want help? Be here this time tomorrow.' 'What do I do in the meantime' the beggar wheedled. 'You stop whining and start shining corporal' the man left. Peter McGee re-read the poem then screwed it up throwing it away angrily. Load of crap he thought. That bugger's either a bible basher or a shirt lifter. I am the master of my fate? I am the Captain of my soul? Utter shite! But the words had struck home. McGee slept poorly that night the man's granite-hard face kept appearing before him. ''If you really want help be here this time tomorrow.'' Well, we'll see gobshite. Ex-Para Sergeant Ronald Timperly arrived promptly. 'Well?' 'I've had enough of this shit mate. What do I do?' Timperly smiled 'Get off your arse and come with me.' A month later Peter McGee had his own place, psychiatric help and a job but, more importantly, a friend and mentor. Twelve years later, now a prosperous businessman, McGee attended Ronald Timperly's funeral. He was surprised how many ex military types were there. The preacher gave him an envelope. 'There's 248 of you' he said 'Open this and read it aloud at the end please.' McGee knew Ronald had helped others but was stunned to see just how many. As the coffin left they all recited in unison. By the time they got to the last lines tears were flowing freely. ''I am the master of my fate; I am the captain of my soul.'' Invictus By William Earnest Henley ''Out of the night that covers me, Black as the Pit from pole to pole, I thank whatever gods may be For my unconquerable soul. In the fell clutch of circumstance I have not winced nor cried aloud. Under the bludgeonings of chance My head is bloody, but unbowed. Beyond this place of wrath and tears Looms but the horror of the shade, And yet the menace of the years Finds, and shall find, me unafraid. It matters not how strait the gate, How charged with punishments the scroll, I am the master of my fate: I am the captain of my soul.''
Archived comments for Invictus
Mikeverdi on 24-05-2016
Invictus
This is terrific stuff in my opinion, well worth the Nib and Nomination. Its a great disapointment to find so few comments on such a piece.
Mike

Author's Reply:
Thank you Mike for your kind comment. The trend on the site seems to be for less comment and even fewer ratings. Times change I suppose. I still like posting because it's more practice and just one kind comment, nib or nomination makes it all worth while. (A does a sharp crit when one produces sub-standard stuff.) πŸ™‚

pdemitchell on 24-05-2016
Invictus
Difficult to crit this but the site is dwindling. I loved this snappy dialogue and the moving finale with the army types reading the poem - the smell of khaki. Dylan's 'do not go gentle' villanelle is another favourite. Bravo - not substandard at all. Mitch

Author's Reply:
Thanks Mitch for your kind comments.
I,too, sense the site is fading but what to do about it? I wish I knew. Maybe a redesign and a new name? World Wide Writers mayhap? Maybe we should rage, rage against the dying of the site!
Tony

Mikeverdi on 25-05-2016
Invictus
I've mentioned the site falling off on comments and posts before, I made several suggestions. One of the problems is people falling out with each other. Several of our top writers have gone on strike over another being "alowed" to post on UKA. Others have left because of "differences with others. I tried to get regular writers to post older pieces that made the grade, this may induce others to also post. New writers need to see quality writing to get them to join, in truth some of late has been not good enough...mine included. UKA is not the only site suffering a drop off. I voted against an upgrade as I don't think the money is there, I now think it may be nessersary.

Author's Reply:
I see what you mean Mike. I feel the site could do with an update as, apart from anything else, it's rather slow and a bit dated looking. Whether or not funds are available is, of course, another matter altogether.
On the point of people falling out that's really sad. As a writer one has to learn to take the brickbats as well as the plaudits. Not everything we write will be good; even people like Hemmingway accepted that. Trying to stop anyone posting because someone else judged their work not up to standard is cruel and crass. How on earth is a writer to improve if they are not exposed to help and advice of more experienced scribes? I know I value frank crit.



Thanks for the comment Mike.


Screwed (posted on: 20-05-16)
Just a skit at life in the EU in limerick form.

Sweet Molly Malone Was a randy old crone Who plied through streets broad and narrow Just make her a bid (About twenty five quid) And you could have it off on her barrow She had competition For her prime position From a girl called Ophelia Balls So they stripped as they plied With legs open wide To laughter, applause and cat calls When they were arrested They both protested 'Uman rites'under laws of EU They sued our great nation And won compensation They're rich now with no need to screw
Archived comments for Screwed
sweetwater on 21-05-2016
Screwed
Naughty, naughty, seems they ended up making a good living, in this case the EU was of some good use. Much enjoyed. ( One tiny typo, last line should be 'they're' rich now, ) Good fun poem with a dig at the end. I'm still not sure where to go with this EU vote. Too many loud mouths clutching at straws for both sides, not enough clear and truthful a information.

Author's Reply:
Thanks for pointing out the typo Sue and thanks for the kind comment, too. As for the EU? I know what you mean. The thing that swayed me to the our camp is the Court of Human Rights and it's crass decisions. Also the fact that we can't get rid of foreign criminals. There are however a lot of advantages to staying in. You pays yer money and takes yer pick!

pdemitchell on 22-05-2016
Screwed
Oo-er, it's a bit smutty, butty. But a poignant reminder that we may not get a Bill of Rights on Brexit. Love the limericky doo-hickeys. Mitch

Author's Reply:


Here Hear (posted on: 15-04-16)
As one gets older one tends to misplace things occasionally.

This morning I was quite confused the missus said 'Oh dear' As I pulled a large suppository from out of my deaf ear She gave me a right bollocking and cuffed me round the head So where the hell's your hearing aid? Buggered if I know I said
Archived comments for Here Hear
Mikeverdi on 15-04-2016
Here Hear
My daytime quest for laughter taken care of. 😂😂😂😂
Mike

Author's Reply:
Thanks Mike. There's nothing dafter than living without laughter! πŸ™‚

pommer on 15-04-2016
Here Hear
They say that laughter is the best medicine.This one was most welcome. Well done Pronto.Be lucky, Peter.

Author's Reply:
Thanks Peter I'm glad I exercised yer giggling gear!

sweetwater on 17-04-2016
Here Hear
Oops, oh dear, but I'm sure it happens to many πŸ™‚ Fun read. Sue.

Author's Reply:
Thanks Sue I'm glad
you had a grin!

TOMBO on 22-05-2016
Here Hear
Dear Pronto

It's great to start the morning with a laugh and this was very funny. Naturally I won't enquire as to the position of the missing object! Yours is the first one I've read on the site and It's been a real pleasure.
Tombo (Tom Billsborough)

Author's Reply:
Thank you Tom for the kind comments and the very flattering rating. I write quite a bit of comedic stuff it's my favorite genre. I have a book of the stuff on Amazon.


Grand National Cash (posted on: 11-04-16)
Who said premonition dreams never come true?

Last night I had a vivid dream and this morning did recall A horse's name before me writ large upon a wall I heard "First" and "Number One'' t'was all I needed to know I grabbed the monthly mortgage and to the bookies I did go I watched the race most anxiously my dream of cash soon gone The bugger was the "First" to fall. And at which fence? "Number one!" (You can't say the dream didn't come true!)
Archived comments for Grand National Cash
Mikeverdi on 11-04-2016
Grand National Cash
HaHaHa! That's the kind of result I get every time😂😂😂
Mike

Author's Reply:
Glad I'm not on my own Mike! That's the worst result I've had in years.

Gothicman on 12-04-2016
Grand National Cash
Is it the Grand National this weekend? Got any tips, Pronto? For as you say, if you had even the wrong prophetic dream, that shows psychic powers of sorts! Luckily, fate offers no previews! Fun write, always room for humour.


Author's Reply:
Thanks for the comment. I wouldn't inflict my predictions on a dog. The last time I had the outright winner was in the eighties (I think) with West Tip 14/1. Still there's always next year! πŸ˜‰

sweetwater on 13-04-2016
Grand National Cash
Cannot watch the Grand National, too many poor horses didnt make it to the end, and many still don't. I remember one last year had to be coaxed out of the on site stabling, he really didn't want to run. perhaps he'd had a dream, he fell part way round and was shot. Seeing the news footage of his relunctance and his subsequent death in the race he didnt want to run will haunt me forever. At least you only lost money, even if it was the mortgage payment! Sue.

Author's Reply:
Hi Sue,
My poem was just a bit o' blarney. I have paid the mortgage off these many years ago. I only lost a fiver! As for the rights and wrongs of the Grand National it exists and will be run whether you or I like it or not. Many more horses die in less well publicised races and no one bats an eye. The G.N.organisers have bent over backwards in recent years to make it safer yet still exciting. This year I'm glad to say no one was seriously injured and no horses died.
Thanks for the comment.


The Accident (posted on: 25-03-16)
This was supposed to have been my entry for the weekly prose/poetry challenge but I didn't get it finished in time. The theme was "Accident" the limit 300 words.Ah well.

This was it I walked into the underpass knowing they were waiting. At the far end two youths came to meet me smirking. A red haired one about seventeen and a smaller mousy youth around fifteen. I stopped legs apart hands loosely over my crotch. Behind me I heard trainers swiftly pounding the concrete. The lads in front blocked my path menacingly. The pounding stopped; the flick knife opened with a vicious click. I spun. There stood Fagin the man I'd wanted to meet ever since my eighty six year aunt died after being mugged. He moved in sneering grabbing my coat. An arm went round my neck from behind. Classic mugging technique, Terrify, drag the victim to the ground, a good kicking to intimidate him into submission then rob him. My right fist shot outwards and upwards. I turned my wrist downwards to ensure my knuckles struck his throat whilst stepping sharply forward to follow through despite the weight of the youth on my back. I could feel him pressed against my body. Idiot. Twisting I shot my arm backwards and downwards driving the edge of my hand into his groin. Redhead screamed and fell away. Spinning round sharply to confront the youngster I was rewarded by the sight of his shocked white face then he turned and ran. Redhead was on the floor puking and nursing his nuts. I stamped down on his ankle and felt it snap. He was going nowhere. Why is it these violent thugs never learn to fight scientifically? I watched with satisfaction as Fagin slowly choked clutching his crushed windpipe. When I was sure he was dead I walked out into the fresh air and dialed 999 'Hello' I yelled feigning great distress 'there's been an accident.'
Archived comments for The Accident
Mikeverdi on 25-03-2016
The Accident
Enjoyed the read mate, missing a couple of comers in places? I could be wrong. Not like I would know HaHa! It's the sort of thing we would all like to have done in the circumstances. These days it would have to be with a gun, Death Wish style, to old and knackered for the martial arts now.
Mike

Author's Reply:
Thanks Mike,
Your comments are always welcome.
I found it a bit difficult writing this to a 300 word limit but that's all to the good. On Monday a good friend of mine passed away and I kind of lost concentration missing the deadline for the comp so I stuck it up there yesterday and on here also.

franciman on 25-03-2016
The Accident
Good descriptive piece, written tight. I thought that so much action description got in the way of some dialogue? A denouement at the end might have been better than the tell of the author. Just me, though.
Cheers,
jim

Author's Reply:
Hi Jim,
Hi Jim,

Thank you for taking the time to analyse my story that was kind of you. As you may have noticed there was no dialogue for anything to get in the way of. Muggers seldom converse with their victims so I wrote in the first person narrative. I've not done that style before so that, and the strict word limit, made it a good exercise for me.
Having published it I can see your points and places were perhaps I might polish it a bit.
Cheers,
Tony

pdemitchell on 25-03-2016
The Accident
Great effort I thought. I've actually been in three fights and heavily outnumbered, was beaten to a frazzle but not after some satisfying hits. I stopped a lad being beaten up two years ago and this 22-stone monster jumped on my back as I was decking one of the attackers. Broke my hand in the end. Now I am sixty this year, I won't be so heroic next time! paul

Author's Reply:
Glad you liked it Paul sure t'was just a bit o' blarney.
Yup the older we get the more careful we have to be. As for rescuing others from trouble I'd rather be a live witness than a dead hero.I'm 74 now and would only ever use the stuff I know as a very last resort to defend myself or the good lady. Oddly enough the last time I was threatened was last year by a stupid guy my age who went completely ape shit over a very minor car park incident. He beggared belief. He ran at me fist cocked then, probably because I stayed calm, stopped one pace short of receiving a double eye gouge. I followed my maxim of 'never give warnings. Never make threats' so he'll never know how close he came to a trip to A&E.

My main defence these days is a big smile and my "Nice old guy" act. πŸ˜‰


Release (posted on: 11-03-16)
A poem to titillate and tantalise, to tease and please.

Long slender limbs slither Soundlessly from silken gown She caresses me intimately Pushing me gently down 'I want you' written in her eyes Her every gesture alluring Hungry my mouth as it seeks her Tongue flicking, licking the honeyed pot Stroking sleek slender thighs releasing sighs I rise to her occasion Feeling her trembling The fire of her desire Moist the chamois folds enclose me Sliding, slipping Trusting, thrusting Loving lusting Fingers scratching, breath catching Scorching my being to its core Until the peak we seek is within reach Teasingly I withdraw my favour Please, oh god don't. Please! We move as one Heaven moves with us The moment swiftly Comes
Archived comments for Release
Weefatfella on 11-03-2016
Release
Oh my!
Weefatfella.

Author's Reply:
Thanks for dropping by mate. Now don't pretend yer shocked you know it's just a description of a typical Saturday night in Glasgow! πŸ˜‰

pdemitchell on 11-03-2016
Release
Nurse! Nurse! I too have amazing sex - all I need now is someone to share it with. Glasgow, eh? Ah, so when the climax came did she drop her deep-fried Mars bar and chips? Paul

Author's Reply:
Yer daft bugger Paul It was a knee trembler behind the bike shed! Thanks for the comment. I noticed the knib, too. Grateful thanks.

sweetwater on 12-03-2016
Release
Gosh, a single lady should not be reading this over breakfast, phew best turn the heating down πŸ˜‰

Author's Reply:
Single ladies need love too. You didn't spill yer cornflakes I hope? Thanks for the kind comment.
Tony

Supratik on 13-03-2016
Release
Dear Tony,
The poem is entertaining indeed.
Supratik

Author's Reply:
Hi mate,
I'm glad you found it so. Thank you for the comment.

Mikeverdi on 13-03-2016
Release
Bloody hell, brought tears to an old man's eyes 😂
Loved it
Mike

Author's Reply:
I know what you mean Mike I was working (im)purely n memory πŸ˜‰
Thanks mate.


Terror Strike London (posted on: 04-03-16)
Chapter one intro to my thriller.

Chapter One Hot Turkey In the top floor penthouse suite of the Istanbul Pasha hotel John Westaway carried a homemade looking drone onto the broad balcony. It was a substantial though lightweight machine full four feet square with a powerful propeller at the corners each coupled to its own electric motor. He took his computer with its attached joystick and tested the machine for the tenth time in safe mode. He concentrated on each check feeling relieved that everything still worked despite the torrid heat. He glanced at his watch there were seven minutes to go. He checked his watch again a few seconds later just to be sure and felt a familiar twinge of nervous excitement running through him. Months of information gathering and careful planning were about to come to fruition. He still got that same old buzz as the time for action drew near. Westaway was proud of the rocket built to his own specifications. A short rocket motor because range was not a factor so a larger warhead could be carried. Around the two kilogram explosive charge was a jacket of metal slugs designed to shred any human flesh within a hundred feet. In a confined space it was simply non-survivable. This was not a sophisticated machine that could be flown by satellite from thousands of miles away this would be controlled from a short range transmitter he would operate. At forty nine years of age John knew this was likely to be his last operation as a CIA active field officer. He needed this one to go right. He poured himself a small scotch, tumbled in a couple of ice cubes and sat down in a leather armchair. He wasn't supposed to drink this near the start of an operation but hell, this was his bit of rebellion and he felt a thrill of childish pleasure. Taking a sip of his drink he let the smooth liquid roll around his mouth savouring its fiery flavour before slowly swallowing; he felt good. Closing his eyes he thought of the difficulties his team had overcome to get the operation this far: The intercepted e-mails and phone calls. The Pentagon and GCHQ in Britain had spent months of painstaking analysis, of plotting and planning. Bribes had been paid bugs planted and even a honey trap used in this cat and mouse game. Now all the pieces of the puzzle were in place; this was it, the culmination. With an effort he wrenched himself away from his reverie 'the job John, the job for God's sake' he muttered and went over the procedure one more time running through the details in his mind. The drone had been built from parts readily available on the Internet. The same went for the SatNav system and camera. No part carried a serial number or manufacturer's mark. That the machine would be carefully reassembled and forensically examined afterwards he had no doubt. Nothing could be traced back to America or the CIA there were no fingerprints and no DNA on anything. This strike had to be effective but appear amateurish, like the work of any one of the dozens of warring factions in the region. America could not be seen to be striking at the citizens of a friendly power especially when some of them were high ranking military officers. Now the success or failure of the entire mission rested squarely on his shoulders. He allowed this thought to nag him for only a second then he pushed it out of his mind. Focus John, he told himself, total focus. After swallowing his drink Westaway washed his glass in the bathroom wiping it dry carefully. It was time. On the fourth floor of a shabby building in a heavily guarded military compound on the outskirts of Istanbul was an incongruously clean and luxuriously appointed suite of offices. They belonged to Lily Pad Oil Brokerage Services though no sign advertised its presence. Around the boardroom table sat the seven partners holding their Annual General Meeting. General Abdulla Abdullah sat at the head of the table feeling bored his fingers slowly revolving a string of worry beads. When the monotonous voice of his colleague finally stopped he spoke impatiently. 'I think we can accept the minutes of the last meeting as a true record now to business. Last year was good as we know but this year is even better.' He gave a thin self-satisfied smile. The dividend for this the final quarter will be twelve million dollars each plus an extra six million for me as chairman's annual bonus.' He was the man in charge he would take the biggest share. He glared a challenge around the room feeling contempt for his four civilian directors. He needed their contacts and capital to finance the project and they needed his influence and protection from official interference. He raised his right hand 'All in favour?' six nervous hands shot upwards. 'Motion carried unanimously.' 'The purchase of oil from Daesh at a third the market price continues to make us great profits' the general continued 'whilst the stupid Americans and their foolish friends dither and dally dropping a few bombs here and there we shall continue to prosper. Now that the Russians have involved themselves there will only be further confusion, endless bickering and yet more dithering.' The general rubbed his hands together 'our customers at home, in Iran and Jordan are keen to buy as much as we can supply so we shall prosper even more gentlemen.' He glanced down at his notes as the board members thumped the table in enthusiastic approval. 'Expenses.' Abdullah announced immediately silencing the room. 'The fact that we have to pay $1200 per truck to pass through the Peshmerga checkpoints is, I know, a bone of contention among some of you. He scowled sensing that the civilian board members were critical of his failure to negotiate a better deal. He paused to light a cigarette blowing a cloud of smoke towards the ceiling. 'If among our members there is someone who believes he can succeed with the Peshmerga he has my permission to try.' As he scanned them several pairs of eyes looked down towards the table. The general turned his attention to more domestic matters. 'The level of bribes among our countrymen still poses a significant drain on profits as some people, who believe themselves to be indispensable, keep demanding more and more.' his eyes narrowed to slits 'I can report that arrangements have been made for certain people to be eliminated and replaced by much more co-operative officials' 'But surely the Minister cannot be...' one civilian director began to object. Abdullah silenced the man with a glare. He felt a surge of cold satisfaction and his glare turned into a mirthless smile 'Oh course not Mustapha my friend' he spread his arms in a gesture of magnanimity 'your dear cousin the Minister is far too important to be swept aside like some petty official. He paused savouring the moment 'he has, however, recently been videoed in the er... 'in the throes of ecstasy' shall we say, with a very attractive young boy.' Satisfied smirks and nods of approval went round the table. The Minister's ever increasing demands would, from now on, be curtailed. Westaway pulled the arming pin from behind the rocket's warhead and a second from the rocket propulsion pack. He picked up the computer and went indoors closing the blinds against the bright afternoon sun. He sat down at a desk and started the drone flying it up above the terrace rail the faint hum of its electric motors was barely audible from where he sat. He panned the camera downwards the street was as busy as ever but no one was looking up. The penthouse had been chosen because the hotel was the tallest building in the district and not overlooked. He swung the drone outwards then took it up to five hundred feet. The co-ordinates were already set so he pressed the 'auto fly' button and the machine took itself the four miles to its target. Over the heavily guarded compound it flew unseen. Identifying the office block Westaway made the drone descend rapidly then expertly slowed it to hover outside the window of the boardroom of Lily Pad Oil Brokerage Services. Below the guard on the door of the building heard a faint humming and stepped out of the doorway where he'd been sheltering from the hot sun unseen by Westaway. He looked up and for a second he stood staring, mouth agape, unable to believe his eyes. Giving a startled alarm call he clawed the Kalashnikov from his shoulder letting go a wild burst in the general direction of the drone. Westaway zoomed in the camera swinging it left and right. All seven targets were positively identified from the pictures he'd studied. 'Great' he muttered feeling a calm satisfaction at the certainty of success. He took the drone in to six feet from the window gloating he wanted them to know what was coming just as the guard fired a second better aimed burst. Most of the bullets passed harmlessly through the space vacated by the drone but one bullet clipped a rotor. The machine fell away to its starboard side the rear dipping earthwards and Westaway fought desperately to control it. The camera swung crazily up and down for a moment and he got a glimpse of the sentry grabbing at his webbing for a fresh magazine. The drone had dropped four or five feet below the window level. He corrected a yaw to port and eased back the joystick. The machine responded sluggishly to his coaxing and he blessed the hours of practice he'd put in on emergency drills. He saw the boardroom window four feet above the drone now and the ceiling of the office steadied as he canted the front upwards. He pressed the firing button and the rocket flew upward through the window and burst with all its lethal fury above the board members. The screen flashed and went blank as the drone was destroyed by its own rocket. Westaway's hand was shaking his mind reeling. That had been a damn close call, far too close for comfort. He cursed himself for a fool why the hell had he not fired the instant he got the chance? Throughout the reconnaissance period there had never been a guard on the building but then Abdullah had never been present until today. He felt deep relief that the rocket had found its mark but had it been a total success? Had the delay given any one of them time to reach the door and maybe survive? One thing for sure was that almost all were too far from the door to have reached it in time. The only one who maybe had a chance was the most important target General Abdullah himself. In the boardroom six of the most prolific Turkish oil smugglers and a multi-million dollar source of ISIS funds were reduced to heaps of torn bloodied flesh. On the landing outside the boardroom a badly wounded General Abdullah lay under the door he'd slammed behind him. He moaned semi conscious the blood flowing from his shattered body. Outside on the ground one of the sentry's lifeless legs protruded from under a mass of rubble. Westaway connected to the Dark net and sent an encrypted message after which he dismantled the transmitter equipment placing it in a suitcase along with the laptop and the two arming pins. The specialist cleansing team would deal with that very shortly. Picking up an Irish passport in the name of Seamus O'Hare he took his unhurried departure. Twenty four hours later, at RAF Akrotiri air base on the island of Cyprus, twelve British Typhoons and six Tornado GR4's took off heavily laden with 500 pound Paveway laser guided bombs. From Incirlik air base in Turkey American bombers were climbing skywards and all around the Mediterranean French, and Russian bombers were becoming airborne. The Russians had cooperated at last and now a co-ordinated airstrike of huge power made its way towards the oilfields of ISIS their mission to destroy the wealth producing wells that funded the jihadists. At Ajeel north of Tikrit in Iraq and at Qayara, Himrin and other key targets the oilfield workers had no inkling of the devastation about to be wrought upon them. At sea American, British and French war ships arrested a number of oil tankers carrying their illicit cargoes to refineries in Jordan and elsewhere. Only one tanker refused heave too when ordered. The Ali Wahid captained by a fanatical IS supporter defied the 'weak West' to arrest him firing on the would-be boarding party with small arms. The captain of the arresting American Destroyer saw no reason to endanger his mens' lives and ordered the boarding party's immediate recall. Seeing the boarding party turn away the men aboard the Ali Wahid were jubilant, dancing, waving their weapons in the air and shouting Alluha Akbar. Minutes later the American captain gave another order and the Ali Wahid was sent to the bottom with all hands by an anti ship missile. A clear message had now been sent to those who grew rich on the black markets buying and selling ISIS oil that they had no hiding place. In destroying the ISIS oil wells the head of the snake was being struck but the creature was far from being dead.
Archived comments for Terror Strike London
Mikeverdi on 04-03-2016
Terror Strike London
Read it twice and liked it a lot. We can always improve, lose words etc. I think you have the makings of a good read...keep going.
Mike

Author's Reply:
Thank you Mike for that most encouraging comment the story does get better with the introduction of more characters thereby enabling more "Showing" and less "Telling" of the tale.
Ta,
Tony


Literary Lover (posted on: 19-02-16)
A tale of a well practiced professor trying his hand at seduction. Perhaps a little past his best?

His words are amazing, dazing Dazzling discourse Sleek and sexy As a high class gigolo He penetrates her mind His a honeyed symphony Of well worn witticisms Perfectly practiced platitudes Seductive as eve's serpent Discussing Chaucer and Keats His are careful deceits He lets her play with Hemingway Pronounces on purple prose His every word a delicious peach Some succulent, some saucy Some insanely plain Yet each carefully crafted To reduce her defences Titillate her intellectual senses She feels her pulse quicken Seeks to make his manhood thicken Wet patch spreading in her literary drawers Says 'Oh professor, take me, I'm yours' But, eyes closed, wine glass in hand Her seducer now quietly snores
Archived comments for Literary Lover
pommer on 19-02-2016
Literary Lover
I like Pronto, should have taken Viagra,or as the latest research suggests start taking HRT.Well done, Peter

Author's Reply:
Thanks Peter nice of you to drop by. HRT eh? I've not heard of that one before. Maybe I'll look into it. (Though I'll never be a professor) πŸ˜‰

sweetwater on 20-02-2016
Literary Lover
Well they do say the brain is the main erogenous zone, and I think you have confirmed it with this saucy piece. ;-)) Sue.

Author's Reply:
Glad if it gave you a smile Sue. Thanks for dropping by.

pdemitchell on 20-02-2016
Literary Lover
Nicely done- a delightful narrative spiced with internal rhymes and juicy alliterations! Paul

Author's Reply:
Thank you Paul your comment is valued and appreciated.
Tony


The Slut (posted on: 15-02-16)
Some people manage evoke feelings of lust and compassion at one and the same time. A rare gift.

Eyes that smoke with passion Suggesting lascivious longings In the bar, no bra Doing a sluttish solo dance To decadent music Slippery saxophone sounds Slide across her salaciously Muted trumpet wails for this strumpet Her hands caress her thighs Sliding like sinuous snakes Her hips gyrate inciting Delighting No underwear Inviting I stare She doesn't care Suggestive tongue Pouting lips Thrusting disgusting Torn her scant dress Her hair's awry Mascara's run She's had a cry Lipstick smeared She looks weird A total fuckin' mess Acute distress So why do I have This raging hard on?
Archived comments for The Slut
pdemitchell on 15-02-2016
The Slut
Holy Cooper-Clark, Manbat! A great romp through internal rhymes and chopped rhythms and alluring alluvial alliterations to die, cry, fly for. With a dowwn-to-earth jock-strap Popper ending. Bra-vo. Paul πŸ˜€

Author's Reply:
Thanks Pee Dee for your comment. I'f it amused you |I'm happy.

Gothicman on 16-02-2016
The Slut
Hahaha! Pronto. The sexual drive knows no rhyme or reason outside of poetry. Why indeed, is erotica more powerful than romance in achieving arousal; must be the seeing eye passing subliminal messages to the portcullis to lift the gate, enabling troops to go into action! For me, "no underwear" was enough! Hahaha!

Author's Reply:
Glad you enjoyed it mate thanks for commenting.

Mikeverdi on 17-02-2016
The Slut
Errrr..... you hang around some interesting places mate. Different and well worth the read.
Mike

Author's Reply:
Thanks Mike. It's true to say I do have friends in low places! πŸ˜‰

sweetwater on 17-02-2016
The Slut
Well, I am a female ( with absolutely no 'other way' desires )
but even I found this and especially your ending totally understandable. A very slinky, sensual, and enjoyable read. Sue.

Author's Reply:
Why thank you Sue, I'm glad she doesn't offend the female poets on the site (Whichever way they lean)
She was just a figment of my (Very) fevered imagination.

Luv & hugz,

Tony

pommer on 17-02-2016
The Slut
Quite a different write.Well imagined .Enjoyed readig it. Peter.

Author's Reply:
Thank you Peter it's kind of you to comment A bit of a departure for me but I enjoyed writing it.


Ye Olde Gold Digger (posted on: 08-02-16)
Was it ever thus?

The burning river in flesh contained Runs its wild course within me Never by mere flesh constrained A spirit soaring free You guide my hand upon thy breast Responding to my touch My loins with lust unrest I cravest thou so much Yet thou withhold thy sacred grove Where ultimate pleasures lie Until I declare undying love And with parson sayest Aye How cruel the fate thou hold me too To plight my troth to thee Before I've tasted the cup of you That thou disbar from me Behind my back thou weigh my purse To estimate my gold Fickle woman thou art but a curse So young whilst I am old So devious maid I bid farewell Thy bargain I reject For I'm as false as thou fair Belle My wealth thou can't expect
Archived comments for Ye Olde Gold Digger
stormwolf on 09-02-2016
Ye Olde Gold Diger
Yes, an olde worlde style speaking of an age old situation.
Digger needs an extra d 😉
Well written
Alison x

Author's Reply:
Thank you Alison talk about missing the elephant in the room! An extra D will be applied.
Luv & hugz,
Tony

sweetwater on 11-02-2016
Ye Olde Gold Digger
loved the words, old English fascinates me it's far more colourful than a lot of modern phrases. Funnily enough I was listening to a discussion on radio two yesterday about this very subject, there is now a site specifically for young women to find willing 'sugar daddies' and vice versa, so your olde worlde words, are still a hot topic. πŸ™‚ sue.

Author's Reply:
Thank you Sue, I'm glad it gave you pleasure. It's something I like to do from time to time just for a change. But you're right Sugar daddies/Damsels have always been around. I wish I was rich enough to be one. I wouldn't be one but I wish I were rich enough! πŸ˜‰


Wanton One (posted on: 08-02-16)
I thought I'd try a departure from my norm. Vexed sex within the text. Whatever next? A bit of sado masochism to your taste mayhap?

http://i465.photobucket.com/albums/rr20/blocat/b707893b-0762-4e74-8347-4c1a4457ef3e_zpsh4zxdtpz.jpg I watch from my window Like a wanton widow since you left Oh the girl next door fulfils my needs Her fingers deft Tease the cleft of my desire I savour returning her favour Stroke her silky breast As I nibble her sweet saltiness But her lingual love no substitute For the brutal shock of your manliness They let you out two days ago Was was prison so bad? I'm waiting Can't you feel glad? Why are you not home making me moan? Handcuffs already clipped to the bed Eager me to be misled I need you to tie me, bind me, Gag me, shag me make me your whore Force feed me with phallic thrust Let loose your juice Into my every orifice Insert yourself into my soul Where are you? Shooting pool like some damn fool? Too scared to renew what we once shared? I long for you to abuse me, bruise me Forcefully use me Ravage my rectal realm I'm your subservient slut Make me crawl and beg for more Spill your seed hurt me I plead If my I scream in pain please ignore Take that as my request for more But I stand melancholy at the window and wait Come home I implore Make my trembling flesh sting sore The ropes and paddles are waiting master Hourly my heart beats faster Why don't you come to me? Set my lust filled spirit free Hold me enfold me Slap me and scold me I'm at the window, I await my fate
Archived comments for Wanton One
pdemitchell on 08-02-2016
Wanton One
Ah, I remember sex - it's that squidgy bit between coffee and cigarettes! A heady whiff of sweaty rubber in this ode. "But her lingual love no substitute / For the brutal shock of your manliness" is rather good. Nurse! Nurse!

Author's Reply:
Thanks for the comment PD it's good of you to drop by. The things I'll do to get attention! πŸ˜‰

Bozzz on 09-02-2016
Wanton One
Departure? A little bit of transgender on the side? You naughty lad - or have I spelled your name wrong in my book of translations?. Whatever, makes an interesting change - enjoyed the lurid read...men are supposed to think of sex every ten seconds - a good hour's worth here....Yours, David

Author's Reply:
Thank you David,
I knew you'd see the funny side. I wrote this for a lady who has a 'different' view on sex and stuff!

stormwolf on 10-02-2016
Wanton One
That's the last time you get left alone with a bottle of sherry and Fifty Shades of Grey!
You naughty, naughty boy, you.

Alison 😜 X

Author's Reply:
Hi Alison, Thank you for the comment. always nice to hear from you. I know I'm a bad lad with a vivid imagination, a lustful, sinful owd git. But hell I do love to let looses sometimes just to prove to myself I'm still alive!

Gothicman on 10-02-2016
Wanton One
Yes, naughty Spike, you old elevated gunner! Crank it down lad! Half wishful thinking, half memory, half future planning, I should think! She's looking down on you outside, weeding the garden, revealing you builder's cleavage! Have a cold shower, and put some bromide in your nighttime cocoa. Bloody hell! Talk about cathartic! Lights stay on in the barracks tonight! Decentralised altruism at its best!


Author's Reply:
Hi mate,
Thank you for commenting. Yup I'm just and old gunner having a bit of fun. Glad you enjoyed it mate. Right I'm off for a cold shower!

Supratik on 11-02-2016
Wanton One
What a refreshingly open poem this is!! Have sex! window a wanton widow :-)) Loved it. Supratik

Author's Reply:
Thank you Supratik, Your comment is much appreciated. If it brought you enjoyment then I'm very happy.

I tried to put an interesting photo up with it, too. I clearly have not yet learned how to do that because all I managed to get there was the link. Boo hoo! Ah well I'll try again.

Thanks again,

Tony


Me Yat (posted on: 05-02-16)
Just a bit o' daftness to brighten a dull day!

Me yat's on me yed On me yed is me yat I like's it like that She sed it's an out of order fedora It dangles at peculiar, rakish angles She sed I luk a proper prat in me yat It's due to The strange shape of yer 'ed She sed I sed I look a prat With oar without me yat An' this is the only 'ed I've got So what? I can wer a cherry beret Or look like Lord Loo-can Under a Kim Philby trilby So I thought I'll bowler over Wi' some topper tactics Off ter Tesco went eye Ter Tesco's orf eye went Got changed in the gents I shopped as folk dropped Gaspin' and graspin' Children, hurrying away Avertin' thur gaze Seein' my strange ways Eye wos delicately dressed In a baby pink mink lined Jockstrap Thigh length sea boots And a three corner dat The management wer very kind And brought me gently 'ome Told 'er not ter let me roam Now she's frantic Watches me every antic Doesn't have time ter criticise me yat
Archived comments for Me Yat
pdemitchell on 06-02-2016
Me Yat
Ver' ver' enjoyable in the vernackulars. I tip my titfer. paul


Author's Reply:
Thank yuu very much for the kind comment. I'm glad you enjoyed my bit o' daftness.

sweetwater on 06-02-2016
Me Yat
Haha, great fun and very clever too I smiled all the way through. The ending was spot on. :-)) Sue.

Author's Reply:
Hi Sue thank you you are very kind. I'm glad this bit of folly gave you enjoyment!

teifii on 07-02-2016
Me Yat
Very funny. Made my day.
Daff

Author's Reply:
Thanks Daff I'm glad it gave you a giggle. πŸ™‚


Cameron's Choice (posted on: 05-02-16)
Watching David wriggle on the hook of his own making would be funny if it weren't so serious.

Hey Presto The Tory manifesto Promises? Now you see 'em Now you don't I said I would But now I won't Let's toss a coin Give it real spin Head's you lose Tails you don't win But should the coin stand on edge I'll honour each and every pledge And just now as I said to Sam See what a good fair man I am?
Archived comments for Cameron's Choice

No comments archives found!
Dark Passion (posted on: 05-02-16)    
Within us all dark passions lurk. Mostly they go unexpressed but, just occasionally,.......

http://s465.photobucket.com/user/blocat/media/Seduce%20me_zpspqcihydd.jpg.html?filters[user]=144688481&filters[recent]=1&sort=1&o=0 Seduce me, reduce me tie me With the bonds of sacred words Yearned for verbs Sweet deceit, sacred lies Lustful as Lucifer's loins Penetrate my darkness Assault my ears With the tender torture Of promiscuous promises Fill my mouth With your lascivious lust Wash me in your passion The white spume top Of your wanton waves Crashing on my bare shore Take me, make me Force me To give you more
Archived comments for Dark Passion
sweetwater on 05-02-2016
Dark Passion
Wow, took my breath away, every time I read it, well couldn't leave it at just one read could I πŸ˜‰ loved the passion and sensuality in your words, nothing cheap or vulgar here. Made me think of someone very special ( well, I can dream ). Loved lustful as Lucifer's loins especially. Sue.

Author's Reply:
Thank you for the kind comment Sue I'm so glad you enjoyed it.

pdemitchell on 06-02-2016
Dark Passion
No holds barred nooky-nouns and vavoom-verbs. I have amazing sex myself - all I need is someone to share it with!

Author's Reply:
I'm glad you enjoyed it. My regards to madam palm! πŸ˜‰


Confucius He Say... (posted on: 29-01-16)
Nee Sun learns a lesson in humanity and humility.

The palankeen bearers were sweating profusely as they set down the two old friends at the public bath house. As they crossed to the entrance an old peasant stumbled on the uneven paving and almost fell into one of the grand gentlemen. 'Out of the way dog how dare you bar my path' Nee Sun was outraged and pushed the fellow who, being already off balance, fell heavily to the ground before them. The man rolled away then scrambled to his knees knocking his head three times on the ground in grovelling apology. Nee Sun turned away in disgust but his companion Chee Yang stooped and helped the old fellow to his feet. He had a heavy grey beard and his long dishevelled hair was matted around his face. 'When did you last eat old fellow?' 'Just two days ago sir' he said with head downcast not daring to look such a great gentleman in the face. Reaching into the sleeve of his magnificent silk robe Chee Yang extracted a string of fifty coppers which he pressed on the peasant. The old man cried out in gratitude and bowed deeply then scuttled off singing Chee Yang's praises. Nothing was said until after the bath and the men were in the steam room away from the attendants then Nee Sun said puzzled 'why did you soil your hands on that lowly dog and give him fifty cash when he had offended us?' 'What offence did he commit brother?' 'You saw him bar our path the clumsy oaf.' 'And what if one of us had stumbled and barred his path?' 'What in heaven's name do you mean Chee Yang? We are vastly superior to that low dog.' 'Oh are we, in what way?' Nee Sun was astounded 'How many ships do you own Chee Yang? How many godowns are full of your goods?' 'I have one hundred and forty two trading junks and seven godowns as you well know Nee Sun two ships fewer than you as you are always at pains to remind me.' 'Well there you are then my strange friend. You are a wealthy merchant, the son of a wealthy merchant educated, cultured and vastly superior to that low dog in every way.' 'No sir, I am richer and more privileged than he, true, and heaven has smiled upon my fortune but in what way am I his superior?' Nee Sun stared at his friend speechless. He had always been a strange fellow but since he had started studying Confucius he had become even stranger. He shook his head in silent bewilderment. 'You see Nee Sun these poor fellows have no wealth. They go out daily to labour for a few coppers lest their families starve. They live in hovels you and I would not keep our dogs in. Yet love for their wives and children keep them going out day after day pulling carts, carrying our palankeens or emptying our shit pots with so little reward and no hope of improvement. Could you do it? 'Could you Chee Yang?' 'Do you remember last month when I went away for a week?' 'Ah yes visiting your esteemed brother the magistrate in the next province.' 'My humble apologies brother Sun that was a lie.' 'Really?' 'I disguised myself as a peasant, lived in a low hostel and found work as a labourer when I could.' 'By the gods whatever for man?' 'To learn humility and to show penitence for my former arrogance; It was a hard lesson working in one of your godowns Sun. I was set to carrying heavy bales from dawn until dusk without a break just to earn enough for my lodgings and a bowl of noodles.' 'But you have a mansion four wives and the gods only know how many concubines and servants brother Yang why would you debase yourself so?' 'Do you remember Wen Po?' 'Yes he lost his fortune and killed himself; can't say I blame the fellow.' 'And now his wives and children are destitute and living on the mercy of relatives. He was a young well educated man. I offered him work as an administrator in my business but he turned me down saying that such work was beneath the dignity of a gentleman.' 'It is often the case with us the superior classes.' 'Sadly, yes, and yet working as a labourer I found no indignity quite the opposite in fact. Wen Po chose death to preserve his pride over the wellbeing of his family. How then was he superior to that poor fellow who fell before us?' Nee Sun was embarrassed he had no answer so changed the subject 'Are you going to the Governor's feast tonight Chee Yang?' 'Yes, as a fellow Confucian His Excellency was gracious enough to invite me doubtless I will see you there.' The feast in the governor's palace was a splendid occasion lit with hundreds of bright lampions. There were dancers and acrobats to entertain the guests and the finest food and wines. As the evening drew to a close the High Governor of the province was saying farewell to each guest individually. When Nee Sun's turn came he offered profuse thanks bowing low before the personal representative of the august Emperor himself. As he bowed he noticed a wound on the governor's hand. 'You are injured Your Excellency I shall send my personal physician in the morning to attend you.' 'You are too kind Nee Sun but it is of little consequence I, clumsy fellow that I am, fell this morning outside the public baths that's all.'
Archived comments for Confucius He Say...
pdemitchell on 29-01-2016
Confucius He Say...
Singing: "You spell pankeen and I spell palanquin; let's call the whole thing off." Lightly and delightfully well-spun Confucian parable. Paul

Author's Reply:
Hi Paul thank you for the kind comment. The knowledgeable Chinese historian and author of the Judge Dee series of books the late Robert Van Gulik refers to the carriages as 'palankeens' I know there are different names for them but I used his as I enjoy his books so much. Judge Dee is an ancient Chinese magistrate and sort of 'Sherlock Holmes' on noodles! The books are historically accurate for the period and a joy to read.
Thanks again mate.


The Light Brigade a Russian's view (posted on: 29-01-16)
The Charge of the Light Brigade has been much written about from the British viewpoint but how did the Russian gunners see it?

Cavalry approaching in the distance sir They're just taunting, have no care Don't even bother to load a gun Won't waste a shot on that lot son They're closing sir now at the trot Load the guns but hold your shot Cavalry don't charge guns, it isn't done But lance and swords glint in the sun Are they mad? We'll cut 'em down They must be led by a total clown Six hundred metres sir and closing Doesn't look like they're just posing Right lads fire at my command We'll send 'em to the Promised Land At five hundred metres he shouts fire Their situations looking dire Shot rips through the tight packed ranks From the centre outward to the flanks Men and horses scream with pain But still those silly bastards came Load with canister, double shot The next will scatter this stupid lot Three fifty metres can hear their cries We can't believe our very eyes At full charge now to meet their doom Into muzzle flash and cannon boom Reload with haste and aim again Grape shot spews its lethal rain Our shot rips through them so many dead Are they feeble in the head? Turn back you fools and spare your horse But they don't heed my shout of course No time to reload they're almost here On they charge I'm filled with fear Thundering hooves and murderous cry Soon will come our turn to die In amongst us banshee screaming Try to run from the sabres gleaming Dash and slash wheel and thrust We gunners bleeding in the dust And at the end of that awful day They simply turn and ride away Nothing gained by either side A monument to foolish pride
Archived comments for The Light Brigade a Russian's view
Savvi on 29-01-2016
The Light Brigade a Russians view
well you do it again pronto expertly told, I felt like I was there, I also love how this builds it would be very powerful as an audio too, Best Keith

Author's Reply:
Thank you so much Savvi, It was just a notion I had whilst sitting idle. I hadn't thought of reciting it Hmmnnn.... food for thought!

pdemitchell on 29-01-2016
The Light Brigade a Russians view
A great narrative on the absurdity of colonoal war. Paul

Author's Reply:
Yup and with a few poetic lines they turn a disastrous balls up into a glorious moment in history. The height of stupidity then aren't all wars?

Thank you for the comment.

Supratik on 30-01-2016
The Light Brigade a Russians view
Engaging and involving write. I marvel at the willingness of a different perspective. Absurd absurd absurd is war... this absurdity is coming out in a quiet tone in the poem. Also I could feel a locomotion in the poem, with meters decreasing. Brilliant. Supratik

Author's Reply:
Thank you for those kind words. I tried to get the momentum of the build up to a full horrific charge. I'm so glad you felt that!

Gothicman on 30-01-2016
The Light Brigade a Russians view
This is absolutely brilliant, Pronto, old Tennyson would be proud to read this other side view, talk about wishing one had written it!
Modern warfare has always been about new devastating contraptions and inventions set against shelve-dusty, primitive weapons causing untold cruelty and slaughter:
Canons against cavalry, reload rifles against machine guns, remote drones against latest Howitzers! Must win and crush the enemy instead of hold-your-own mentality. And mostly driven by rival religions!
Enjoyed the content information and the skill with which it was put together.

Author's Reply:
Thank's a million I'm very flattered by such positive comments. To be compared to the great Alfred Lord Tennyson Wow! I'll have to get a larger hat size now! πŸ˜‰
Regarding you point on wicked contraptions of war One Pope condemned the crossbow as being to uncivilised for Christian warfare. He must be spinning now!

Ionicus on 30-01-2016
The Light Brigade a Russians view
A very interesting interpretation.
As you mention the 'other' point of view I have always wondered how two opposing factions in a conflict could both claim to have God on their side.

Author's Reply:

Thank you so much for commenting you make an interesting point.

God, unfortunately, is on every buggers side in a war! The fact that there have been about three thousand different religions since the dawn of time and that each were "The only true one" to their followers somehow doesn't seem to register with the warring factions.

I reckon if they ever run out of reason's for holding a war they'll make it into a sport!

Bozzz on 31-01-2016
The Light Brigade a Russians view
Tony, a brilliant clever piece. I once wrote a modern equivalent of Tennyson’s poem about a foot patrol during our war against the Taliban, but wish I had thought of your approach - much better. My best…David

Author's Reply:
Thank you David I'm flattered you think so. It was just one of those ideas that come whilst idling at the computer.
Keep 'em coming!
Tony


Me Granny's Tits (posted on: 22-01-16)
Written in a moment of madness (And it shows) πŸ™‚

Me granny got her tits out The rent was due that day She said when she younger That's how she used to pay The rent man called He was appalled And didn't know what to say And so he gave her half a crown To put her tits away!
Archived comments for Me Granny's Tits
stormwolf on 22-01-2016
Me Grannys Tits
hahahaha great fun! Nothing like a spot of humour to brighten the day.
Alison x

Author's Reply:
Thanks Alison for commenting. Sure it was just a bit o' nonsense that came into my mind.

e-griff on 22-01-2016
Me Grannys Tits
Yes, excellent ( I would have picked this on the weekly for sure πŸ™‚ )

Author's Reply:
Thanks mate I chuffed you liked it!

Gothicman on 22-01-2016
Me Grannys Tits
Hahahaha! Fondling at waist height while she knits! Talk about a must-look title! Hahaha! Either the rent was low too, or it was his standards, poor sex-starved devil! Only an old soldier could have written this! Excellent Spike Milligan quality!
You're not related by any chance? Bless the womenfolk in times of need!
Goth

Author's Reply:
Hi Goth,
Thanks for your kind comments mate I'm glad it amused you. Sure it was just a bit 'o nonsense that came into my head (There's not much in there to stop it)

Apart from sharing a surname and a sense of humour with him I am not related to the late, grate Spike Milligan. Some of my ex Army mates know me by no other name. One of my ex service buddies was called Trotter he changed his name by deed poll because he was sick of being called 'Del Boy' 'It got on me nerves Spike' he told me completely missing the irony!
It's a funny old world innit?
Tony

pommer on 22-01-2016
Me Grannys Tits
My sense of humour.Loved it, Peter

Author's Reply:
Thanks a lot Peter I'm glad if it gave you a giggle mate.

pdemitchell on 24-01-2016
Me Grannys Tits
Made me smile.... and cringe a little... Paul

Author's Reply:
Thank you Paul that was the reaction I was hoping to achieve! πŸ™‚


Don't Wanna Live at Lonely (posted on: 18-01-16)
Reaction to being dumped

Don't wanna live at lonely It's a hard place to dwell Just outside of desolation At the junction of the road to nowhere And the highway to hell Dunno which way to turn Since you went I've spent Every waking hour I wonder where did I blunder? Did my best, to meet every test A working stiff, when he's able, works Gotta put a crust upon the table You, wild child, wanting better Run with the money honey Go where life's sunny To fair weather friends you're a means To their lustful ends You're luck'll run out with your looks Number the days, count the fucks When they don't want you on your back When your cunt's gone dry and slack When face and tits both sag And no one wants you for a shag When you feel the cold of getting old There's a vacant place to rent Near to me in Empty Heart Street Where chill winds blow in From the mountains of reality Down the valley of perished youth To the raddled church of harsh truth Where the Bible of Rue is hourly read
Archived comments for Don't Wanna Live at Lonely
Bozzz on 20-01-2016
Dont Wanna Live at Lonely
This particular publication is full of sad things - this piece among them. Thank goodness for the slight warmth of the invitation at the end, I wish someone lucky! Sharp and well written Tony.....Yours David

Author's Reply:
Thank you David for your appreciation of this piece. 23 reads before a comment can be a bit disconcerting. I was beginning to think maybe I'd done something wrong! πŸ˜‰
I suppose it's a bit bleak butI was just in a bluesy mood when I wrote it.
Warm smiles,

Tony

Supratik on 21-01-2016
Dont Wanna Live at Lonely
Well as a remedy, you could keep writing more on this! It's very very sad. That's why it's better to do it with nature. You are never too old there. Cheer up! Best. Supratik

Author's Reply:
Thanks mate I'm ever cheerful right up to the pint when I'm not! πŸ™‚


Reverse Racism? (posted on: 18-01-16)
Did you ever come across a term or expression that at first looks harmless then, the more thought you give it, the more it boils yer piss?

I read a term today I understood it not 'Reverse racism' it said and I said 'you what?' There is either racism or there ain't Every black man ain't a saint Every white man's not a closet racist Not every bloke a potential rapist These trendy liberal terms so trite Trotted out on News progs every night A Black and Asian Police Officers' Association? How the hell is that good for the nation? What if we had one labelled white? Think of fans and tons of shite I've aired these views once before Ah you're a racist you we deplore Well, I'm not You clever snot Seen racism red in tooth and claw Rioters I've stood before Holding black and brown apart Praying that they wouldn't start And when the ugly day was done Picked up bodies one by one Black or brown the wounded and dead And all their blood same colour red Little children burned alive Just too late did help arrive Dead because of their brown skin Just because they weren't their kin Arm chair pundits make me sick Jump to conclusions double quick Platitudes pouring from feckless gobs Smug self-satisfied liberal minded snobs Don't do nothing else but spout Sign petitions that count for nowt Slave labour made the shirts they wear But the slogan's 'right' so they don't care
Archived comments for Reverse Racism?
ifyouplease on 18-01-2016
Reverse Racism?
well said! Smug self-satisfied liberal minded snobs

Don’t do nothing else but spout
Sign petitions that count for nowt
Slave labour made the shirts they wear
But the slogan’s β€˜right’ so they don’t care


Author's Reply:
Thank you very for your kind comment and very generous rating. Much appreciated. Sorry looking down my e-mails I have just discovered you have nominated me. Thank you so much.

Gothicman on 19-01-2016
Reverse Racism?
Yes, great poem, Pronto. Used too much now as an excuse for twisting truths by making general statements to hide bad individual behaviour, whatever the gender, colour, or background. PC with religious beliefs and culture styles make these issues particularly difficult to constructively or honestly criticise. And not many criticising Israel for its overactive atrocities and collective punishing in the occupied enclaves are anti-semitic, most don't even know, or want to know, what it bloody means!
Clever rhyme manipulations in places, but well-written in spite of it!

Author's Reply:
Thanks for your understanding comment. I agree Israel gets away with murder (literally ) both sides seem to believe that two wrongs will eventually make a right somehow if thy do it long enough.
They keep doing the same things in the same way whilst expecting a different result. How stupid is that? There are many other situations around the world equally as bad, too.
All the best,
Tony

sweetwater on 19-01-2016
Reverse Racism?
Well said, makes perfect sense in perfect rhyme.

Author's Reply:
Thanks for the comment Sue just me lashing out at the PC brigade like the grumpy old man I am. πŸ™‚

Supratik on 21-01-2016
Reverse Racism?
Brilliant. Just brilliant! Every word, every thought...no wonder some of us are outcast, but so be it. Best. Supratik

Author's Reply:
Well thank you Supratik,
You're very kind. I always have been an outsider looking in. Not always popular but that's the price you pay for thinking for yourself.
I hope you enjoy being an outcast, too. πŸ™‚


Our Billy (posted on: 15-01-16)
During the American civil war the folks of Lancashire suffered awful privations as the Yankee blockade of the Southern ports dried up the cotton supplies. Mills closed and folk were laid off in thousands. It was the best recruiting sergeant the Army ever had.

Our Billy went fer a sowjer there's no work up at t'mill We watched our Billy march away across yon Pendle Hill Fer Americans were feetin' an' the cotton it were scarce Civil war they call it, and for us a devil's curse He didn't want to do it but went through urgent need He saw himself a burden, just another mouth t' feed We packed him off wi' bread an' cheese t'were all we had t' eat We 'ad ter mak' 'im tek' it, cos he said it wasn't reet An' that were last we saw of him these seven year gone by We lived in fear our lad so dear we'd sent 'im off t'die When home he came he were lame a ball 'ad took his leg No one would employ him now so he wer set to beg But he'd met a man in India a Guru chap he said Who put the strangest notions inside our Billy's 'ead See Bill were always 'appy, joyous with his lot An' folks loved him fer it and put coppers in his pot For although e wer' a beggar he filled their hearts with joy A smiling and a singing and it weren't no crafty ploy But genuine rejoicing for the wonders of this life And thankful for his blessings regardless of all strife Poor Billy died of fever he'd caught in that far land An' folks came to his funeral the lowly and the grand They wept at Billy's passing but praised his selflessness A humble crippled beggar who'd brought them happiness
Archived comments for Our Billy
sweetwater on 16-01-2016
Our Billy
Loved it, and Billy too, I read the first line as Billy went for a shower. Thought that can't be right so read again then realised it was written in dialect! A very clever poem it really drew me into the family and made me worry for Billy. To get it to rhyme and flow so well, written that way must have taken some doing. Sue.

Author's Reply:
Thank you Sue for your very kind comments it was enjoyable to write this poem. As a Lancashire lad I grew up in the forties and fifties speaking mostly dialect. (I'm cured now of course) πŸ˜‰
Cheers,
Tony

Bozzz on 17-01-2016
Our Billy
Tony, you are good at balladic style poetry - nurture it.
Much enjoyed the piece ...David

Author's Reply:
Thank you David you're very kind sir. I do enjoy the style so I'll take your advice.
Cheers mate,
Tony


Beauty (posted on: 11-01-16)
I call this Manx Poetry it's not proper Haiku but it still has three legs!

                                                        Beauty shines not from the countenance                                                          But glows from the soul                                                     Therefore look ye not into mirrors                                                  Ugliness abides not in the flesh                                                          It dwells in the spirit                                                 Therefore gaze ye not into the glass
Archived comments for Beauty
stormwolf on 11-01-2016
Beauty
There's a warning there alright.

Alison x

Author's Reply:
Aye Alison it suggests we look inward not outward for beauty of self.
Thanks for the comment.

sweetwater on 12-01-2016
Beauty
I enjoyed the lovely ' old fashioned ' feel of this advice filled poem, I do wonder however why beauty is never deemed to be both in the soul and the countenance, and surely ugliness can also be inside and out? Not that any of that really matters, but your poem did make me ponder on this. Great write πŸ™‚ Sue.

Author's Reply:
Thanks for the comment Sue and yes beauty can be external but not for a lifetime it is very transitory whereas internal beauty lasts a lifetime (and in the case of poets sometimes longer)

One fun experience for me was in showing a young person I know a photo of myself at 19. She said 'corr who's he? He's well fit!'I couldn't convince her for ages! πŸ˜‰
Luv & hugz,
Tony

Bozzz on 13-01-2016
Beauty
The words and the actions spell out the attraction of inner beauty, pheromones and type do the rest. Your piece is a succinct version - well done Tony... My best,....David

Author's Reply:
Thank you David for your kind comment. That's praise indeed from a powerful pen such as yours.

Bozzz on 13-01-2016
Beauty
The words and the actions spell out the attraction of inner beauty. Pheromones, type and the face do the rest. Your piece is a succinct version - well done Tony... My best,....David

Author's Reply:


The Resident Poet (posted on: 01-01-16)
An every day tale of biker folk.

     Big bad Bob sashayed into the Biker bar 'Evenin' y'all' he said to no one in particular then he burped and weaved his way to the bar.      'Hey, let's have a goddamn beer over here' he bawled. A beer appeared served by a nervous bar keep.      Bob looked around the bar room everyone was talking easy, laughing and enjoying their beer. This upset Bob. Hell this was a biker bar wasn't it? There should be trouble shouldn't there? Then Bob noticed something that really boiled his piss. A skinny old guy sitting alone at the end of the bar quietly sucking on a Budweiser bottle.          'Who the fuck are you old fart?' Bob yelled.      There old man glanced up then went back to his drink.      A guy at a nearby table volunteered 'That thar is 'ole Motor Mouth Mason our resident poet.'      'Resident fuckin' whut?' asked Bob incredulous 'This a biker bar or a fuckin' faggot farm?'      Bob felt his bile rise, these guys looked like real deal bikers but, shit, poetry fer chrissakes? 'Whut y'all got goin' on next week cross fuckin' dressin'? he asked unable to contain the contempt he felt. He ambled over to the poet.'Hey ya old asshole let's hear some goddamned faggot poetry huh.'      Motor Mouth simply took another sip from his beer.      Bob spun the old guy round on his stool. He saw the poet's craggy face full on. It was ravaged by scars, one eye socket was empty and half an ear was gone.          'Say ya ole turd how the fuck you git so goddamn ugly anyways?'      'A-fightin.'          You could have heard a pin drop. All attention was riveted on the pair then the guy at the table who'd spoke first said quietly 'I'd leave that old boy alone if'n I was you mistah.'      'Well yah ain't me asshole so just shut the fuck up.'      The guy just smiled and raised his beer in salute.      'So, gimme some of yer shit-fer-brains po'try yah ole bastard.'      'Don' think ah will 'til 'yuh apologise, An' say purty-please, is what I'd advise'      This unexpected response stopped Bob for a second 'You sassin' me ole man?'      'Yes, son, guessin' ah am.' .      Bob felt as happy as a vulture with fresh road kill. He smirked at the barkeep then slowly and deliberately gripped Motor Mouth by his shirt front. The old guy's free hand shot out, splayed fingers rigid as he flew them into Bob's eyes with the speed of a striking rattler. Bob screamed in agony his hands flying to his face, his beer fell shattering, splattering foam on the floor. As he fell back a pace Motor Mouth's silver tipped biker boot flew up and out catching Bob squarely in the balls. Down he went like a sack of soggy sago screaming,and puking.      Motor Mouth turned and addressed the saloon:      'The reason I'm a-wearin' all these scars Ain't frum fightin' in brothels and bars But takin' on the enemies of our land That still abound on every hand To earn the right fer Bob an' y'all Nasty names fer me t'call In peace an' freedom like you'd expect Just show us old guys some respect Cos if'n I got t' git offa this stool Well, folks, I might jus' lose mah cool Then boys y'all can bet yer shirt Some bastard here's gonna git real hurt So git this sorry ass outta here Oh an' before ya do he owes me a beer.      The Bar exploded in wild applause and old Motor Mouth Mason ('Nam vet, Silver Star and resident poet) didn't buy another beer for a month. Don' y'all jus' love a happy ending?
Archived comments for The Resident Poet
Bozzz on 02-01-2016
The Resident Poet
Great story - My friend Mike would love this too. Do you speak or write in any other long lost languages too? Much enjoyed...David

Author's Reply:
Hi David, Feel free to pass the story on to anyone you feel would like it mate. I'm glad you enjoyed it.The 'long lost' language of the Southern States of America is always filtered through a native speaker and she puts me right. Thanks for your kind comment.
Tony

Mikeverdi on 09-01-2016
The Resident Poet
Friend Mike here....and I loved it. Well done on the Egg.
Mike

Author's Reply:
Thanks Mike glad you enjoyed it I had a lot of fun writing it. Cheers mate have a great year.
Tony

pommer on 22-01-2016
The Resident Poet
Great loved every word of it.Well done Tony. Peter.

Author's Reply:
Thanks Peter and it's mea culpa for missing you kind comment. Pure carelessness. Glad you enjoyed it mate.


Soldiers of Judas (posted on: 28-12-15)
Dedicated to homeless ex-soldiers everywhere. There, but for the grace of God, go I.

There's nothing more useless in society's sight As a soldier grown old, too weak for the fight If he's physically damaged he can't be employed If he's mentally broken we all get annoyed He's such a damned nuisance, just move him on Can't stand his behaviour, let's have him gone He embarrasses us with his drinking and such We simply can't take it, you're asking too much Asking too much? That's what we asked of him Now he's nowhere to go and his future is grim He sleeps in a doorway or an old factory floor Haunted by dreams and the screams and the gore He calls names of comrades long left behind War damaged his soul and shattered his mind Yet he fought for our freedom not for the pay We for shame give a coin and send him away So he drinks and he swears, just hear him cuss Symptoms of war wounds suffered for us Then we rob him of freedom, lock him in jail Because he's a 'pest' and mentally frail And so we betray him like Judas of old Though he won our freedom more precious than gold But most wash their hands just like old Pontius Then give a few quid, and that salves their conscience
Archived comments for Soldiers of Judas
e-griff on 29-12-2015
Soldiers of Judas
Good rhythm, good meaning, good message.Clear.

On rhythm, this line is just a tiny bit awkward
'He calls names of comrades long left behind' (a beat missing) try, just as an example: 'He calls names of mates that are long left behind' - It would rhythm better, IMO.

And the last two lines don't really work, I'm afraid. To fit the rhythm, you have to say pon - TEE - us, when you need to rhyme with conscience and the 'n' doesn't help. A little rethink would be good.

But apart from those little niggles, problem free, je crois ... πŸ™‚

Author's Reply:
Thank you for the imput Griff always nice to know someone takes an interest.
I'll have a look later I'm busy at the mo.
Happy New year to ye!

Bozzz on 29-12-2015
Soldiers of Judas
To put all this in a poem - brilliant - Bravo Sir. ..David

Author's Reply:
Thank you David It's far from perfect I know however it's the way I feel about what's happening today when illegal immigrants get far better treatment than ex-service people sadly.


A Place to Rest (posted on: 21-12-15)
Beauty and danger oft go hand-in-hand.

Step it up there Jones582 my old granny moves livelier than you boy' roared the Company Sergeant Major. Why don't you get off my back Evans you miserable bastard? Jones thought as he quickly caught up his place. The sun had been beating on their backs like a leaden bar all day. They'd rested briefly and had eaten a frugal meal at noon before moving swiftly on. He felt sweat pouring down his face in salty rivulets and yet again wiped his brow with the coarse red wool of his sleeve. The stink from his soaking armpits offended him. Jones582's throat burned with the red dust kicked up by the Company's feet but his water had to last all day so he bore it stoically. In a Welsh Regiment there were so many Jones's, William's, Evans and Thomas's that the soldier's last three numbers had to be appended to his name in order to distinguish them. It felt dehumanising although he could never have expressed it that way. Squinting at the sun Jones reckoned it was now getting on for four. He pushed his thumbs under the sodden shoulder straps of his heavy pack and eased the weight to a place that hurt a little less. 'Dew how much longer?' What god forsaken hole were we going this time? More bloody trouble I suppose. Why does no bugger ever tell us anything? He felt deep a depression sink through his soul as he trudged onward. As the sun dipped horizonwards Jones582 saw a small settlement coming into view. He felt a deep sense of relief as the officer walked his horse over to Evans. 'We're camping there Sah'nt Majah.' he drawled nodding towards the cluster of buildings his cut glass English accent sounding alien in this exclusively Welsh unit. 'Yessah' bawled the CSM ''I'll send a scouting party forward sah and a runner to the baggage wagons to prepare your kit sah!'' The officer casually waved his swagger stick in return of his subordinate's smart salute and rode away. Half an hour later Jones582's mood had changed dramatically as he prepared his bedroll. This must have been a cowshed judging by the smell and the dried shit on the floor he thought still never mind the roof's good and that bastard Evan's hasn't detailed me for guard duty tonight. The smell of boiling meat wafted to him from the company cauldron and after the long day's march he was ravenous. He breathed a sigh of contentment Great, a cushy billet, clean my rifle and kit then after my meal, a smoke oh yes at last a smoke. He dug the clay pipe out of his kit happy to see it was intact. Then, at last a good night's sleep, Oh Dew, how he relished the thought of that. Maybe in the morning they'd get a bathing party together and go to the nearby river but that was too far ahead to think about now. 'Have you seen the land here' asked Thomas237 'a man could stay in a place like this forever' he said in his musical Valley's lilt. 'Do you reckon so Daffid?' 'Oh yes man, just look you at that grass boyo. A man could raise cattle, sheep, crops anything he chose to here.' 'Hmnnn…I can't see a wife liking it 'said Jones582 skeptically. 'A good Christian wife follows her husband without question as directed by the Bible' retorted Daffid Thomas sharply Oh please thought Jones582 don't start bloody bible bashing Daffid. when he thought nothing could save him from a Thomas237's bible lesson he was rescued by the Officer strolling by on his way to inspect his horse. Thomas237 jumped up to attention and saluted 's'cuse me sah, permission to speak sah?' The officer was mildly surprised but indulged the bright eyed private. He recognised Thomas237 as a solo tenor in the regimental choir and a good, deeply religious soldier. The thing that annoyed the English officer about Thomas237 was that the man always reverted to his native Welsh tongue when not talking to his superiors 'yes Thomas what is it?' he asked briskly. 'I was just wondering sah, this place is so beautiful, like a man could stay here forever sah.' The English officer was used to his Welsh soldiers waxing lyrical. 'A regiment of bloody poets and choristers' his father had said on learning his son had been seconded to them 'but there's some say they can fight a bit.' he had added grudgingly. The lieutenant looked around him seeing for the first time that the soldier was right. In the magnificent fiery blaze of the setting African sun there was an air of great tranquility. The undulating land looked fecund and productive as the long sweet grass waved in the cooling evening breeze. The lengthening shadows were rapidly imposing nightfall's claim casting deep purple shadows. It irritated him, somehow, that a common soldier would notice such great beauty before he himself who was born of land owning gentry. 'If you have a question spit it out man.' 'I was just wondering if this beautiful place had a name sir? If you please sir.' The officer glowered at Thomas237 standing stiffly to attention 'It's a place of absolutely no consequence and even less charm Thomas' he snapped 'locally it's called Kwajimu. We call it Rorke's Drift.' Historical note: At the Battle of Rorke's Drift on 22nd Jan 1879 139 soldiers of "B" Company the 2nd Battalion 24th of Foot drove off 4,000+ Zulu warriors winning 11 Victoria Crosses, Britain's highest award for bravery, in the process. (6 before breakfast) That record still stands as the highest number ever awarded for a single battle. It is sometimes said that modern rifles were easily used against 'poor natives with short spears' however none of the soldiers killed that day died of stab wounds; all were shot by the Zulus many of whom were armed with old but serviceable rifles. The battle inspired the film Zulu starring Michael Cain.
Archived comments for A Place to Rest
Mikeverdi on 21-12-2015
A Place to Rest
Enjoyed the way you wrote this, I didn't see it until the last bit. Must have seen the film a dozen times, and the prequel Zulu Dawn.
Mike

Author's Reply:
Thanks for the comment Mike Much appreciated. I have only seen the film a couple of times and never the sequel. This, however, is a work of fiction. The Welsh element didn't come into being until a couple of years after the battle. Most of the men who fought at Rorke's drift were from Warwickshire. Like Hollywood, Pinewood etc I never let facts get in the way of a story! πŸ˜‰

e-griff on 21-12-2015
A Place to Rest
Good story, inspiring visions of what it must have been like, both for the soldiers and in that countryside.

I used to visit a radio station in Anglesey and I was officially addressed as 'John Grifiths 5' because they had four more in the various external gangs and exchanges in that BT area.

The English spelling is 'sceptical' by the way πŸ™‚

Author's Reply:
Hi John thanks for the comment much appreciated it mate. Regarding 'Sceptical' I posted this first on an American website (Deep Underground Poetry) I then copied and pasted here. I usually correct it the time but did it past 'wine O'clock again! Mea culpa!


Prejudice (posted on: 04-12-15)
We often see in another that which we expect to see and miss the truth of who they really are.

I knew I would be meeting a lot of the helpless and the hopeless the reckless and feckless. Many of them were simply going through the motions with no intention of working; attending only to keep their State benefits flowing. Yes there would be genuine ones, good, decent hard working people. The positions would be filled but God it was such a long, tedious process. Conducting interviews is not my forte but a necessary part of my job. To be frank I hate it. It's a damned nuisance that takes me away from my other duties. Cost cutting meant that recruiting for minor positions was now the sole responsibly of store managers. Two days ago I had to conduct interviews for checkout and warehouse operatives.     Christine Thompson was first her CV was in front of me and I had glanced through it briefly. I wasn't impressed, for a start she lived on the Burnslack Estate a crime ridden collection of council owned tower blocks. Then there was her appearance.     I could see the facial holes where she had removed the body piercings but of course the large tattoos on her neck and hands remained. That she had removed the body piercings was, I suppose, a mark in her favour but I hate tattoos so decided immediately not to employ her. 'Tell me about your last job Christine' I heard myself ask. A bog standard question I was hardly listening to her reply. . 'I've worked in a care home' she said brightly 'I enjoyed that. I like people a lot.' Yeah, but do people like you? I thought eyeing her body art.     'And your reason for leaving?' 'I was made redundant' she said simply. 'So why do you want to work for us?' 'You pay decent wages and I have a baby to support' her eyes took on a pained look 'me an' her dad split up.' Oh great. Body piercings, conspicuous tattoos and domestic problems to boot. Enough already! I felt I just wanted to be rid of her. 'Well Christine we have a lot of people to interview yet so we'll let you know OK?' She looked deeply disappointed 'Aren't you going to ask about my qualifications?' she said 'I'm prepared to do any work, any work at all.'     'We'll let you know soon' I mumbled breaking eye contact. 'I think you already have' she said a bitterly 'It's 'cos of my tattoos isn't it?' she was on the verge of tears 'I was a stupid kid back then now I'm twenty four with a child to support. Can't you just look at me and not my tattoos?' she pleaded 'I've got good literacy and numeracy skills I could...' 'We'll let you know' I cut her off harshly feeling embarrassed by her desperation and by the truth of her statement. I found the two checkout people I needed but I couldn't fill the warehouse job. 'Where were these people educated?' I moaned to my wife that night. 'Most of them can barely write their own name. One guy even filled out his application in text speak for God's sake.' Next morning I looked through the rejected applications again. Christine Thompson had 'A' star level in maths and English she could do the warehouse job standing on her head. She sang in a choir and did voluntary work, too. I reached for the phone but then hesitated listening to the nagging voice of doubt. Anyone with those tattoos, outlandish body piercings and was a single mother was just bound to be trouble. I let my prejudice win and binned her application. Driving home that night past the Burnslack tower blocks I was stopped by police activity. Traffic built up behind me. I was trapped. In the tower block's car park a host of blue lights were flashing. After a while I got out of the car and went to the group of bystanders 'What's going on here then?' I asked somewhat impatiently. A lady with tears in her eyes told me 'I saw her this morning just to say hello. I only knew her first name Christine it was, the tattooed girl. She's just jumped' She covered her face with prayer shaped hands and started sobbing so I barely heard the words that would haunt me for the rest of my life 'She took the baby with her.'
Archived comments for Prejudice
franciman on 04-12-2015
Prejudice
Great story Tony. I liked the build of prejudice too. I particularly liked the conflict when he was confronted by Christine. Maybe look at your punctuation? I sometimes had trouble with where statements and interjections ended. I find that when I read aloud, the spaces where I pause or change direction become obvious and I then need to punctuate in some way?
Anyhow, a great effort.
cheers,
Jim

Author's Reply:
Thanks for that Jim, praise indeed. I know punctuation is not my long suit and, believe it or not, I have been working to improve it. I shall try that tip and thank you very much for it. It will come in handy as I am re-editing and extending my novel "The Flames of Jihad."
Oh yeah I forgot to mention thanks for the generous rating. πŸ™‚

sweetwater on 06-12-2015
Prejudice
I don't often read prose but I am very glad I read this one, it held my interest from the start, I felt sorry for both the interviewer and Christine. A very good story and the length was just right too. Sue.

Author's Reply:
Thank you Sue you're very kind. This was an exercise for a writing course I'm doing. I'm glad you thought it short enough. One of my faults is to be a bit long-winded. πŸ™‚


Always Take a Cab (posted on: 30-11-15)
If you'll believe this yer'll believe owt but yer might get a giggle trying.

I went to a party well it's that season of the year Met my friends, had a laugh whilst drinking too much beer I'd driven to the party but it was very plain That I would need a taxi to get back home again I didn't want to risk it and get a nasty shock For coppers are quite crafty and trap folks in road block And so I took a taxi and surely I was right For there was a road block looming in the night As I was in a taxi we never had to stop And as I passed I gave a wave to a very friendly cop Next morning I'd a hangover my face was green and blue And where I'd stolen the taxi from I haven't got a clue! On a serious note folks don't drink and drive this Christmas!
Archived comments for Always Take a Cab
sweetwater on 30-11-2015
Always Take a Cab
This is so clever of you. I read the taxi taking joke on Facebook this morning and thought it funny, but not once did I ever think to write a whole poem around it. It lifts it to a whole new level, much enjoyed. πŸ™‚ Sue.

Author's Reply:
Thanks Sue,
A friend told me the joke to me some few days ago and I said I could probably do a poem about that so he challenged me to do it. I felt a bit of a cheat really but a challenge is a challenge so there you are. If call it 'inspired ' by a joke I'll feel better about it.
Thanks for the kind comment.
Tony

shadow on 01-12-2015
Always Take a Cab
I hadn't seen the joke, so the last line really took me by surprise. Gave me a giggle!

Author's Reply:
Thank you Shadow for your comment. I'm glad I gave you a laugh however my next piece is far different to this one.


Blind Date (posted on: 27-11-15)
Even for beautiful young people meeting the opposite sex can be very difficult at times.

Melanie poured herself a stiff drink then slumped disconsolately into her armchair. 'Bugger' she said aloud. Taking a large swig she began raking over her first and last date with Jackson Jones. He'd been pleasant enough, a good humoured bloke who'd made her laugh. But she knew as soon as she'd heard his first 'oh hello' that he was shocked. He covered it better than most of her dates but it was unmistakeably there. She heard her front door open 'Cooee Melanie it's only me love how did it go?' 'Same as it always does Aunty June' she said sounding miserable 'pleasant enough man but ''I'll give you a ring sometime'' was all I got at the end.' Aunt June scratched her unworldly greying head in exasperation. A decent woman in her early fifties she was desperate to help her twenty four year old niece find a suitable young man. Oh dear she thought a deep sense of disappointment deflating her. 'I don't understand it' she mused 'you're as pretty as a picture, your figure is great and as for your legs; wow!' 'Aunty June I'm blind. No one wants to go out with me they see me as some sort of liability' she sniffled and blew her nose 'I suppose I'll just have to get used to the idea I'll always be on my own.' June felt an ache sweep over her heart like a wave crashing onto rocks. She had arranged this date through an agency. 'Didn't you tell him when you spoke on the phone last night dear?' 'Of course I didn't' said Melanie irritated 'if I tell a bloke before I meet him he usually puts me off straight away or, worse still, stands me up. Her unseeing eyes brimmed with tears she felt on the verge of despair 'no matter how pretty I may or may not be nobody wants to date a blind girl.' A month passed before Aunt June raised the subject of boys again this time about a really special boy. Melanie cut her off abruptly 'I don't want to know Aunty June it'll end like all the others. Leave it, please, just leave it.' 'Yes but......' 'No! and that's final' Melanie barked with a dismissive wave of her hand. June felt a piercing hurt in her breast her lip trembled but held her peace. Over coffee they chatted about mutual friends, the weather and many other things but avoided mentioning men. Just before she left June said 'It's not like you to give up Melanie. When your mum died and you moved in here on your own everyone expected you to fail. You didn't.' Melanie sighed June was right about that. How's she going to cope without her mum? was the question well meaning friends had asked each other. Without her mother caring for her she'll be unable to cope seemed to be the general consensus. Well they were all wrong she thought defiantly. Totally bloody wrong. On leaving June turned in the doorway weighed down with guilt 'look, I'm sorry Melanie but I gave him, Peter that is, your number....... he may not ring though....he's very shy.....the thing is....' 'Oh good god June' Melanie almost exploded with frustration.'and I suppose you told him I was a poor hapless little blind girl who was desperate for company? I'll bloody well send him packing if he rings, so there!' 'No. Oh dear, no Melanie I didn't tell...' June choked, unable to continue. Bursting into tears she turned and fled her niece's hostility. Afterwards Melanie felt awful for shouting at dear Aunty June who was, after all, only trying to help her. She would ring her tomorrow and apologise. If she rang now she knew they'd both end in floods of tears. She felt lower than at any time she could remember. Peter did ring and to her surprise she was immediately taken by his gentle melodic Hebridean Scots accent. His voice had a soft musical lilt that made her want to listen forever. He told her he was twenty seven, from Stornoway on the Isle of Lewis that he sang in a choir and loved animals. His crystal clear enunciation sounded like an angel singing in her ear. She felt her heart beating faster but, with an effort, held herself in check. Too many times her hopes had been cruelly dashed. Intrigued though she was she kept the call brief. They agreed to meet outside McDonald's the next morning 'and only for coffee OK?' she had said emphatically. Melanie woke early next day feeling excited in spite of herself. She showered then dressed with extra care wanting to look her best for him this man with the golden voice. Just before she left she knelt and said a prayer 'Please lord help me' she pleaded a desperate longing flooding her every fibre 'since mum died you know how lonely I've been. Just for once, Lord, please, let me find some happiness.' She got off the number thirty two bus in the town square and made her way to the crossing. She waited for the beeping signal then crossed. In her head she counted the steps walking briskly, confidently, sweeping her white cane rapidly before her. It was her way of showing the world I don't need your help or your pity thank you. Seventy two paces to the precinct turn right mind the rubbish bin at fifty eight paces. Carry on for another one hundred and four and bingo she was there. The balled tip of her cane lightly touched a shoe her heightened hearing detecting a slight nervous intake of breath. 'Are you Peter?' she asked. 'Yes and you'll be Melanie? 'Yes, shall we go in Peter?' 'Sure, c'mon Jess.' 'Jess? Who's Jess? asked Melanie suspiciously. 'Why can't you see? She's my guide dog.' Copyright © J A Milligan
Archived comments for Blind Date
shadow on 29-11-2015
Blind Date
Lovely story, though I did have a suspicion of how it might end.

Author's Reply:
Quite right Shadow,
what is meant to be a little foreshadowing in a story can, to the astute reader, often be telegraphing.
In this case perhaps it was in the title? I have tried the story on a couple of female friends and relatives who are not themselves writers or poets and they didn't see it coming.

I've also posted this on a couple of sites and it has not drawn one male response. So I reckon when I aimed it at a female audience I was spot on in doing so. Big grins to me!
Thank you for the very useful comment.
Tony


Therapeutic Sex (posted on: 20-11-15)
"'Hi cousin you coming over after college?’ Sandra smiled at her handsome eighteen year old cousin. He was mad and bad and as fit as a butcher’s dog. She’d fancied him since the age of twelve, always believing someday he’d be the one.

'Hi cousin you coming over after college?' Sandra smiled at her handsome eighteen year old cousin. He was mad and bad and as fit as a butcher's dog. She'd fancied him since the age of twelve, always believing someday he'd be the one. 'Maybe' she said with forced indifference 'I'll see how I feel.' She already knew how she felt as the little damp patch in her underwear testified to. 'You still a virgin?' He asked cheekily. 'Might be, might not' she teased 'It's none of your business Dick head.' 'Well no matter cousin I'll see ya later' he grinned swaggering off cocky and self-confident his bouncing blonde hair shining in the sun. Sandra remembered her psychologist mother's words of caution to be careful around Jason 'he needs therapy that one' she'd said 'I see people professionally who are more stable than him.' Jason felt relaxed he knew she'd come. They lolled on his bed, the detritus of his feckless lifestyle making everywhere else impossible. His music blared 'Yer like Rap doncha?' he asked. Sandra didn't answer straight away her brown eyes clouded 'well, yeah, it's cool except that Gangsta shit they should put a big C in front of that Rap; too violent for me.' 'Wanna drink?' 'Whotcha got?' He produced a litre bottle 'jus' coke, miss 'onest' he answered mockingly as if talking to a teacher then grinned 'I put some Vodka in it to kill any bugs.' 'OK' she smiled givvit here.' Jason eyed her lustfully as she drank. Just last year she'd been a gawky kid. Now she'd turned sixteen all the feminine bits had developed beautifully. The swell of her magnificent tits rebelling against her bra, the long shapely legs and her arse; oh god her arse! He felt himself stiffen. Sliding over to her he took the bottle swigging deeply. He slid his arm around her waist and nuzzled her alabaster neck. Sandra was feeling mellow and relaxed into him. The alcohol conspired with her desire and her inhibitions started falling away. He kissed her deeply and fondled her hardening nipples. Sandra felt a thrill run through her chest and down her spine, a delightful, tingling sensation. When he slipped his hand up her skirt she felt a moment of panic but he made no attempt to invade her underwear. Instead he stroked her inner thigh lightly. She relaxed in his arms returning his kisses, gradually he moved up in tantalising circles until he was teasing her clitoral hood through the fabric of her flimsy knickers. She moaned as waves of pleasure sabotaged her self control. She reached for him finding the bulge in his jeans squeezing and rubbing inexpertly. He unzipped and guided her hand. Sandra only had one previous sexual experience and it had not gone well. She'd met a beautiful boy at a party and they had gone outside to escape the din. They had kissed and he had suddenly slipped his hand up her skirt pushing a finger roughly into her. It had hurt like hell as he tore her hymen and she had panicked pushing him away. The boy, whose name she couldn't even recall, had taken her hand and placed it on his rigid cock. 'What the hell am I supposed to do with this now?' he'd asked sulkily. Sandra had felt ashamed of her inexperience. She was intrigued by how soft and silky the skin felt and how hard his cock was underneath. It hadn't taken long; the overly excited boy had spurted after a dozen fumbling strokes. Jason started to strip her and Sandra began to pull his T shirt up feeling herself streaming. The word condom floated into her mind and away again on a wave of intense desire. Then they were naked and he spread her compliant thighs wide apart. She had a momentary twinge of fear as he entered her then it was gone as she became engulfed in her passion. She felt her flesh painlessly parting to his delicate thrusting and responded, pushing her hips high to receive him. She orgasmed quickly as a tsunami of sensation swamped her and started at once to build again. He rode her expertly stroking her hard rose pink nipples and kneading her buttocks. Then he withdrew and she was momentarily disappointed thinking the magic had stopped. He disappeared kissing and licking his way downward. The sensation of his tongue tip flicking lightly as a butterfly's wing on her suffused clitoris drove her to distraction and she began moaning loudly and whimpering with pleasure. His gorged cock was before her inches from her face. Instinctively she took it and drew it into her mouth pushing her head forward the better to accommodate him. He took her slowly, teasingly to the brink of another massive climax then eased up. 'Please Jason, for god's sake, please!' she pleaded, her fingernails raking his buttocks. Jason entered her then this time urgently as he sought his own satisfaction. Ramming her hard he finally let go a great shout as he shot into her again and again until finally he was spent. After a few breathless minutes he found he had to make an effort to pull himself out of her as her tight vaginal muscles clamped his now flaccid penis firmly in place. They lay holding each other for what seemed an age then Sandra's phone which had spilled from her bag sometime during the action vibrated rattling against the coke bottle. She picked it up seeing she had three missed calls. It was her mother sounding anxious 'Where are you darling? Daddy's home and we have rung all your friends. No one has seen you. We've been worried sick.' 'I'm alright mummy. I'm with Jason. We've been for a walk.' With Jason? Jane sounded shocked 'I thought I told you to steer clear of him?' she snapped 'he's very unstable. He needs therapy.' Now that her anxiety had subsided her mother sounded angry 'why haven't you been answering your phone?' 'It was still on silent from college mummy, in my bag, sorry.' Jason suddenly snatched the phone from her a sadistic glint in his eye. 'Your daughter's been too busy getting herself a good sound fucking Auntie Jane. I've just taken her cherry, Christ she was hot to trot.' Sandra gave a mortified scream and snatched the phone back blushing beetroot red 'He's lying mum' she wailed 'you know what an arsehole he is' but she sounded far from convincing. 'Come home at once Sandra McCauley' her mother yelled and hung up. Sandra turned on Jason and slapped him hard across the face. 'You nasty fucking bastard' she screamed 'what the fuck did you do that for?' Jason looked at her stony faced, the red welts from her fingers emblazoned on his cheek 'because it's the fuckin' truth Sandra he said in a flat voice 'why are people like you always afraid of the fuckin' truth?' 'Jason you bastard don't you see?' She screamed 'you've taken something beautiful and made it shit. I've got to face her now you arsehole' tears of frustration were streaming down her face. 'How am I going to look my dad in the eye?' She punched him in the chest as hard as she could but didn't move his six foot frame. She began hurriedly to dress. Jason slipping into his clothes said 'you're sixteen aren't you Sandra? That's the legal age of consent in this country in case you'd forgotten.' He pulled on his T shirt and took her by the shoulders 'come on I'll take you home it should be a laugh watching their faces.' Sandra twisted away from him 'Like fuck you will' she shouted 'you've done enough damage.' She stared at him for a long moment shaking her head unable to grasp the sheer depths of his callousness. 'You need therapy Jason you are one seriously sick soul.' At the mention of therapy Jason's eyes flashed insanely but only for a second. 'Do your folks think you'll stay a fuckin' virgin 'til they say it's OK Sandra? It's your cunt and if you want to screw it's got fuck-all to do with them.' He looked her up and down contemptuously 'Anyway you'd better trot to the chemist tomorrow for the morning after pill' he gave a sneering laugh. She was just another conquest and this was his way of making sure she stayed dumped. In his mind it was all a joke. She stared at him in utter disbelief the sick feeling in her stomach hardening to cold rage. He'd taken her most beautiful experience and turned into a cheap throw-away fuck. She wiped her eyes on her sleeve forcing a smile as she moved close to him 'Nice of you to be concerned for my welfare Jason' she said. She went as if to kiss him goodbye. He responded, stepping close. Sandra was still smiling sweetly as she slammed her knee into his groin. 'That's the therapy you need Jason, now let's hear you laugh that fucker off.'
Archived comments for Therapeutic Sex

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Moon Beam Dream (posted on: 20-11-15)
surprising what pops into you head when you take an afternoon nap!

Sitting in a pudding patch on the dark side of the moon A ferret with a hand grenade said 'Ya wanna hear a boom?' So I hit him with a mushroom around his pointy head He rubbed it with a cabbage leaf 'that bloody hurt he said' Then I kicked him in the backside and he shot into a crater Where he sat down at a table and called out for a waiter He ordered a barbed wire sandwich and a pot of tea for one Said the waiter please pull the pin but wait until I'm gone The ferret pulled the pin out and threw it in the air And then he tucked the hand grenade neatly 'neath his chair When after fifteen minutes it still had not gone off The waiter leapt upon his table to laugh at him and scoff A passing milkmaid and her cow were walking near by Has that thing not gone off yet? Here lads let me have a try She thumped it with her milking stool, the hand grenade went boom And now you know the reason why the cow jumped over the moon
Archived comments for Moon Beam Dream
Mikeverdi on 20-11-2015
Moon Beam Dream
HaHaHa! Made me laugh, I was so wondering where it was going 😁
Mike

Author's Reply:
Thanks Mike I'm glad it amused you. This was just a bit of nonsense I threw together on the spur of the moment. When I started it even I didn't know where it was going!
Big grins πŸ™‚
Tony

gwirionedd on 21-11-2015
Moon Beam Dream
This is another really interesting one, Tony. There must be something in the water at the moment. A lot of very good pieces on the site this week.

Sounds all rather psychedelic and not just a bit Beatlesque... makes me wonder if you've been putting anything in your tea...

Could I make a few suggestions regarding the meter? I think, with a few small changes it would flow a lot better. For example:

"The waiter said, Please pull the pin..."

It flows better if you just have normal syntax. Putting "Said" at the start of the line doesn't help it.

Maybe also:

"and he threw it in the air"

"and then he neatly tucked the hand grenade beneath his chair"

"The waiter leapt upon his table, laughed at him and scoffed"

"wandering nearby"

Just some suggestions. I wouldn't bother if I thought the poem was shit, which it isn't...

Archie



Author's Reply:
Thank you Archie and, looking at it again, I think you're right. It was one of those things that popped into my head and was written down in ten minutes.I'll get around to polishing it.

The something in my particular water was a drop of scotch I'm afraid I sometimes do post after ten past wine of an evening πŸ˜‰

shadow on 21-11-2015
Moon Beam Dream
I enjoyed this a lot - very funny. Nothing like a bit of nonsense! Thought the last line stumbled a bit though. Perhaps if you changed 'over' to 'o'er' - or would that be a bit too 'poetical'?

Author's Reply:
Hi Shadow,
Yup I've had it's short comings pointed out in the previous post it was one of my "10 past wine" creations! I'll clean it up when I have a bit of time.
Thanks for your comments much appreciated.

gwirionedd on 21-11-2015
Moon Beam Dream
"o'er" would indeed be too 'poetical', mereckons...



Author's Reply:


This, Too, Will Pass (posted on: 20-11-15)
Vive la France!

Though you murder my brothers in cold blood In the name of a God I don't understand Yet I will not hate you Though you come from the sand of a foreign land I refuse to despise you I will not let you blind me, bind me To your creed of the hateful deed I will not dwell in your ignorance I refuse to regard all Muslims with suspicion For then I create the very division That you seek to make me weak I shall be strong, live and forgive I will forever hate your crime but will never chime With your hatred, for my soul is sacred It will not be defiled by twisted ideology Though you seem strong you are wrong And, by your own folly, will you perish For all things pass with time
Archived comments for This, Too, Will Pass
franciman on 20-11-2015
This, Too, Will Pass
Loved this, Pronto. It has an Homeric quality to it.
If you'll excuse the critique, I think the last line is redundent. This allows the title to do its job.
cheers,
Jim

Author's Reply:
Thanks Jim a bit of positive crit is always welcome mate, how else will we improve? I had wondered the same myself but decided it might give the ending a bit more impact. It's all subject to one's own perception of course and the similarity between the penultimate line and the last is marked so you're probably right.
Cheers


Pictures on a Pub Wall (posted on: 20-11-15)    
Dedicated to the many friends who, with time, have moved on beyond recall.

On a photograph he traces The outline of their faces Recalls the scenes, the youthful dreams The days out at the races The cough and clang of the Charabanc Struggling to Blackpool's lights Of sing-a-long with cheerful song Throughout those boozy nights That's Jimmy he was at our school Killed in the war poor boy And Thelma Pearl, Oh what a girl She married Barry Troy So many friends all now long gone Who loved to sing and drink So enjoy my friendship while you may It's later than you think And soon one day when I'm gone away Beyond this life's recall For good times past please raise a glass To our pictures on the wall
Archived comments for Pictures on a Pub Wall
Mikeverdi on 20-11-2015
Pictures on a Pub Wall
Like this, and it's a great idea. I know some pubs used to to do it, all gone now. Like the people in the photos.
Great stuff.
Mike

Author's Reply:
Thanks Mike I used to drink in a pub like that in the early sixties. It was a warm and friendly place in an era when pubs were often the centre of the community. Those days are, unfortunately, long gone.
Oh well!

franciman on 20-11-2015
Pictures on a Pub Wall
This is another that could have won the challenge. Really evocative in speaking of a time now past. It reminded me of Omar Kayyam. The pub as mausoleum so to speak.
cheers,
Jim

Author's Reply:
Thank you Jim I'm flattered by your comments. The standard of the comp is always high and I like it because it keeps me trying to do better.

Ionicus on 20-11-2015
Pictures on a Pub Wall
This is indeed one that could have won the challenge and was within a whisker of doing so. In common with all the other entries it was of the highest quality. Well done, Tony.

Author's Reply:
Thanks mate it's very kind of you to say so. I enjoy writing for the challenge. Win or no it matters not to me like the Olympics, the taking part is the most important thing. I like reading and learning from the other entries. So many good ideas.

gwirionedd on 20-11-2015
Pictures on a Pub Wall
Wow! This is excellent, Tony! This is the best poem of yours that I've read. Fave story for me, and a well-deserved nomination from someone else.

I really like the flowing rhythm, the well-placed rhymes and the genuineness of the remembrances.

I also like the way the poem is tinged with sadness.

Lovely stuff.

Archie



Author's Reply:
Wow Archie that's a wonderfully heart warming compliment mate thank you very much. The tinge of sadness for old friends no longer around is, I think, common to all of us.
Cheers mate,
Tony

ValDohren on 20-11-2015
Pictures on a Pub Wall
The poignancy of growing old beautifully illustrated here - and, as well as pub walls, many homes display the same memories. Good work.
Val X

Author's Reply:
Thanks Val you're very kind.

pommer on 21-11-2015
Pictures on a Pub Wall
Great,Pictures on wall say so much and bring back so many memories.One day sooner or later we will all be pictures on the wall.Wonderfully composed. Thank you for sharing. Peter.

Author's Reply:
Thank you Peter,
I'm glad you liked it mate I know I enjoyed writing it. When I was a young man we had a pub with pictures of trips the landlord had organised for the regulars. Some of these pictures went back to the 1920's.I don't think modern pub landlords have the time these days.
Ah me! πŸ™‚


One Bar Blues (posted on: 16-11-15)
Play me lonely, play me blue, be glad it's me my friend not you.

Since you left, took the kids Sat in an all night bar I've hit the booze, I've hit this skids Not knowing where you are The blues pours softly down the walls From a decadent saxophone Forlorn trumpet muted calls To remind me I'm alone An offer from a junkie whore Says she'll ease my pain Wants my money, nothing more That much is very plain Piano's notes caress my ear The drummer soft he beats Lost everything I held dear Now walk the purple streets It's four a.m. and here I am Heart bleeding on the floor Not that you will give a damn But I'm leaving with the whore
Archived comments for One Bar Blues
stormwolf on 16-11-2015
One Bar Blues
Oh dear
I take it this is using poetic licence 😜
Captures the desolation and desperation of trying to feel better and gain comfort, albeit temporarily
Alison X

Author's Reply:
Yup Alison, poetic licence indeed. I just had a Blues-in-the-night moment. Right, I'm off to slit my wrists! πŸ˜‰

Mikeverdi on 16-11-2015
One Bar Blues
Bugger, this is a sure sign of too much Leonard Cohen 😁
Mike

Author's Reply:
Thanks Mike, Yes you might say that!

sweetwater on 16-11-2015
One Bar Blues
I may be somewhat stupid here, but I saw this as rather a tongue in cheek poem, not a cry for help, understanding or sympathy. The last line seemed a bit "well I could have ignored her but I didn't so there! " If I have it totally wrong, I apologise but that's what comes across each time I have read it.
But either way I really enjoyed it, πŸ™‚ Sue xx

Author's Reply:
OK Sue that's fine. As long as you enjoyed your interpretation of it that's all that matters. Sometimes we get so tied up analysing a piece,looking for what we're 'supposed' to see we forget to enjoy ourselves. That's a trap I have fallen into before today. Thanks for the comment.


Ten Past Wine (posted on: 16-11-15)
If the cap fits.....

Sometimes we post past wine-o'-clock And later wished we'd not Next morning just embarrassment We've proved that we're a clot To leave it there? To take it down? Amend it, put it right? But everyone has seen it now This total heap of shite! So wipe the egg from off our face And wear a happy grin Apologise with all good grace Perspective back agin!
Archived comments for Ten Past Wine
stormwolf on 16-11-2015
Ten Past Wine
Ha ha good one but as they say " many a true word spoken in jest "

Alison x

Author's Reply:
Thanks Alison glad you had a grin!

Mikeverdi on 16-11-2015
Ten Past Wine
Yep, we've all done this one 😂😂😂😂😂

Author's Reply:
Indeed Mike but then we sometimes learn from our mistakes (Sadly sometimes not) Oh well onwards and upwards! πŸ™‚

sweetwater on 16-11-2015
Ten Past Wine
Hehe I loved the 'oh what the heck ' attitude. I can honestly say I have never posted a drink fuelled verse ( I don't drink ) so any rubbish I post is sheer stupidity, so no excuses lol. I loved this fun poem :-)) Sue xx

Author's Reply:
Thank you Sue I'm glad I gave you a giggle.As a teetotaller (Bless your strength of will)you may indeed never have this problem. keep smiling! πŸ˜‰

shadow on 19-11-2015
Ten Past Wine
I must admit I also have posted when slightly tired and emotional, so I empathise with this - but I make a firm rule never to buy anything online when drink taken!

Author's Reply:
Thanks for the comment Shadow as for buying on line with wine? I'm afraid I broke that rule just last week. There is a brilliant scam going around an I-phone for a pound and it can be made to look like it came from a Face book friend. In the small print it then goes on the say it charged Β£74 PCM thereafter. It's not illegal either just fiendishly clever. I told my bank and they have been instructed not to release funds. Very many thousand 'savvy' people have been caught out by this. Tell your friends.
Thanks for reading.


The Ballad of Big Bad Bob (posted on: 13-11-15)
If you're going to pick on granddads be careful which granddads you choose.

Going to the game gramps and me Wandered up to a stall to buy a cup of tea Big Bad Bob was shouting, raging, drunk 'I'm taking on all comers' roared the punk For Bob had knocked six coppers out Now all were terrified of the lout He's nowt but a gobshite me old gramps said He needs a clout about his head 'Behave yourself yer wazzack or I'll take you to task' 'And just how will you manage that may I be so bold to ask?' For Bob weighed 200 pounds and stood at six foot three 'Piss off home yer daft owd fart I'm twice the size of thee' Granddad sauntered over slow and casual as could be Pulling out Bob's trouser belt he poured in his scalding tea Big Bob screeched and danced about he looked a proper clown Trying to pull his trousers off whilst jumping up and down Gramps then took his pipe stem and jabbed Bob in the eye The bully screamed in agony like he was going to die Gramps kicked him in the happy sacks and chopped him in the neck Bob fell wailing to the ground a snivelling, gibbering wreck He crawled over to the coppers crying to be nicked He'd come against my granddad and had his backside kicked The coppers could hardly cuff him, laughing fit to burst Against me ancient little granddad Big Bad Bob had come off worst And when I told my granny she giggled like a drain 'If they take on yer granddad they're going to suffer pain' He used to be a Commando and damned good at his job Hitler's army couldn't beat him, what chance had Big Big Bob?
Archived comments for The Ballad of Big Bad Bob
shadow on 13-11-2015
The Ballad of Big Bad Bob
Brilliant - I loved it! The old ones are still the best.

Author's Reply:
Hi Shadow thank you for your kind comment. It's the product of a 'grumpy old man' I actually read of an old soldier who hospitalised two 17 year old would-be muggers. He was formally an unarmed combat instructor. Serves the little sods right I say!
Cheers.


Remembrance (posted on: 09-11-15)
it's that time of year again I fear I am too late with this my apologies.

Fiery cannon's venom flies Served by weary men Spitting death through weeping skies Upon their brethren Theirs believed a just cause As do the other side Never once they're giving pause And mercy all denied For this is the war to end all wars They were all led to believe By politicians and such whores Who practised to deceive Now in the mud and blood and gore Where only poppies thrive Pile broken bodies more and more Once young and hale, alive For this the price of vanity And nations' stubborn pride A monument to insanity For which they needless died And still today called to obey To war, to war, they cry Sad wiser heads would bid them stay Their sacrifice to deny ''What if they held a war and nobody came?'' Spike Milligan
Archived comments for Remembrance
gwirionedd on 09-11-2015
Remembrance
And yet Michael Gove, Boris Johnson und suchlike Tory shits still stay that the First World War needed to be fought.

"When will they ever learn? When will they ever learn?..."




Author's Reply:
Yes, bloody sad isn't it? The Kaiser was Queen Victoria's grandson, the Germans are Saxons and we are their Anglo Saxon cousins and we couldn't find a way to settle our differences peacefully? Horse shit I say.
Thanks for the comment mate.

Corin on 12-11-2015
Remembrance
Pronto - the poem could do with some punctuation I think - better than leaving the reader to try and guess what you mean!-)

Well - the Great War did bring to an end four totally undemocratic monarchist empires - Prussia, Austro-Hungarian, Ottoman and Tsarist Russian (even if the latter simply collapsed under the weight of war on its own creaking foundations. That seems like a good result to me. The democracies of Britain, France and the USA could not have long allowed these absurd political entities to long continue - war was inevitable as the Kaiser, the Tsar, the Habsburg Emperor and the Caliph were by then anachronisms in a modern world.

Author's Reply:
Hi Corin,
Thank you very much for your imput. I'll look again at the punctuation though I felt that what it said was plain enough. One can get too close to one's own work to see its faults at times.

As for the rest of your comment it is true that these systems were in dire need of change. War is only one way (And the least cost effective way at that)We've seen and are seeing (Yet again) what damage outside interference can inflict upon countries like Libya and Iraq.

Having taken part in a couple of small wars, and been a peace keeper between to warring factions, I can't agree with your conclusions.
Thanks for commenting,
Pronto

sweetwater on 12-11-2015
Remembrance
I found this a very touching and poignant tribute to all those who 'did their duty' sadly I am now left wondering why they and their families gave up so much, as we no longer have the England they fought so hard to protect.

Author's Reply:
Thank you Sweetwater,
As Corrin says in the comment above these there was old world fiefdoms that were corrupt in the extreme and needed changing. My humble opinion is that they should have been left to internal revolution to create change within their own borders. Maybe that's a bit simplistic maybe not. It's all history now from which, sadly, we never seem to learn; a shining example of this is Afghanistan.
Thanks for taking the time to comment.
Pronto


Memorandum (posted on: 06-11-15)
The interdepartmental memoranda can sometimes be a little torturous.

Government Memorandum To: Ministers of State and Department Heads Civil Service Subject: Quantitative Quality of Communication My quintessential quandary when interfacing with flummery and incorporating panjandrummery is to regard the post-modernistic pseudo-neoclassical tendency for over obfuscation as detrimental to the intent of the author/s and inversely proportional to the comprehension of the recipient/s. This is also detrimental to those discerning the implied dichotomy with its inherent requirement for clarity when co-compared to simplistic ultra-understatement of the augmentative arguments implicit to congruent cognition of the cogency of said communication. This is causing concern. In future ministers and departmental leaders will, with full cognisance of the needs of the proletariat, ensure that extra effort at eudemonistic discourse between recipients and their ability to appreciate the fundamental correlation between those subservient to governmental diktats and ourselves. The need to create a symbiotic relationship sympathetic to the symmetry of the observationally perceived perception of the author must be unequivocally unambiguous not to say refulgent in the aforementioned intentional clarity. Further, those of you perusing this missive thus far and have not yet succumbed to morpheonic, catatonic torpor, take notice: departmental directives that do not contain a quotient of self-serving bovine excremental content will, in future, be severely reprimanded even to the extent of partial emolumental sequestration where recidivism is an aggravating factor. I hope I make myself clear. John Gobbery Head of Communications
Archived comments for Memorandum
Mikeverdi on 06-11-2015
Memorandum
HaHaHa! Brilliant, I could never have come up with that.
Mike

Author's Reply:
Thanks mate it comes of listening politicians their weasel words, double speak and bullshit.
I just exaggerated a bit. (Or did I ) πŸ™‚

Bozzz on 07-11-2015
Memorandum
Sir,
This is a formal invitation to join the Civil Service without having to sit the usual examination.
Yours in gobbledegook, Bozzz. Good fun Tony.

Author's Reply:
Thanks Bozz your comment is appreciated. It's surprising the kind of crap that goes through one's sleepless head at three in the morning! πŸ™‚

Bozzz on 07-11-2015
Memorandum
Sir,
This is a formal invitation to join the Civil Service without having to sit the usual examination.
Yours in gobbledegook, Bozzz. Good fun Tony.

Author's Reply:

pommer on 08-11-2015
Memorandum
Very good example of the "bullshittery" dispensed by the ignorant educated bastards in grey suits.Enjoyed reading this contribution. Peter.

Author's Reply:
Thanks Peter glad it brought you a bit of pleasure, sure 'tis all blarney anyway. Godwottery at it's worst.


Brother Sky (posted on: 06-11-15)
My first go at this in Multi haiku form.

Brother sky You let eagles fly Why not I? Brother Sea You roam so free Why not me? Brother trees Grow where you please Why have I no ease? Brother stream You flow serene Why is only man obscene?
Archived comments for Brother Sky
Mikeverdi on 06-11-2015
Brother Sky
Well that's different mate. There is something of the American Indian about it, as if part of a shaman ritual. I like it.
Mike

Author's Reply:
Thank you Mike That's what I was thinking about when I wrote it. It came into my head and I popped it down before it went never to return. My head's like that! πŸ˜‰

stormwolf on 07-11-2015
Brother Sky
I liked it. I think along these lines too. At the moment, I am suffering from the loss of Grandfather Sun who is sailing away from the earth and always feel a surge of relief when the winter solstice comes on 21st Dec and I know he's on his way back.
Alison x

Author's Reply:
I'm rather like you Alison I love the summer warmth. Thank you for commenting.


Obsession (posted on: 30-10-15)    
No matter how in control you think you are, don't push desperate souls too far.

Fingers on sleek velum skin Seeking softness in secret folds She draws him deep within Whilst whispering fragrant lies Lullabies of lust Betrayed trust He inhales the musk Tastes the other woman On her lying lips She's been there again Sharing her love with her again She knows he knows, doesn't care Her demon dark eyes assess him Her devil hands caress him Wrapping languid legs Round loyal loins Hears his groans he's lost No matter the cost he's hers His confession of obsession Means he'll never leave She owns both her and him Cock and quim Servile slaves Hers to the grave Recumbent, she's sated Laying elated in juices of joy 'She's dead' he quietly said 'Now it's me and you We're beyond all hope' She laughs 'til he produces the rope
Archived comments for Obsession
Mikeverdi on 01-11-2015
Obsession
I just loved this, almost an exotic feel to it, just the right side of disgusting. Great word play. Congrats on the Nib, would look better with a Nomination to go with it.
Mike

Author's Reply:
Thanks Mike,
I appreciate the kind comment and the nomination. Truly chuffed!

Bozzz on 01-11-2015
Obsession
Smooth talk from a professional - enjoyed reading. Agree with Mike - deserves Nom...David

Author's Reply:
Thank you David, You're very kind sir.


Sea Berth (posted on: 23-10-15)
A cautionary tale of wenching and ale.

Loneliness hung from each dark cloud Like a misty, louring, funereal shroud Vessels passing in the night Each recognised the other's plight Come, she said, come ye and sup From my yoni's loving cup Sailor thou art lonely, lost as I Prithee sir do not sail by Thy harbour's in my fecund flesh And comfort in my arms enmesh Banish the melancholy of this earth Bold sailor, let me give thee berth Be warned young maid I beg of thee Tis my intention to stay free I 'll have no part of parson's flock And will not marry ere we dock Though for thy flesh I surely yearn It's to the sea I will return She's both my father and my mother I love her like I love no other But for this night, this night alone I'll drop my anchor then be gone To another port, another wench Another pair of thighs to clench By light of dawn away he crept To leave her lying where they'd slept Lusty deeds had swift been done Now she is left to nurse their son
Archived comments for Sea Berth
Bozzz on 23-10-2015
Sea Berth
Tony, I love this poem for it's simplicity and sharp rhyming. Some may decry rhyming couplets, when they are this well done - whoopee ! very good...David

Author's Reply:
Thank very much David. I know what you mean about couplets I wrote a poem entitled "Pisspotical Prose" on this very subject. It's simply a matter of what's fashionable at the time of writing. In Victorian times it was almost essential to write in rhyming couplets. As a format it's as good as any and, dare I say, better than some.

I had a bit of fun writing it and that's what matters most to me.
Cheers mate,
Tony

sweetwater on 24-10-2015
Sea Berth
Loved this, a mini drama in poetic form. Really became consumed with the story, the 'old language' and the passions felt. Felt so sorry for the poor girl though all she wanted was the same as he wanted, but she got stuck with a child " Oh life, though art so unfair. " Great write. Sue.

Author's Reply:
Thank you sweet Sue for the lovely compliments. Unfortunately it's always unfair for the girl in these situations. T'was ever thus and ever will be I'm afraid.


The Devil's Doorbell (posted on: 19-10-15)
A tale of a first fumbling sexual experience of a teenage lad struggling with religious righteousness and his burgeoning sex drive.

'Masturbation' said Father Murphy the preying priest 'is the eighth deadly sin, sexual satisfaction through self stimulation.' The girls in the class blushed to their roots, we boys looked down at our shuffling feet wanting the ground to open up and swallow us before our guilty faces gave us away for the wanton wankers we all were. 'Yes, all of you, for I know you girls do it too' he glared at Molly Molloy sitting next to me. She glared right back 'when you girls play with that little button between your legs you're ringing the devil's doorbell and he will surely let you in.' He glowered, I thought, directly at me I had just pulled myself off in the boys' toilets before this very lesson. Well, Molly Molloy had such beautiful blouse bustin' boobs and her arse had a luscious life of its own. She was so damn cute I mean what's a fourteen year old lad to do? 'You boys with your lustful lecherous longings pulling your penises over pictures of Marilyn Monroe and other such strumpets, you'll burn in hell for your wicked desires.' he paused for effect his eyes sweeping the room 'Know this: God can see you. He knows the contents of your soul.' Molly nudged my elbow 'Look at his trousers' she whispered 'he's got a hard on.' I looked. There was a bit of a bulge at the front but I couldn't tell for certain. Anyway what would Molly know about a hard on she was almost a year younger than me. 'How can you be sure?' I asked doubtfully. 'Cos my big brother's trousers look just like that before he takes his girlfriend up to his room to play records' she said 'I can hear them from my room.' 'Oh' I said embarrassed by this revelation. I was lost for words. Then she leaned into my ear and whispered 'That's when I ring the devils door bell' she giggled mischievously enjoying my discomfiture. 'What makes you do it.?' 'I don't do it' I lied 'it's impure and I'd have to tell Father at confession.' 'Liar' she chided 'you lent my cousin George a picture of a naked lady, I saw it in his room.' 'You two!' Murphy's irate voice broke into our conversation, he beckoned with a bony forefinger 'out here.' We stood before the priest I was trembling with fear. 'What were you talking about that's more important than the salvation of your immortal souls?' 'Masturbation Father' said Molly brazenly 'and how best to do it.' I thought Murphy would die of apoplexy on the spot. 'Get out' he screamed pointing at the classroom door 'you two are beyond redemption. Get out' Molly turned at the door 'I hope you enjoy that hard on Father' she shouted 'my mum says you're the biggest wanker this parish has ever had' with that we turned and fled. We took the short cut home through the woods and Molly made me own up to galloping my maggot. 'Look' she said 'why don't you do it for me and I'll do it to you?' I couldn't believe my ears. Molly Molloy? My beautiful bird of paradise offering to take me there? 'Are you serious?' I asked. She smiled and took her knickers off before stroking my growing bulge. I was lost. She guided my trembling, virgin hand to the devil's doorbell and I rang it for her good. She fumbled inexpertly with my young manhood and I showed her how to wank it and stroke my balls at the same time. That was my first sexual experience with a girl. I could have had many more with Molly in later life as she went on to great things. In 1965, at the ripe old age of twenty three, she opened the first brothel in the history of our town bless her. She named it "The Devil's Doorbell." Post Script: Father Murphy was later 'moved on' by the church after what was described as an 'unfortunate incident' with a boy in the class below us.
Archived comments for The Devil's Doorbell
stormwolf on 19-10-2015
The Devils Doorbell
Absolutely fantastic writing IMHO. I shall never think of my Devil's Doorbell in quite the same way again. I can see how it got the name though. It's been wrung a few times over the years and god knows some of them were right devils and no mistake.
A great story that took me back to those tumultuous years of budding sexuality when I discovered there were indeed some benefits from leaving childhood behind.
I used to think that being grown up and having to do the dishes EVERY night as opposed to now and again must be hell on earth.

Alison x

Author's Reply:
Thanks Alison I recognise the reluctance to grow up and wash dishes every night. Mine was not being able to roam the fields with my air gun and catapult throughout the long summer hols, of having to go to work in a filthy factory.
Thanks also for the great rating.


Conference Capers (posted on: 16-10-15)
Here "Oop North" we've had to endure all sorts of traffic restrictions and diversions to accommodate a jolly jamboree. Read all about it!

They come up North for a conference A jolly jamboree With fun, food and frolics Paid for by you and me They posture and they waffle Make promises mighty, grand Of how they'll spend more money On the folks of this Northern land There's lots of robust rhetoric Showcasing their worthy cause As they shout and spout about doing nowt To thunderous applause Carefully worded sound bytes And all the 'right' people heard But anyone with dissenting views Not allowed a single word The great Northern Powerhouse The prosperous working bloke What's this nonsense about food banks? Some kind of Leftie joke? All lies and propaganda From experience we can tell For two star food is plentiful At the Midland Hotel Well that's it for another year It's back to London town To review all our great promises And make sure they're watered down
Archived comments for Conference Capers
Mikeverdi on 16-10-2015
Conference Capers
I take it you're not happy then? Seems like there's trouble brewing in the North 😊
Not much different in the far west mate, and I voted for them!
It's all going to far, we are about to lose thirty police stations down here, and that's just the start. Time to stand up and fight. I've posted a moan on here as well.
Great stuff
Mike

Author's Reply:
Hi Mike,
I was just having an rant mate, I likes a good rant guv'nor I does! I.too voted for the buggers because they were the least worst option. That's the problem with voting you always end up with a politician!
Thanks for the comment mate.


Illumination (posted on: 09-10-15)
Advice to a young man going off to war. Written for Savvi Scribe's weekly comp. for poetry (20 lines)and prose less than 300 words. You should try it yourself it's fun.

'Light the candle' he said. I groped in the pitch blackness for it then found the matches. The Lucifer scraped into life across the sandpaper, hissing, flaring. It hurt my eyes. 'Light the candle' he repeated. I obeyed 'Now read the notice on the wall' he ordered preventing me from going closer. 'I cannot' I replied 'Why not?' he asked 'There is not enough light the candle is not powerful enough' I told him 'It is' he insisted 'read the notice.' I held the flame out closer, screwing up my eyes 'I still cannot read it' I declared 'there still isn't enough light.' 'There is enough candle power think, what else can assist you?' 'Nothing, the light is too weak and it can't be done' I snapped deeply irritated at being awakened before dawn on this my last day at home before going off to fight the Kaiser. He sighed and took my shaving mirror from the dresser. He held it behind the flame and the reflected light immediately shone bright on the message. Now I could see it clearly. 'Read it to me' he commanded. 'You will always have enough light, enough power to dispel any darkness in your life' I read 'you just need to focus it.' 'Do you understand now? 'Yes father' I said gratefully
Archived comments for Illumination
shadow on 11-10-2015
Illumination
This reads like the beginning of something - novel, short story? Made me wnt to know what will happen next.

Author's Reply:
Thank you for commenting Shadow,
It was written for Savvi Scribe's weekly challenge. One is given a theme, in this case "Darkness", and we are given 300 lines max for prose or 20 or 30 lines of poetry. The winner sets the next challenge and word-line limits. They also judge the results. It's a lot of fun and gets the grey matter mobile!
I could easily expand it for sure. If I left you wanting more then I'm more than chuffed! πŸ™‚


The Death of Ego (posted on: 28-09-15)
A cautionary tale; not all victims are equal. Written for Deep Underground Poetry an American site.

His ego won't let him back down Thinks he's god's gift, bloody clown She's told him no Away you go But it's two a.m. And there's only them He pushes his luck Wants to fuck Come on baby you an' me You'll enjoy it wait an' see Oh where's my fuckin' ride she thinks He's drunk, he's ugly, his breath stinks For the last time mister go away This here sister don't wanna play He shoves his hand hard up her skirt Rams in fingers, makes it hurt Don't tell me no you fuckin' bitch Don't you know I'm stinkin' rich? He's mad, drunk and fails see The deadly flash of her shapely knee He slumps puking to the pave Soon to meet an early grave She stamps on his neck there's a deadly crack He flops lifeless on his back Then a screech of bakes her lift has come Angry now yells at her mom What kept you? Where the hell you been? Let's go I wanna quit this scene Who's that on the pavement lying low Him mother? I don't know He was there when I got here Just some drunk had too much beer
Archived comments for The Death of Ego
sweetwater on 28-09-2015
The Death of Ego
Hmmm I'm finding this one difficult, twice I've read it and twice I left it as it's a poem whose words I find unpleasant and I didn't want to comment. But on the other hand it's written for a specific market, and would go down well and I think be more acceptable to their eyes. It's very well written, paints a very graphic scene, more and more relevant in today's violent, drink/ drug infused society. All in all I think I would say yes, it's a very good poem and has a lot to say.

Author's Reply:
Thank you for your honesty Sweetwater it is much appreciated. I know it's not a pleasant read but then, as poets, we should look into the dark corners of life as well as the more pleasant ones. I mainly write comic stuff so this departure was a useful exercise for me.

I have written a thriller called "The Flames of Jihad" and put it up on Kindle. I've been told some of the stuff I've put in there is too gruesome but it only reflects what's happening today.
I guess we all have a dark side what?


It Comes to us All (posted on: 28-09-15)
You go to the doctor's with one complaint and he notices another ailment you didn't recgnise you had..

It comes to us all sooner or later Tragedies small or tragedies greater Mine came along last Monday morning Out of the blue without any warning The Doc said he's sending me for investigation To see if I'm suitable for a part restoration I trembled with fear of the darkest unknown He said don't be frightened you're not on your own We're here to support you in your moment of fear I trembled inside but pretended good cheer Upon those results future happiness will rest I felt a great pang strike deep in my chest Sit down whilst I tell you don't be afraid But I think you might need a hearing aid I went for a test he said there's nowt we can do You don't need a hearing aid sir you need two!
Archived comments for It Comes to us All
Andrea on 28-09-2015
It Comes to us All
Haha, ain't that the truth!

Author's Reply:
Sadly, Andrea, it is! However as they used to say in the Music halls "Yer've gotta larff ain't cher?" πŸ™‚

sweetwater on 28-09-2015
It Comes to us All
Hehe can empathise I was horrified when told I would need glasses for reading, or doing the intricate medical device assembly at work in the cleanroom, until I realised all the other long time operators also needed them. It felt better somehow to know it was work and not age related, nowadays it definately is age sadly. Great poem, viewing a worrying situation with humour and rhyme. Sue.

Author's Reply:
Hi Sue,
Thanks for the comment. Mine, too, was work related I spent 12 years in the Artillery! It was all right at the time but now all my old mates from those days have the same problem. I'm lucky being one of the last to be affected. I've worn specs since I was six so I can't really remember a time when I didn't wear them!

shadow on 29-09-2015
It Comes to us All
I empathise with this - so annoying, the way people these days mumble all the time and won't speak up properly . . .

Author's Reply:
You're quite right Shadow the older you get the more folk insist on mumbling at you. They then have the cheek to say rude things when you complain!

Thanks for the comment, much appreciated.

pommer on 29-09-2015
It Comes to us All
Hi Pronto, strange that we both wrote on the same subject on the same publication date.I sympathise but with you and any old soldier who had served in the RA.A good piece of poetry.
Be lucky, Peter

Author's Reply:
Hi Peter, Thanks for dropping by. I guess great minds think alike what? It's odd but others notice one is going deaf long before the deaf person realises they have a problem! The irony is that when I was a lad I could hear a bat squeal when none of my mates could! πŸ™

chant_z on 30-09-2015
It Comes to us All
There's definitely nothing wrong with this poem; trust me - I'm not a doctor... (so to speak). Great piece.

Author's Reply:
Thanks for the kind comment I'm glad it entertained you. I guess I have a reluctance to get any older but, although I try not to, I do it every day! πŸ˜‰


Money Makes For Madness (posted on: 11-09-15)
Posted in the Weekly comp 300 word limit. As I was judge I couldn't comment on my own work. So here is my latest bit of daftness!

Hugh Duffer was a hater. He hated his job he hated his bosses, his wife and his life. Lunchtime came and Hugh slouched to the canteen wondering what miserable morsels were lurking in his lunch box today. From the office window Steve Bright, Managing Director, watched Hugh wondering what on Earth he'd done to deserve the dismal devil. The only thing Hugh was good at was quoting union rules and sticking rigidly to them, refusing even the slightest bit of flexibility. How he longed to fire him. Hugh ate then drawing out the oil smudged lottery ticket checking his numbers, then he checked again 12, 26,32,41,42 and 45 ye god's, he'd won. All six. Definitely all six! He almost managed a smile; now, at last, he was free. For a start faithful Freda his frumpy Frau could bugger off back to Germany. Only gorgeous glamorous girls from now on. Now for the great bit. No matter his workmates were a friendly bunch always laughing and joking. Sod them all. He stood 'Hey you suckers guess what?' He bawled flashing his ticket 'I've won the lottery, all six numbers. One lucky jackpot winner it says here' he waved the paper. You's can all get stuffed.' Before the astonished work force he swaggered out. In Bright's office he crowed 'Hi Brighty me boy you don't know how I've ached to do this but you can shove your miserable job where the sun don't shine. I've won the lottery pal.' Bright looked astonished 'you mean you're actually leaving?' he smiled broadly 'Thank god for that.' Sitting in a sleazy club a girl on his knee, swigging his fifth champagne he rang Freda 'Hi Freda guess what? I've won the lottery, £3.2 million. So just pack up and piss off you fat frump. And before you say you bought the ticket you bought it with money I gave you so it's all mine.' 'Yes, but darling.....I' 'Don't you darling me you grasping git pack up and piss off before I get home OK? 'Please, Hugh, darling listen...I' The phone went dead in her hands. Arriving home drunk to an empty house Hugh found her note: ''Goodbye Horrible Hugh I was trying to tell you that because I was scurrying around after you fetching and carrying I was too late for Wednesday's draw the ticket you have is for next Saturday idiot.
Archived comments for Money Makes For Madness
Weefatfella on 11-09-2015
Money Makes For Madness
Aye. In good or ill you find out who your friends are.

Cheers.

Weefatfella.

Author's Reply:
Thanks mate glad you could drop by!


Sheep's Clothing (posted on: 24-08-15)
She was a sweet young girl on holiday alone, vulnerable. He was a smooth sophisticated seducer who planned to have her at any cost.

Her long slender body clad in a tiny bikini left little to his fevered imagination. What was she nineteen, twenty perhaps? Her cute retrousse nose was set above the baby pink bow of her luscious lips, her face framed by her wild blonde thatch. God she's beautiful he thought feeling a strong stirring in his loins. He stared too long and she, sensing his attention, pulled down her sunglasses and peered over her book her cornflower blue eyes looking inquisitively into his. He hurriedly averted his gaze and she smiled impishly. She was still smiling when he glanced back. Surprised, he managed a furtive little grin as she replaced her shades returning to her book. It was the briefest of incidents but it fired him to seek more, a chat, a drink and then his particular brand of seduction. The girls at his massage parlour had nicknamed him 'The Village Ram' because his lovemaking was very rough and crude. He was forty two and had started to grow jowly and thicker around his midriff but still believed himself handsome. Anyway, he reasoned, lots of young girls fancied older men and she had smiled therefore she must fancy him. Yes, she's up for it he convinced himself. If not he'd get her too drunk to stop him. One way or another he would have her. She rose, stretched her lovely long limbs and dived into the pool. He watched as she swam swiftly, lithely to the far end then turned effortlessly swimming back the twenty five metres under the surface. He started to plan. First see what book she was reading always a good way to start a conversation. He sidled past her sun lounger ''Fifty Shades of Grey'' now that was interesting. Buying a beer from the poolside bar he wandered back to his lounger thinking stratagem.                                          ***** It was six months since his wife Tania had thrown him out and Robert had had to make even more use of massage parlours, sleazy dating sites, on-line porn and 'madam palm.' Tania had finally tired of his constant, overbearing demands for sex and his rough 'rapists' approach when she demurred. She knew about the prostitutes, too. Now she wanted half of his assets. She was still a director of course because she was brilliant with finance but he'd done the donkey work getting the company off the ground. Bugger her he thought today's agenda needs total focus.                                              ***** Robert saw her again at dinner chatting animatedly to two girls at a nearby table. He watched surreptitiously as her pretty mouth smiled, pouted and laughed exposing even white teeth as the conversation flowed. God, how he wanted her. Later,entering the bar, he saw her sitting alone on a barstool. Seizing his opportunity he sauntered across 'large scotch and ice please.' He glanced to his left pretending he'd just recognised her. 'Oh hello' he smiled 'so this is where you hang out when you're not modelling eh?' She laughed at the cheesy compliment blushing slightly curtaining her eyes with her long lashes 'I'm not a model silly' she said looking flattered nonetheless 'I'm a student.' He moved closer but avoided invading her personal space. 'Not out with your friends tonight?' 'No I've a bit of a headache so I decided on a couple of drinks and an early night.' An early night with you would suit me fine darling he thought smiling to hide his lust. They sipped their drinks chatting about Uni and how lovely the resort was. Her name was Chloe and no, she didn't have a boyfriend at the moment. She thought younger men were crass bores, so obvious in their desires and sulky when rejected. Robert's heart soared. Eventually she said 'if you'll excuse me Robert I need a little air' she arose without waiting for an answer and wandered though the patio doors to the deserted pool. He had another drink then followed her. She was sitting on a sun lounger at the far end of the pool near the shower in almost total darkness. He circumnavigated the pool carefully keeping to the shadows. 'I thought you were going to bed' he said feigning surprise. Startled she gasped 'Oh, oh it's you Robert I was just admiring the new moon, so romantic don't you think? He sat down beside her 'accidentally' brushing her shoulder. She winced 'ouch! Sorry Robert I got too much sun today and I can't reach with the after sun cream.' 'Would you like me to...er?' his voice trailed off. 'Oh that would be great thank you' she enthused her innocent smile sending shivers though him. Reaching into her handbag she produced a small bottle of cream then bent forward pulling up her top from behind. She wasn't wearing a bra and the sight of her under breast made him start to harden. A lamb to the slaughter he thought. He massaged the cream gently into her back for some time then he moved slowly up to her neck and shoulders kneading expertly. She moaned softly 'Oh that's so nice Robert.' He reached for her breast but she brushed his hand aside 'Please Robert' she said pulling her top down. She reached into her hand bag again and took out some sweets popping one into her mouth. She smiled 'Bon-Bons, want one?' she proffered the bag then pouted when he refused. 'They're imported from India they kill whiskey breath, they're also a mild stimulant.' she winked mischievously holding out the bag again. He took one sucking it with a satisfied smile. Things were going well. A few days with this little strumpet he thought then dump her and play the field. He slipped his arm around her and gently nibbled her ear. She moaned softly and leaned into him. God these young girls were easy. 'Robert' she whispered 'I want to try something I once read about. She pushed him gently back on the lounger. His eyebrows rose in query 'it's something very special' she said teasingly. She was over him now bare breasted, nuzzling his neck lightly. He responded stroking her buttocks. She unzipped his trousers fondling his hardness. After a few moments she shook off her skirt showing she was commando. She removed Roberts remaining clothes expertly then magically conjured up a condom Swiftly tearing it open she slid it deftly over his manhood. 'Now baby' she cooed 'this will be the experience of a lifetime.' He relaxed, let her have her way first time he thought who knows it could be great. She took him slowly into her mouth until every inch had been accommodated. She produced a powerful meditative ''aum'' vibration deep in her throat sending him crazy with ecstasy. Then, as he approached his peak, she sat up. He groaned as she straddled him riding him slowly at first and then gradually speeding up using her pelvic floor muscles superbly. His breathing shortened, rasping and gasping as he gulped air. They climaxed together. She lay on top of him for several long minutes clinging passionately. 'There' she whispered at last and lifted his arm. Letting it go she smiled as it flopped to his side 'did you enjoy your very last fuck Robert?' He stared at her uncomprehendingly his mouth moving weakly unable to speak. He tried to sit up but his limbs were uncooperative. He felt her slide the condom off watched as she wrapped it in a tissue and dropped it in her handbag. 'I'll tell you a story Robert' she said seriously 'When I was fourteen my father died and mum took me on a spiritual retreat to India. One night a group of men attacked us. We were gang raped.' She paused looking sad 'mother ended her days in a mental hospital and I needed three years of therapy to recover. The men were from wealthy families, bribes were paid and no one was prosecuted' she continued 'the Guru at our retreat was outraged, he was an expert practitioner of Ayurvedic medicine. He gave me a secret formula for a rare poison which kills efficiently and is virtually untraceable. In tiny doses, like the one in your Bon-Bon, it causes paralysis which wears off after an hour or two. Until it does you can feel, hear and see but cannot move or speak.' Tipping the sun lounger she rolled him off. She dragged him to the pool then, lifting his head, she smashed it down onto the tiled edge smiling grimly as his gaping mouth screamed soundlessly. 'Don't worry Robert you won't suffer long I'm good at this having practised on several Indian gentlemen.' She watched the terror in his eyes then kissed him and said sweetly 'goodbye Robert' before pushing him into the water. Afterwards Chloe took a shower enjoying the hot cleansing deluge on her skin. Detaching the shower head she played the water over her clitoris its tingling force making it throb with pleasure. She replayed Robert's last moments in her mind seeing once again the horror in his eyes, his mouth making weak pleading shapes as she held him under. She came then in great gushing gouts. Lying naked on her bed she made a phone call. 'Hello Chloe' 'Hi Tania it's done. The company's all yours. Please deposit the balance of my fee.'
Archived comments for Sheep's Clothing
Weefatfella on 24-08-2015
Sheeps Clothing
 photo c673dadc-2d28-4407-9a21-a191bcf6d656_zpsp2y54f3y.jpg

Away ya durty bugger yie. Excellent tale and deftly twisted Pronto. Enjoyed yir wee blood circulator.
Weefatfella.

Author's Reply:
I'm glad you enjoyed it mate I enjoyed writing it. I've been asked to write a more pornographic version would you believe? Some folk!

Mikeverdi on 24-08-2015
Sheeps Clothing
Yes indeed, enjoyed the twist. There had to be one... but that was the point. Well worth the Nib.
Mike

Author's Reply:
Thank you Mike for your kind comment. I'm glad you didn't entirely guess the end even though you knew there was a twist coming. πŸ˜‰


Childish Pleasures (posted on: 24-08-15)
Just a daft one that popped into my head. Enjoy.

Stole a bike him and his twin brother They got caught by the owner's mother She boxed their ears sent them home They told their mum, had a moan Mother said you pair are dumb Just wait until your granny's come Granny threw them over her knee A powerful mighty woman she Ripped down their trousers arse's bare Slapped them both with equal share Red of arse and redder faces Pulled up pants restored their braces That was a bad thing you two done For god's sake grow up your forty one!
Archived comments for Childish Pleasures
Weefatfella on 24-08-2015
Childish Pleasures
 photo c673dadc-2d28-4407-9a21-a191bcf6d656_zpsp2y54f3y.jpg

Aye! Tis terrible to be stealing Bikeses.Sound thrashing was well deserved.
Weefatfella.

Author's Reply:
I knew you'd understand WFF! Thanks for commenting on my "daftness!"

Mikeverdi on 24-08-2015
Childish Pleasures
HaHaHa!! that's cheered me up πŸ™‚
Mike

Author's Reply:

Kipper on 24-08-2015
Childish Pleasures
A nice bit of fun.I say!
There's just one thing though.
If the kids were 41, how old is granny?
The nation needs to know!!!
Michael

Author's Reply:
Thanks Kipper nice of you to drop by. Granny is a mere stripling of 82 it's her mother that's getting on a bit at 103! πŸ˜‰

Kipper on 24-08-2015
Childish Pleasures
A nice bit of fun.I say!
There's just one thing though.
If the kids were 41, how old is granny?
The nation needs to know!!!
Michael

Author's Reply:

sweetwater on 25-08-2015
Childish Pleasures
I was just thinking how punishment worked so much better this way, then you threw in the last line and I had the giggles. This poem is a great way to start the day, nothing better than a giggle at breakfast :-))

Author's Reply:
Hi Sweetwater I'm glad I engaged your giggling gear. Thanks for dropping by

Popeye on 08-09-2015
Childish Pleasures
I was smiling as I read, the punchline made me laugh out loud, my kind of poem πŸ™‚

Author's Reply:
So glad you enjoyed my bit of "daftness" Thanks for the comment.


Joshua (posted on: 17-08-15)
This poem is dedicated to abused and neglected children everywhere.

Joshua doesn't cry anymore He used to cry for his mum But she'd never come He never knew his name He was always 'little bastard' 'Bloody pest' Now stands mute in his cot This unwanted tot Clad in only a vest Mum's boyfriend comes Nearly every night Filled with hatred, spite Joshua can't understand The beatings, the cigarette brand, Why his Terrible plight He screams, defenceless Battered almost senseless Raising matchstick arms In pathetic protest Mother comes in the morning Today is special, orange juice Instead of water And a biscuit with his bread Social worker's coming today Be quiet, be good Like a good boy should His mother said Belly swollen From lack of nutrition Protruding ribs Proclaim dire condition Sits silent on piss-soaked bed Eyes dead Chewing his bread She calls, young, naive Ready to believe Josh is with my mum Other side of town Sorry to let you down Didn't know what to do I've got a job interview The woman believes As the mother deceives She leaves Midnight: he's drunk, angry, Inadequate junky bum Beats Joshua's mum Then turns on him Temper hot Hurls the child Across the cot He's strikes his head Flops on bed Blood oozing from his nose and ears This child of two and a half tortured years Joshua doesn't cry anymore
Archived comments for Joshua
deadpoet on 17-08-2015
Joshua
Oh this is too sad- makes me want to cry- poor innocent child- where on earth did you dig up this story? I just wish it weren't true- I can't believe anyone could treat a child like this. I hope they die and go to hell. They're sick..

Author's Reply:
Hi Pia,
This story is a fiction based on the tragic cases of baby P, Victoria Climbie and a host of other horror stories of abused and murdered children over the last few years. It's a terrible thing to say but not all children are loved and cherished as they should be. Mostly they are the children of feckless inadequate parents. Others are just plain evil.
Thank you for your comment.
Luv & hugz,
Tony

Bozzz on 18-08-2015
Joshua
Excellent piece - tells the typical story with intensity, bite and truth. Well done. Yours, David

Author's Reply:
Thank you for your kind comments David I wish this type of poem was unnecessary but sadly it's not.
Tony

Mikeverdi on 18-08-2015
Joshua
So difficult to read, mainly because it's happening as we sit here. I admire you for taking it on, you told it well.
Seems inadequate to say congratulations on the Nib. It should be printed and posted on Bill Boards all over the country.
Mike

Author's Reply:
Thank you Mike I know what you mean. I was deeply touched by the stories of baby P and Victoria Climbie and others more recent. I didn't expect a nib but flattered to receive it.

pommer on 20-08-2015
Joshua
What a true report of a situation that seems to occur at fairly regular intervals according to the press.What an indictment on modern society.Well written,my friend,I too was touched by the stories of the two children you mentioned n your reply to Mike.Thank you for sharing. Peter.

Author's Reply:
Thank you for your kind message Peter. It is all too prevalent I'm afraid. So damned sad.


Listen (posted on: 17-08-15)
Just thinking of my dear wife Jean and this popped into my head. A bit "Valentine card" but sincere nonetheless.

Listen to the flowers Their spirits soar and dance Listen to the wind It sings of sweet romance Listen to my heart Beating just for you Its rhythm drums I love you I do...I do...I do...
Archived comments for Listen
Mikeverdi on 17-08-2015
Listen
And why not...I write these to my wife all the time, just to remind her; while I still can πŸ™‚
Mike

Author's Reply:
Thanks Mike and long may ye do so. I do while we still can, too. She's a rare lady.

Weefatfella on 17-08-2015
Listen
Excellent piece. Less is more. I
Loved the idea of the marriage I do, reflecting with
The love thang! Great idea,
Weefatfella.

Author's Reply:
Wow WFF you sent this twice so now I can read it in stereo! Thanks for the kind comment mate it's good to be in contact with you again. πŸ™‚

sweetwater on 17-08-2015
Listen
So full of love. Says everything there is to say about how you feel and so beautifully. Sue.

Author's Reply:
Thank you Sue your very kind. I am a bit fond of the lass and no mistake! πŸ˜‰

pommer on 20-08-2015
Listen
So much said beautifully in so few words.Congratulations. Peter.

Author's Reply:
Thank you Peter it was one of those that simply pops into one's head. My missus like it.

deadpoet on 20-08-2015
Listen
Lucky Missus Pronto to have a poet as a hubby. Sweet words-
They'll last forever
Pia

Author's Reply:
Thank you dear Pia. The truth is I consider myself the fortunate one to have her!


Ripper's Obsession (posted on: 14-08-15)
I wrote this about obsessions for the Golden Egg challenge though as I was the judge this week I didn't qualify. You should give the challenge a go it's a fun and worthwhile exercise.

Is it deeper than it's dark or darker than it's deep In this pit of hell where I find no sleep? Is it sins of the past or future ones I fear? Evil compulsion drawing ever near The hilt of guilt protrudes from my breast The blade within denies me rest Sorrows swell as tear drops falling Resulting from my devil's calling Fate's waters have sped swift away No man can recall a single day And put to right what was done wrong Now sings this dirge, this woeful song And future wrongs in spite of trying I find myself a soul complying Am I that wicked? I couldn't be Yet conscience screams look now and see My dark obsession drives, though unwilling As I pursue my stealthy killing Eternal hell I've surely bought Now pray to your god I soon get caught
Archived comments for Ripper's Obsession
Mikeverdi on 15-08-2015
Rippers Obsession
A dark piece, but then I think all obsessions are. I must take a look at these challenges πŸ™‚
Mike

Author's Reply:
Hi Mike thank you for the comment. I think you would add greatly to the quality of the competition mate. Please give it a go.

I have a winning entry that will be published in the next batch,it got accidentally overlooked. Also I am publishing another 'dark poem' then I'll return to my normal 'daft' self.

Supratik on 16-08-2015
Rippers Obsession
A good read, though at places rhymes disturbed tge depth of the content. On a lighter note, don't feel guilty because dark chocolates are tasty! Best. Supratik

Author's Reply:
Thank you for your kind comments and much valued feed back. :-0


Deadly Demon (posted on: 10-08-15)
We are all attacked by this demon yet it is easily defeated if we did but recognise it. Once it's brought into the light it perishes.

I will creep up on you when you least expect In order to destroy you no tactic I'll neglect Sneaky underhand plots and ploys, stealth do I employ Destroying your health and confidence to rob you of all joy A dagger thrust in your self trust I leave no stone unturned I will bring you low my friend until your lesson's learned For I'm the greatest enemy you will ever know No hiding place or act of grace will deflect my deadly blow I am the decimator of your world, but you never ever see How I chain you to my service, I'll never set you free I am the killer of your dreams an evil faceless stranger But you refuse to recognise me or face my deadly danger I leave you screaming with frustration as I make your best plans fail You thrash in the bog of my morass so pitiful, weak and frail Who are you deadly demon? I hear your angry shout I'm the one who's bred inside your head I am your own self doubt
Archived comments for Deadly Demon
Mikeverdi on 11-08-2015
Deadly Demon
Just lately I am riddled with it, and not just about writing. Hit the spot this one πŸ™‚
Mike

Author's Reply:
Thanks Mike that's very kind of you to comment so honestly. I wrote it when I realised it was getting on top of me. I have been writing a novel for 2 years now (The Flames of Jihad) and am just finishing it when I find IS was actually planning something thing very similar. Now everyone will think I took a leaf out of their book instead of the other way around!

I have committed to publishing it before the month end.

chant_z on 11-08-2015
Deadly Demon
Very canny. What's missing is the "Great Write" - icon.

Author's Reply:
Thanks Chant-z that's very kind of you to say so. Alas we have no control over these thing (A good thing I'm sure) so we put stuff up and hope it meets with approval.

sweetwater on 11-08-2015
Deadly Demon
As one who is constantly plagued by self doubt in various ways, although my writing is usually top of the list I can relate to this very clever and insightful poem. A brilliant write. Sue.

Author's Reply:
Thank you Sue for your kind comments. I think we're all plagued by self doubt to varying degrees at least for some of the time. Good luck with yours!


Not a Proper Poet (posted on: 27-07-15)
Dedicated to the 'serious' beard and sandals brigade.

I'm not a 'serious' poet that much I clearly know Not been formally educated like 'proper' poets so I tend to write in couplets, a simpleton am I I'll never make a poet no matter how I try That's why the intellectual literati group Will never admit me to their close-knit troupe It's because I use humour I'm not 'fashionable' you see They look down their noses at an ignoramus like me I need a degree in English lit. or a doctorate like my 'betters' Then they might accept me as a serious man of letters To use humour is a sacrilege, couplets are a crime I must write in the abstract without rhythm, sense or rhyme I listened to these poets, supposedly bright and good But hardly a single stanza I barely understood I asked some to explain to me what the others said But all I got was waffle and sad shake of the head So I told 'em bollocks! you're full of piss and wind They asked for an apology not a word did I rescind I will never bend the knee nor rhymlessness employ I'll keep writing funny stuff that brings me great joy
Archived comments for Not a Proper Poet
Mikeverdi on 27-07-2015
Not a Proper Poet
Keep on trucking, without you, where would be the fun πŸ™‚

Author's Reply:
Thanks Mike.

gwirionedd on 27-07-2015
Not a Proper Poet
I agree with you completely. I think we're in the same boat, you and I. Actually I do have a degree in English Literature, but that doesn't mean shit. I will also never be a "proper" poet, because I rhyme and usually make sense.

Just one criticism. Please do not say things like "I will never rhymelessness employ". Would you say that in conversation? No, my friend, because the words are in the wrong order. Please try to avoid doing this.

Overall, I'm totally with you on this one. Publishers don't seem to be interested in poetry that isn't completely obscure. And then they wonder why hardly anybody reads poetry these days.

(Bashes head on wall)



Author's Reply:
Hi thanks for your kind comment and the detailed response. The "Rhymelessness" (Not in the OED) was a bit of poetic licence! πŸ˜‰

I'll send you another one by PM in the same vein I wrote ages ago called "Pisspotical Prose" it more humorous that this one.

deadpoet on 28-07-2015
Not a Proper Poet
I know a bearded sandal poet and he certainly isn't so self-important as you describe them all to be. On the contrary he is very funny and it is easy to understand anything he writes (he's from Hull)- he reads at pubs etc and is a very entertaining fellow. That said he may be the exception to the rule- Just thought I'd mention him. I'm sure the lady poets need a mention too! Otherwise I liked the humorous angle of your poem and I think it is lovely to read light-hearted poetry too- for entertainment and amusement but the solemn ones have a right to be here too. And they are good at language use and are indeed wordsmiths IMO.
best
Piaxx

Author's Reply:
You make valid points Pia My tongue-in-cheek poem was not meant to tar everyone with the same brush. I know there are some brilliant "Beard & sandals" poets about.

I would have included lady poets too but, although they have no objection to sandals, most of 'em refuse point blank to wear a beard! πŸ˜‰
Luv & hugz,

Tony

pommer on 28-07-2015
Not a Proper Poet
Hi Tony,
I liked your worthwhile contribution.I write ,like yourself, as it comes into my mind,and I mostly find that I am writing in rhyme. Like I said in the introduction of my book,I am not a poet, I am a rhymester, and not ashamed of it.I like what I write, and I hope some of my readers do too.A good poem, Be lucky, Peter.

Author's Reply:
Thank you Peter,
We do see eye to eye here.
As you surely gathered my piece was tongue-in-cheek and not meant as a serious dig at anyone. I hope the B&S brigade understand.
Cheers mate,
Tony

sweetwater on 29-07-2015
Not a Proper Poet
When I read a poem, I take it on it's own merits, like people poems come in many forms, some hard to understand, some say a lot about nothing, some very clever, some so simple to understand but greatly loved. When poetry first arrived it was surely in very simple basic terms that the general populace could love and enjoy and carry forwards. If a word or a line works and adds what the writer wants then who really has any right to condemn it for not being what the reader ( not the writer ) wants? We readers and writers are not all literary geniuses but none the worse for that. I thought your poem was very apt and very very true, and extremely readable, greatly enjoyed. Did stumble on first line last verse, not my favourite use of language but in keeping with the theme. πŸ™‚ Sue.xx

Author's Reply:
Thank you Sue,
I agree Sue that a poem is what it is; some will like it some won't. We write what we feel and hope that at least someone will like it. Even if we gain naught but brickbats at least we've made an impression. The worst thing that can possibly happen is that no one at all responds.

Thanks again,

Tony

Bozzz on 29-07-2015
Not a Proper Poet
Immaculate rhythm, accurate rhyming, what's wrong with being improper then? Bravo Sir...David

Author's Reply:
Thank you David sorry for the late response I missed your comment for some reason. I'm flattered that you like it,
Tony


Friendly Fire (posted on: 26-06-15)
Hoist by his own petard

Friendly Fire All morning he'd been observing fall of shot Sending commands like 'add five zero' 'Three rounds fire for effect' The mortar bombs fell Exploding shell Hell Inflicting indecent death at a decent distance At one thousand yards can't see mayhem Or hear the screams of torn flesh Shrapnel shredded Severed head Dead Then whistling sound fills him with dread Bomb with a crushed tail will fail Knows this one will fall short Tumbling, tearing air Coming for Him As in a dream hears the increasing scream Three seconds to eternity, shouldn't be Time for quick pleading prayer Thinks of family closes eyes Says goodbyes Dies Hoist by his own petard
Archived comments for Friendly Fire
gwirionedd on 26-06-2015
Friendly Fire
A forceful poem. I like the structure. Each verse looks on the page like a gun, or possibly a bayonet.



Author's Reply:
Hi gwirionedd (How does a non-Welsh ignoramus pronounce that?)
Thanks for the kind comment mate. I structured the poem like that to represent the dwindling chance of survival in was time. Yes you are quite right it could represent a gun or blade or even the pointing hand of accusation.

Gothicman on 26-06-2015
Friendly Fire
Yes, kill or be killed, in war even those killing in distant combat can fall short of expectations! The table can quickly be turned. When you place a mortar in the tube, don't look down it to see if it's reached the detonator yet! In that horrific self-destructive situation, I expect he was hoisted by his own petard, and more, long before his own short-fall bomb went off! Hahaha! Sad poem, but much enjoyed!
Goth

Author's Reply:
Hi Gothicman,
Thanks for your understanding comment my friend. Mortars can be quite unreliable if the charge bags around the tail fins are not evenly spaced. The tail can be forced against the tube on one side and be crushed. The bomb can then be caused to to spin out of control and land god alone knows where.In Malaysia Circa 1962 on exercise I had a similar experience when a 4.2 inch mortar bomb landed a wee bit too close for comfort.
It's relatively easy to deliver death at a distance but when it goes wrong and you end up wearing your own shit well, it's not nice!

gwirionedd on 26-06-2015
Friendly Fire
It's gwi-ri-ON-eth, the 'th' sound at the end being like the 'th' of 'the'.

Don't worry, I can't speak Welsh either. But I do like the sound and meaning of the word. It means Truth.

The rhymes are very good in this poem. I would have liked to have seen more of them in the third gun/bayonet/pointing hand.




Author's Reply:
Thank you and for lightening my darkness, too.

Mikeverdi on 28-06-2015
Friendly Fire
Blue on Blue, friendly fire. Happened more than we are ever told about. As to just deserts, I don't know about that, I suppose it depends on who's fox hole you're sitting in.
Great piece.
Mike

Author's Reply:
Hi Mike,
Thanks for commenting mate.

Yup, it does depend on who's foxhole your in. What I was trying to say here is that all war is futile and one is almost as much at risk from his own side as that of the enemy. If you dish it out there is always a risk you can end up wearing your own munitions. Just one of the ironies of war.

I came relatively close to just such a happening but that was only whilst on an exercise.


Humility (posted on: 22-06-15)
A short one act play for two.

Bob: (Aggressively) Are you sure you're up to it man? Bill: (Meekly) 'Er, yes, yes I think so sir' Bob: (suspiciously) 'You look a little young for the job if you ask me' Bill: (Apologetically) 'It's a bit short notice to replace me now don't you think sir?' Bob: (resignedly) 'Story of my life; always stuck with incompetents. I wouldn't be here now but for incompetents.' Bill: (gently reassuring) 'I have done it before sir and none of my clients ever complained. Bob: (Gives Bill a long hard stare) OK then, I suppose.... Do I stand about here?' Bill: That's fine thank you sir, won't take a minute now. Bob: (Irritably) 'I should hope not I've an appointment with the local priest in ten minutes, can't hang around nattering to the likes of you all bloody day.' Bill: (Bowing humbly) 'Quite right sir' Quickly fits the noose snugly around Bob's neck and pulls the lever 'How's that sir?' he asks his rapidly departing client.
Archived comments for Humility
gwirionedd on 22-06-2015
Humility
Very funny... I didn't see that coming...

Not sure about the bit about the priest. He can't have an appointment if he's dead.

Author's Reply:
Thank you for the positive comment. I meant only that lots of people have an 'appointment' with a priest when they die! Just a bit of daftness from me.

chant_z on 22-06-2015
Humility
The only thing missing here is the nib. Great write!

Author's Reply:
Thank you for your kind comment. I'm glad you enjoyed it but a knib? I don't know about that! πŸ™‚

deadpoet on 22-06-2015
Humility
I remember this one from the challenge Pronto- made me giggle. Very good.

How to win a Golden Egg!



Author's Reply:
Cheers my friend I like to share my stuff after the competition if I deem I like it enough. With this piece I was simply trying to be a bit different.

Mikeverdi on 22-06-2015
Humility
Agree with the others, it's a bloody good laugh!
Mike

Author's Reply:
Thanks Mike I'm glad you wee amused!

pommer on 24-06-2015
Humility
Hi Pronto, well thought out.Never expected the end.Peter

Author's Reply:
Thank you Peter for the kind comment. I wrote it for the egg competition.


Cat in the Attic (posted on: 12-06-15)
Based on an actual incident when I was serving as a young soldier in Malaysia. A civet cat got trapped in out attic I was sent up to kill it with a machete. I could strike at her she couldn't strike at me. She was a beautiful animal. We stared at each other for a few moments then I made my decision.

Civet cat trapped in the roof Given a machete my manhood to prove Kill the wild cat bring its head prove it's dead I climb in the attic to attack it It's trapped between two apex beams Small gap where I can kill at will I feel no thrill It's a beautiful creature, looks terrified They can say what they like I will not strike I see her claws, spear lined jaws That she can't use In her own defence It makes no sense She's done no harm, caused no alarm I choose To care I choose Not to murder her I climb down ''Is she dead?" "Where's her head?'' ''Get fucked'' I said
Archived comments for Cat in the Attic
gwirionedd on 12-06-2015
Cat in the Attic
Reminds me of George Orwell's essay "Shooting an Elephant", which retold the time he was ordered to shoot an escaped, but peaceful, elephant in Burma.

Unlike you, Orwell actually killed the animal, because a huge crowd of locals were egging him on, and he would have looked weak in front of them if he hadn't.

I think you made the right decision.

When was this? Until when was the British Army in Malaysia?

In terms of the technical side of the poem, I like the wordplay, the rhymes, assonances and alliterations, for example:

"Kill the wild cat bring its head prove it’s dead
I climb in the attic to attack it"

However I don't like this line:

"Given a machete my manhood to prove"

because it's unnatural syntax. The bad grammar is just there to make the line rhyme, which is something poets should always avoid. No-one would ever say that naturally, it would be

"Given a machete to prove my manhood"




Author's Reply:
Dear gwirionedd,

Thank you so much for taking the time to comment is such detail and showing such kindness,too.

The British army was in Malaysia certainly until after 1966 when the confrontation between Malaysia and Indonesia ended. I served there from 1961-63.

No one gave me too much stick for not killing the animal because I was on the boxing team and known for having a short fuse. (It's much longer these days)

My apologies for the bad grammar please put it down to poetic licence and I will crave the readers' indulgence and forgiveness. πŸ™‚


Tony

Mikeverdi on 13-06-2015
Cat in the Attic
I like the story, the fact that it's true just adds to it. If it were me I would have written it as a story, given it a bit more flesh on the bones, I think it would work. In saying this I liked it as it is anyway.
Mike

Author's Reply:
Thanks for your kind comment Mike. I wrote it as a poem because, when I finally finish my novel, I'm going to write "A Soldier of the Sixties" a sort of semi humorous romp through soldiering of that era as seen through my eyes. It will be included in that.
Cheers mate!
Tony


When Dragons Died (posted on: 08-06-15)
An ode about the plight of mother nature

When Dragons Died Dark and louring poisoned sky In a land where dragon's used to fly Fire of mouth and thrashing tails Fulgent were their armoured scales O'er mountains dark and silvered lake Screeched protest they for Merlin's wake Legend old and myth combine Memories of a long lost time When prince and pauper danced in spring When witch and warlock proud did sing When land was clean and sea was pure When knights were bold and maids demure Those days are past, will not return For man will not his lesson learn To nurture nature's priceless prize Now hurtles to his own demise The dragon's murdered witches slain In the name of progress, need of gain Brave Arthur moulders in his grave No one's left the land to save Our god's are money, power, war As we acquire more, yet more In his crass folly man won't see He destroys his childrens' legacy I went in search of dragon's den And magic far beyond my ken But all I found that once was grand Is whoring now in Disneyland
Archived comments for When Dragons Died
Mikeverdi on 08-06-2015
When Dragons Died
Excellent, I loved it. I can think of a couple of more on here it will have that effect on. πŸ™‚

Mike
Bloody hell! Fame indeed...unless I owe them money πŸ™‚

Author's Reply:
Thanks Mike for your kind comment. I went to a writers group in Lees library last saturday and mentioned this group. Ph yes siad one lady doesn't Mikeveri write on there? Fame at last eh?

deadpoet on 08-06-2015
When Dragons Died
I liked this too Pronto- seems like man has just gone from dumb to plain stupid- oh oh oh



Author's Reply:
Yup when I see what's going on I despair. Birds that wee common in my youth now rare, butterflies no long there sharks murdered murdered in the millions whales and dolphins slaughtered by the thousand every year. Thanks for your kind comment D/P.

pommer on 09-06-2015
When Dragons Died
I just got round to reading this great contribution.Yes, it makes you wonder,will man ever learn? Peter.

Author's Reply:
Thank you for your kind comment Peter. I don't think we ever will learn until it's too late, sadly.

sweetwater on 10-06-2015
When Dragons Died
Truthful and very sad poem, it breaks my heart when I see how we are destroying our once beautiful planet, as a child I was always fascinated by stories of the wonders of foreign lands, but now all those lands are no more than a corruption of what they used to be. Sue.

Author's Reply:
Thank you Sue for your kind comment. When I see what's happening in the name of progress make me glad I'm old.


Bomb Doubt (posted on: 05-06-15)
Based on an old joke and written in a moment of madness!

The ward used by the old folk took a bomber's direct hit They were in the air raid shelters so they didn't mind a bit A second night they were hit again two nights in a row Bloody hell the old folk moaned have they nowhere else to go? The third night they dropped more bombs and hit the ward again The old folk, now real pissed off, wrote to Adolph to complain He wrote back immediately saying their accuracy I must applaud So in their honour please rename it The Gerry Hat Trick Ward OK folks time to groan!
Archived comments for Bomb Doubt
Mikeverdi on 05-06-2015
Bombed Doubt
OMG!!! HaHaHa!
Mike

Author's Reply:
Thanks Mike just a bit of daftness escaping!!

deadpoet on 06-06-2015
Bombed Doubt
A stroke of genius Pronto- very funny indeed! You could only say that in english- You're quite a master of your language- I enjoy reading your stuff.

Pia xx

Author's Reply:
Thanks Pia I'm touched by your kindness. It's just an old joke rehashed into a poem.


Bloody Squaddies (posted on: 18-05-15)
This is the sort of thing that all soldiers face from time to time. Saints they ain't and they know it but they face a deep undeserved prejudice from some quarters.

He sat at the bar quiet and thinking His lads were rowdy, flirting, winking Some girls liked it, some did not One approached him full of snot 'You Squaddies are all the same One track minds, should be ashamed Yer all thick oafs, perverted and sick, Viewing the world through the eye of yer dick' She had a bee wedged in her bonnet Determined he would hear her sonnet 'I think you're all just low-life scum This was a great pub 'til you lot come' 'See the big chap near the duke box he Has a first class honours degree A month ago we saw him weeping Now he has great trouble sleeping' 'Held a dying baby to his breast Tried to save her, did his best A rioter's brick had smashed her head Now blames himself because she's dead' She didn't believe him he could tell 'All these lads have been through hell Trying to keep two ethnicities From committing vile atrocities' 'That rogue over there with the lusty leer Each fist wrapped round a pint o' beer To recover his mate's body he risked his life To send him home to his kids and wife' 'Yes they're loud mouthed, swearing, bragging Thinking of naught but drinking and shagging But they'd crawl though mine fields to rescue you Then just laugh it off as they make you a brew' They go to where the bullets fly Every man knows he could die He makes sure that you stay safe and free To abuse the likes of him and me He finished his drink, turned to the door Simply couldn't talk of it any more He shook her hand, told her goodbye She stood there, mute, a tear in her eye
Archived comments for Bloody Squaddies
Mikeverdi on 18-05-2015
Bloody Squadies
Well said mate, I live in an army and navy town, there's always trouble between civilians and the lads, usually when the drinks in. Most of the locals would shit themselves if they were called up; I know I would have.
Mike

Author's Reply:
Cheers Mike,
Thanks for your great comment. I know in the sixties I was occasionally subject to a bit of verbal.We just ignored it because if we got into a fight and the cops came guess who they judged to be the guilty party?


Odd Sod This God (posted on: 08-05-15)
For a competition on another site the challenge was you end democracy and rule the world what would you do? I'd find it odd to be a god, for every god is a bloody odd sod However we're told:

It's a matter of faith you must believe Say priests who practice to deceive You pray, they prey, it's always the same One big guilt trip and you're to blame So law number one: All religion gone. If we shared out food and stuff Everyone would have enough To cater for their every need And thus I'd put an end to greed Law number two: I can't have more than you. And maybe the most important law Death for those who start a war As soon as they make a warlike sound Put the bastards 'neath the ground Law number three: War outlawed by decree This earth is a paradise hung in space A heaven for the human race Accept it share and always seek To heal the sick and protect the weak Law number four: Love much more And whilst I'm feeling so benign I'd give everybody some free wine No need to go out on the piss Just chill out baby, feel the bliss So ending with rule number five. It's compulsory to enjoy being alive! There! I told you I was a bloody odd god!
Archived comments for Odd Sod This God
deadpoet on 08-05-2015
Odd Sod This God
Perhaps this is the 5 commandments! Commanded by you...the odd god! I like these thoughts..plenty of us have the same ideas.. don't know why we can't practice them? Jolly good Pronto
xx

Author's Reply:
Thanks for the comment and great rating D/P I duuno where I get these crazy ideas but they're fun to write down!

Gothicman on 09-05-2015
Odd Sod This God
Pronto,

I think you should address the bishop's convention at Lambeth Palace! In an advisory capacity! Hahahaha! Rule 6: Enjoy being dead too, can't wait for it! Hahahaha! God, nearly laughed myself to death! Keep them coming, we need the balance! Feel the bliss of having a piss, like how you rhyme-artists manipulate structure and meaning to keep rhyme at all cost! Hahahahaha!
Enjoyed the earnest sentiments!


Author's Reply:
Thanks for the kind comments mate I really appreciate you taking the time to write.
I like rule six too. I could have done the whole ten commandments but five is enough to make the point methinks.

best regards,

Pronto.

stormwolf on 10-05-2015
Odd Sod This God
I don't know how I missed this one. I thought it was great.
It's funny but it also holds a lot of sense.
I particularly liked the advice for anyone trying to start war.
It's never the war mongers who risk life and limb and I wish to God people would stop allowing themselves to be used in this way
I would think any aliens looking at this planet would just think we have f*****d it up so much no point in visiting 😜
Very well written
Alison x

Author's Reply:
Thank you Alison for your kind comments. Having been in war or two I can confirm it's a very negative experience. Maybe I should have made it law number one?

I agree we 'allow' ourselves to be ordered about whereas if everybody said 'No, sorry, I ain't fighting' there's bugger-all any general could do about it. I think it was the late, great Spike Milligan who quipped: "What if they held a war and nobody came?"
Luv & hugz,
Tony

Mikeverdi on 10-05-2015
Odd Sod This God
Always enjoy reading you, this is no exception. πŸ™‚
Mike

Author's Reply:
Thanks Mike you're very kind mate.

Gothicman on 12-05-2015
Odd Sod This God
Pronto,
it's me again; on re-reading after reading other comments, I have not done you justice, as my comments seem now quite too flippant! This piece is far more profound and serious than I wrongly assumed, probably because you often write with comic humour! Anyway, a well-written piece and I hope it won the competition!
Trevor

Author's Reply:
No worries mate it was meant to get over a serious point by adding humour to lighten it. I find a splash of humour is like a slice of lemon to a gin and tonic; nice without better with!

gwirionedd on 21-06-2015
Odd Sod This God
This is an excellent poem. Nice flowing metre, a good message and also very amusing.

I would maybe improve this line:

"Put the bastards 'neath the ground"

I would change it to 'beneath' or 'under' to avoid the archaism, and also think of a stronger and more creative verb than 'put'.

Also, I believe that there is EVERY need to go out on the piss... just as long as you don't get aggressive...

All the best.




Author's Reply:
Thank you for the imput I think yup I could have been more poetic on the line mentioned. As for going on the piss I'm a very mellow fellow (Although to read my new novel you wouldn't think so) πŸ™‚
Wine is fine fine wine is better!


Lazarus Raised (The truth) (posted on: 04-05-15)
Ever wondered about the truth behind these miracle stories of old?

'Hey Lazarus you lazy bugger Get to the shops we're out of sugar Tea without don't taste too nice And we're expecting a guest called Jesus Christ' 'Hey Lazarus, come on, shake the lead You're lying there as though you're dead He'll be here very soon We ain't got all afternoon' Lazarus's mother is getting mad With her idle, useless lazy lad Jesus arrives 'what's this I see? Ain't no sugar for my tea?' I'll soon fix this lazy sod I have an electric cattle prod Zaps young Lazarus in the balls And after he's bounced of all four walls Jesus says 'Now run none stop Fetch some sugar from the shop Make sure you get back here real quick Or next I'll zap you in the dick' Lazarus sprints off motivated 'It's a miracle' cries his mum, elated 'Never seen the bugger move so quick Any chance you'll let me buy that stick?'
Archived comments for Lazarus Raised (The truth)
stormwolf on 06-05-2015
Lazarus Raised (The truth)
haha nice bit of nonsense. πŸ˜‰
We can all do with a laugh. My next door neighbours have a cat called Jesus. It seemed strange at first but now we are used to our conversations getting starnge looks when she asks me "Have you seen Jesus" and I answer, "well, he was on the shed roof this morning"

Aliosn x

Author's Reply:
I love the idea of a cat called Jesus Alison one could always use the Spainish pronunciation "Her-sues" but that would take away the fun!

Thanks for the kind comment mate.

deadpoet on 06-05-2015
Lazarus Raised (The truth)
Got a good laugh reading this. Thanks Pronto !!

Author's Reply:
You're welcome D/P I had fun writing it! Cheers mate.

Mikeverdi on 10-05-2015
Lazarus Raised (The truth)
Love this one HaHa! Sorry for the late comment, been away.
Mike
PS. I don't think you will get into heaven πŸ™‚


Author's Reply:
Hi Mike I'm glad you enjoyed my bit o' nonsense mate. Thanks for the comment. If there is such a place as the heaven of the vicars I'm not sure I want to go anyway! πŸ˜‰


Coma (posted on: 24-04-15)
Neither asleep or awake, like floating on an endless lake, words came silent to my head, I wrote them down whilst still abed. Strange things heads!

Yeah I walk in the valley The shadows are long I'm believing it's the evening Of my song Don't know where I am Or where I'm going There's no knowing But I'm not lost Just a bit confused, bruised Contused, When was that you say? Three days ago? No way! Using the crossing coming from the shops Then an ambulance Loads of cops He was mistaken Should not have overtaken Motorbike hit me hard Knocking me full five yard Didn't feel much pain Struck my head, numbed my brain Now I lie here watching you dear Weeping Don't cry my love I'm only sleeping Ah here comes that doctor in his crisp white gown Nice chap but why the awful frown? What's that he said? My brain is dead? That's news to me As I float here on the ceiling Full of loving feeling I look down at you You deciding what to do Finally you sign, agree To let them put an end to me You kiss me on the lips say goodbye Hang on I don't want to die I like it here So peaceful dear Hello mother so nice to see That you've come to visit me You've been dead such a long time Go with you? Why? I feel fine Oh look they've switched off that machine I see a crystal silver stream And feel a sudden urge to cross But you'll be saddened by my loss Mother's holding out her hand To guide me to another land No, I say, hold on a mo Mustn't go Until I've kissed her goodbye Tried to dry her mournful eye Mother darling what's the rush? Please, mother, wait for me After all we've got eternity
Archived comments for Coma

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The Eejit's Cup (posted on: 17-04-15)
I was a nineteen year old gunner in charge of two drunken cooks. I punched 'Horrid Hamish' one of the buggers giving me a hard time. The consequences were life changing!

My two companions were drunk and disorderly 'Who put a twat like you in charge anyway?' the Scotsman growled. 'The Army' I replied 'will you please get in the vehicle?' 'Lusten ersehole ah'm wantin' anither drink an' the pubs are open ye ken?' he slurred, I looked at the duty driver who read my mind 'I'm only the driver mate don't involve me.' Jock pushed past me I grabbed his shoulder pulling him back. 'Come on pal don't be...' He swung at me clumsily, I ducked retaliating with a right cross and down he went like a sack of soggy sago. His mate, the Brummie, stared open mouthed. My temper snapped; enough of this bullshit. 'You want some too arsehole?' I shouted 'get in that bloody vehicle NOW!' He shot over the tailgate and sat looking sheepish. 'Right, driver,' I said 'give me a hand with 'Horrible Hamish' here.' Between us we stuffed him moaning into the vehicle. On arrival at the Guardroom both were asleep. I'd left Aldershot posted to Colchester having failed my Paratroopers' course. I'd got through the physical bit (just) then my medical records arrived. My eyesight was below acceptable standard I was rejected. I felt six feet lower than shark shit. They'd put me in charge of two cook privates posted to my unit and unfortunately the buggers had just been paid. Supping a pint at the station it was all very friendly. However they continued drinking on the train then, at Colchester, instead of reporting to the Regiment they'd wanted more ale.                                      ****************** We were met by the Regimental Sergeant Major. 'Sergeant Gorton!' he yelled into the guardroom 'Get these drunken buggers into the cells. Were you in charge gunner?' 'Yessah' I bawled slamming to attention. 'Right, get your sorry arse over to my office.' he pointed to a nearby building 'double you idle bugger' he screamed. I trotted, waiting on his verandah whilst he supervised the incarcerations. Afterwards in his office he asked 'what happened gunner?' I told him. 'OK, greatcoat off, jump on those scales' he ordered. I was mystified. He looked at the dial 'Ah good, nine stone thirteen pounds that's light welter.' 'What's light welter sir?' I asked 'It's a boxing weight lad; I'm short of a light welterweight.' 'But I've never boxed sir.' He looked genuinely amused 'The duty driver says you did OK at the station so now you're one of my boxers sonshine.' 'But sir...' I protested 'Don't worry lad' he interrupted 'the fight's not for ten days yet you've plenty of time to learn.' The next ten days were hectic with finding my feet in my new Battery and training for the fight. My opponent's mates played mind games saying 'he's been boxing since he was ten (That bit was true) he'll kill yer.' Fight night: I was sitting in the dressing room listening to the hullabaloo from the Gymnasium. Shouts of 'stop 'is 'eart 'enry' and 'butcher the bastard Bert' made it all sound terrifyingly bloodthirsty. Victims were being helped back bloodied, battered and bewildered. My knees were knocking when they called my name. 'Yer up in two minutes move yerself.' My heart sank. Climbing into the ring the gym seemed ominously quiet I was the newbie, the unknown quantity. Tales of my dropping 'Horrible Hamish' had spread growing with each retelling. The mob was salivating in eager anticipation of my demise. My second said 'stand on that' pointing to a shallow tray of resin. I managed to stand on the edge tipping it all over the ring. 'Clumsy bastard' he cursed and the whole proceedings stopped whilst a broom was fetched. The crowd jeered. Round one: My opponent crept out cautiously it seemed mind games worked both ways. This guy ain't much I thought after dodging a couple of blows then landing one of my own bringing blood from his mouth. I moved in for the kill. Wham! I walked straight into a trap. I was on the floor with the ref counting five, six, seven, I was confused what the hell had happened to one, two, three, four? I leapt up glaring at the ref, he stopped at nine. The second round was frustrating we were evenly matched landing blow for blow. I was knackered when it ended.'You've got the sod now' my second said. 'I have?' I asked in amazement that was news to me. Round three: He came out like a whirlwind for three minutes of mayhem. His experience showed, every time I threw a punch he covered up I was anxious to hit harder but my arms were leaden. Should I turn southpaw? That might confuse the bugger. He attacked strongly, all technique went, we were toe to toe trading blows each desperate to land the winner before the bell. The crowd were going wild; bloody hell they were shouting for me! I stepped in quickly and nearly fell as I trod on his foot then the bell went. It was over, he'd won. To be fair he was the better boxer and I had taken a count. Ah well it was not as bad as I'd feared. After showering I went to find him. He was still in his boxing gear looking forlorn. 'Fancy a pint?' I asked after congratulating him. 'You've hurt me foot I can't walk.' He said resentfully. The finals were next night. Alas my opponent couldn't fight as I'd broken his foot. After the contests the winners were called and the colonel awarded the cups. My name was called. I was puzzled, at the ringside I told the Irish sergeant checking the names that I was a loser. 'Bejaysus son you've won da best loser's cup' he told me 'dey give dat to the eejit who takes the biggest beating.' The colonel said 'Well done.It's easy to go on when you're winning, damned hard when you're losing.' I've won many cups at various sports since but the 'eejit's cup' is still my favourite. Copyright © J A Milligan All rights reserved.
Archived comments for The Eejit's Cup
Mikeverdi on 19-04-2015
The Eejits Cup
Loved it, great story mate πŸ™‚
Mike

Author's Reply:
Thanks Mike I appreciate your kind comment mate.

Rab on 19-04-2015
The Eejits Cup
Great tale, well told.

Author's Reply:
Thanks Rab for the read and kind comment.


Crunch Time (posted on: 06-04-15)
No one wants to get old but there are those among us who let their ego's rule instead of accepting the inevitable with good grace.

'You what?' I queried. 'We need hearing aids' she barked. 'I don't' I said indignantly 'if you didn't mutter I'd hear you OK.' 'Well I'm going for a hearing test' she told me in a tone that brooked no argument. That was a couple of months ago.Yesterday she arrived home with not one but two hearing aids. 'How do they look?' She asked. I thought she looked like part of the Fylingdales array, you know, that early warning radar up in Yorkshire. Mind you I had more sense than to say so. 'I can hardly see 'em' I lied. She preened and gave a twirl 'and from the back?' She queried. Like a pair of dangling dustbins I thought. Of course I daren't say so lest my life be lost. 'Wow' I said, faking astonishment 'one would hardly notice they were there with your lovely hair hiding them.' The word ''lovely'' overcooked it and she smelled insincerity. 'Is that the truth or are you just trying to make me feel good?' She asked suspiciously. Neither. The truth dared not speak its name. 'Well darling you have a hairdresser's appointment soon' I quipped brightly 'I'm sure if you ask her the lady will arrange your tresses to hide them completely.' I metaphorically patted myself on the back for this masterly stroke of diplomacy. 'Yes, I think your hearing aids are great dear.' 'So you'll be getting some too then?' 'Ah, well,' I retreating hurriedly 'I don't need 'em yet, besides men of my age don't have enough hair to hide them.' 'Since when were you particular about your appearance?' She asked haughtily. 'I haven't noticed women throwing themselves at you recently.' I feigned deep hurt to my feelings and turned away in sulky silence. 'And you can cut that ''martyred me'' act me lad, it won't wash.' That evening I was prodding away at my keyboard, she was in the living room watching TV. I decided to join her and that's when the trouble started. I turned the volume up. She turned it down again. 'What setting have you got the sound on?' I said testily 'I can't hear a damned thing.' '34' she said 'quite loud enough.' '42 is our usual' I grumbled turning it up. 'It's booming! I told you, you need hearing aids.' she snapped, winning the fight for the twoggy thingy and turning it down again. Next morning as we dressed she put one aid in and, reaching for her other, knocked it on the floor. 'Don't move' she commanded. I looked down but couldn't see it. 'It must be here somewhere' I said taking a pace backwards the better to see over my paunch. I felt rather than heard the crunch as my foot found it. The silence was deafening. So, to appease ''Yezdere,'' the goddess of household tranquillity, I have booked an appointment for a hearing test. Ah me!
Archived comments for Crunch Time
sweetwater on 06-04-2015
Crunch Time
Haha, very, very good, I was hooked from the beginning. I was just like this over glasses except as I live alone the argument was with myself. I eventually gave in when it was pointed out by a work colleague that 3/4 of the cleanroom operators wore them due to the tiny medical components in their thousands, we assembled daily straining the eyes. I suppose it's just a case of holding on to our youth and not letting ' older age' get a look in, for as long as possible. Had fun reading this and was inwardly smiling. Sue.

Author's Reply:
Why thank you Sue for your kind comment. I wore glasses from the age of 6 to 14 then I started noticing girls. At 21 I had to give up and buy some "Buddy Hollies" as I was posted to British Guiana South America where the sun was bright and the concrete roads where white.

I agree with Dylan Thomas about raging against the dying of the light and, that apart, I'm a vain owd bugger!

Glad my daft story gave you pleasure. πŸ™‚

Mikeverdi on 07-04-2015
Crunch Time
Sadly, this could be me.... My whole family is trying to tell me. This could be the prod I need. I enjoyed the read if not the sentiment HaHa!
Mike

Author's Reply:
Ah well Mike me boy, sure it comes to us all! Bejaysus, it's the young buckeroo in us older blokes that doesn't want to let go of our 'youthful' self image. I can tell you,like me, is getting a bit near your sell-by date 'cos you posted this comment twice! πŸ˜‰


Leaving For Good (posted on: 03-04-15)
He had the love of a good woman and a child then he turned to drugs. Something had to give. I wrote this for a challenge which had a strict 500 word limit subject: "Leaving Home" WARNING: This is a harrowing tale.

He punched her as he snatched her purse sending her reeling, her lip split. 'Piss off bitch I need that money.' he spat 'But how will we eat if it's spent on drugs?' 'Use the food bank like the other tossers' he shouted slamming the door. Sarah came creeping downstairs clutching her Teddy her frightened eyes staring 'are you all right mummy? Can I get you mended?' 'Sarah darling you're only five and mummy is a big girl she can mend herself.' 'Why does he hit you Mummy?' 'Cos he takes drugs Sarah he's sick sweetheart that's all.' 'I don't like it when he hits you Mummy I'm scared.' Mandy sat down on the settee and gathered her daughter to her breast. She'd been devastated after Sarah's father had left then, a year later, she'd met John. At first things were fine, they both worked hard and Sarah seemed happy; then he got into drugs. 'Why do people take drugs mummy? She dabbed her mouth with a tissue 'they get sick in their heads sweetheart and do silly things.' 'Will he leave us and go to another lady like daddy did?' Oh if only she thought I've had enough of this and Sarah is terrified. 'Angel I can't say, why don't you ask him when he's well again? Sarah flinched her eyes widened 'No mummy he'll punish me again.' Awful fear gripped Mandy 'punish you? When did he punish you baby? 'I can't tell mummy it's secret.' Mandy's soul froze 'Sarah, darling, has he touched you anywhere?' Sarah's eyes welled and she burst into uncontrollable sobs 'he says if I tell he'll hit you until you die then some people will come and take me away' Sarah wailed. 'Please mummy, please if he doesn't hurt you it's alright.' Mandy's heart almost burst as she rocked Sarah in her bosom; the bastard, she thought, the unspeakable bastard. After Mandy put Sarah to bed she thought hard. If she reported him now Sarah would be taken into care immediately. This had to be done right. Raiding her meagre secret fund Mandy bought rum. An hour later he returned contrite. 'Mandy, I'm sorry I hit you baby, really I am, it won't happen again love honest.' With great difficulty she forced a smile and shrugged 'ah well shit happens, have a drink. Peace offering.' Soon he was snoring. She went through his pockets finding his remaining drugs. Having watched him she knew what to do. Feeling cold hatred she inserted the needle into his vein then, sitting astride his waist, she slapped him awake. 'I thought I'd tell you before you die I know what you did to Sarah.' Terror shone bright in his bulging eyes 'I'm sorry Mandy, honest, I won't touch her again, I swear.' 'Correct arsehole' she sneered pushing the plunger 'you sure got that bit right.' He was just another tragic junky who OD'd. Sarah would get treatment now without being taken into care.
Archived comments for Leaving For Good
Mikeverdi on 03-04-2015
Leaving For Good
Short... and bitter sweet. I sure many would want to do the same. I liked the storyline, it fits well with the way things are on the street. On the critique side, and this is going to sound stupid coming from me, as I'm the worst one for this...the punctuation needs looking at. You could also break the lay out down a bit. Given a good edit and a prune I think this is excellent. Please accept that these are only my opinion, others may differ.
Mike

Author's Reply:
Thanks Mike your opinion is always considered valuable mate (Even on the odd occasion when I don't agree with it) I put this up thinking I'd have time to titivate as I thought it wouldn't appear until next week! Ah well caught out again.!
Thanks mate.

deadpoet on 07-04-2015
Leaving For Good
Oh golly what a story- really moving- I didn't notice the punctuation- got so caught up in the tale. A powerful piece- thanks for the read Pronto- a cracker-

Author's Reply:
Thanks DP for your kind comment. I kow punctuation is not my long suit as Mike has pointed out. However as I was restricted to 500 words much of the piece is single line dialogue. I fail to see where it could be broken down further. I had to cut out a lot of the "He said/She said" and make it obvious who said what to make the word count limit. I may well give it a re-edit though.

Cheers!


Impact (posted on: 30-03-15)
A would-be thriller writer takes criticism to heart and decides to research the his main character in a novel way with devastating results.

I'm standing in the crowd at the edge of the Mall. I hear them coming, the cheers rising, getting very close now. It's nearly time. I draw my device and switch it on admiring the red flashing LED. Pleased with the effect I extend the aerial. The lady standing next to me, the one who's been scowling at me for the last half hour, lets out a piercing scream. The crowd parts staring at me in startled horror what's the matter with them? Can't they see I'm an unbelievable character? A Guards Sergeant lining the route turns my way, he scowls, presents his rifle and charges at me his face contorted, screaming hideously. My god he's quick. There's a flash of silver light as the early June sun strikes his medals and bayonet, the air is flowing through his bearskin, it ripples like wind over a wheatfield. I realise his intent. 'No' I yell 'it's not real...' Too late. I feel his bayonet slice deep into my stomach. A huge flash of pain consumes my entire being for a second then it's gone. Sinking to my knees I try to explain but I can't talk. All around me it's growing dark but I can still hear the clatter of hooves and the rumble of carriage wheels on the Mall.There's a thump on the back of my head as his rifle butt crashes into me. I topple forward on my face. People are screaming; they seem a long way off. Then I'm back in my writers' group with Barry Elliston, our tutor, critiquing my work rather too harshly yet again. I put a lot of effort into this story. Just because he's a journalist and a published author of several thrillers doesn't make him omnipotent, arrogant sod. 'Jason' he tells me 'your story idea is good but your main protagonist is totally unbelievable, absolute ''Walter Mitty.'' He reads a brief passage aloud in front of everyone compounding my embarrassment. 'Assassins don't go around in long trench coats wearing wide brimmed fedora hats and dark glasses. Pure comic book Jason he needs a lot more research.' 'OK, anything else?' I mutter. 'Yes' he says 'take a tip from the James Bond movies. They always start with an all-action sequence, car chases, shoot outs, explosions, lots of noise etc. Why do you suppose that is?' 'To gain attention' I reply. 'Exactly' he says 'you started this story with two pages of long-winded preamble. Grab your readers' attention straight away so they want to read on. Impact Jason, impact.' He switches his attention to his next victim but I'm not listening the words ''unbelievable,'' ''Walter Mitty,'' and ''impact'' are going round in my head. OK I'll give you impact people will be clamouring for my book when I'm done.   I'm back in the Mall near to the soldier, a very young looking policeman is kneeling by my body trying to stem the blood flow, he pauses to answer his radio. 'It's not a real detonating device' he's saying 'just an old TV remote with an LED and an aerial from a portable radio gaffer taped onto it.' I step up to them offering my explanation. They ignore me, it's like I'm not there. The policeman stands up realising the task is beyond anything he can do. He glares at the soldier accusingly 'Bloody hell man did you have to bayonet him? He's an obvious geek, a Walter Mitty trying to grab attention. Look at the way he's dressed' the policeman continues, 'I mean a trench coat and Fedora hat on a hot day like this?' 'And your point is?' the Sergeant asks aggressively. 'Couldn't you have just knocked him over? We don't slaughter people for being geeks in this country mate.' I see the soldier's face redden 'Listen arsehole' he barks 'I've done three bloody tours of Afghan, and I mean bloody' he's waving his now detached bayonet before the officer's face, 'I've been shelled, shot at and shit on from a great height. I've lost good mates to roadside bombs, IED's, understand?' the policeman blanches and steps back a pace visibly shaken. 'One of the ways the Taliban detonate these devices' the Sergeant says 'is with transmitters that look just like that.' He points at my mock transmitter. 'What the hell did you expect me to do with the Queen and Duke not twenty metres away offer this git some bloody counselling? He could have had a shit load of explosives under that coat.' 'I...I'm sorry' the shocked officer stammers 'I didn't, .. I mean..' The soldier walks away in disgust as two paramedics rush up and start working on me. A T.V. camera crew, more policemen and military personnel arrive. The cops throw a cordon around me pushing the rubber necking crowd back. Filming starts as the medics push a tube into my arm. The red faced one is examining my wound. I go to the soldier trying to tell him it's OK, that I don't blame him. I can't make him hear me. Tears of rage are running down his cheeks and I see the pain in his eyes. He's muttering to himself 'Bastard, I hope you enjoy your fifteen minutes of fame. I should have shoved it up your stupid arse.' I feel deeply remorseful as I realise what an awful impact I've had on his life. I'm being pulled back into my body as the medics work frantically on me. I don't want to go back. I can hear my grandfather calling. I will myself to leave. The scene starts to fade and I hear the red faced medic say 'We've lost him.'
Archived comments for Impact
Mikeverdi on 30-03-2015
Impact
Some good stuff on here today...this is one one them, bloody brilliant. I loved the concept and bought the ticket.
Mike

Author's Reply:
Wow Mike I'm deeply honoured mate thanks for that.

deadpoet on 07-04-2015
Impact
Absolutely- I think it's good too- very cleverly composed. I'm sorry to say this but I would have loved if it had been more political- that's the anti-monarchist in me talking. But indeed- a good mix of scenery. Hate wars! I think this Walter Mitty type was quite mental. I also think the soldier was human in his own special way. I have enjoyed your writing today! Thanks.

Author's Reply:
Hi DP Thanks for you kind comment mate I'm glad you enjoyed my scribblings. Having been a soldier I can assure you most of them are very human and killing has a severely detrimental effect upon them. As for the political aspect yes, there is certainly scope for pro and anti royalist sentiments. I'm neither pro or anti I accept that they just 'are.' They do bring in the tourists though. πŸ˜‰


Skulduggery (posted on: 27-03-15)
My brief was to write a short story the theme being "Skulduggery" in 700 words or less. I wrote this about a military unit hardly anyone knows exists. (Yes, it really does exist despite denials) My story though is entirely fictitious. Enjoy.

Jack Ellis was a member of 14th Detachment of the Military Intelligence Corps. They earned the nickname 'The Green Slime' because of the awful colour of their headgear. 'The Slime' works closely with the SAS planning and co-ordinating strikes against terrorist groups. If asked about their function they'd smile and say 'Oh the usual spook stuff: thuggery, buggery and general skulduggery. But behind the joke lay deadly purpose as many a terrorist found to his cost. It was 1972 and Londonderry was ablaze with riots, shootings and bombings when Jack was briefed on a highly dangerous mission. 'As you know' said t major Thom known as The Boss 'there are people in the province who are, for all practical purposes, above the law. They're protected by a wall of silence which makes it impossible to gain a conviction.' He spread a folder on the table and selected a photograph. 'This is Declan O' Moriarty AKA Deadly Declan.’ Jack looked at the photo surprised at how young the man appeared 'is this the guy whose devices have killed three bomb disposal experts boss?' 'It is' said Thom 'He lives in Eire until he's required then he's brought in, does his job, and is spirited away again. Sometimes it's for a booby trapped lorry bomb; sometimes it's to kill one of our experts.' 'So how do we take him out?' Jack asked his professional interest aroused. 'We've had a stroke of luck there' Thom smiled 'Declan has been screwing some high commander's wife' Thom explained 'now he's been called in to set a trap for our experts and, thanks to Declan's dick, we know where and when.' He eyed Jack speculatively 'how do you fancy taking him out?' Jack paused considering: This could be a clever trap; he'd be working alone if he were captured he'd be tortured and killed. Bollocks, it was worth the risk. 'How boss?' he asked. The briefing was brief. Jack was in the shop three hours before the bomber was due. He found the alcove behind the counter as described. There was no room to sit so he stood watching through a crack in the curtain listening intently. At three a.m. a van arrived. Three men unloaded fertilizer sacks which they carried into the shop. The van drove away and Declan set to work. The other man drew a pistol and stood watching the street. Neither spoke. He aimed carefully holding his breath before putting a bullet into the back of the bodyguard's neck dropping him instantly. Declan heard the plop of the silencer and whirled reaching desperately for his weapon. Jack gave him an icy smile before shooting him through the throat. Body shots would have been easier but even after a major explosion with the head and limbs blown off it the torso stayed more or less intact. Bullet holes would be hard to explain at an inquest. This way the bomber had simply made his last mistake. No propaganda bullshit. No heroes. Examining the device Jack found two trembler switches, a pressure plate and a mercury tilt switch, several detonators and a timer. This was not just a bomb this was a lethal booby trap. Jack set the timer at three minutes and left by the back door. Hurrying away Jack saw a car pull up outside the shop just as the bomb blew. Three miles from the scene the half expected ambush cars arrived. One raced in front cutting him off, the other rammed his rear. Jack rolled out of the vehicle into the road as two men emerged from the front car. He shot the man pointing the sub machine gun first then his companion. Two shots two kills. He dived away as bullets raked the road where he'd been. A man from the rear car with an Armalite was adjusting his aim Jack shot him and traversed his weapon. The fourth gunman panicked firing his pistol wildly. Jack put a bullet through his heart. After collecting the mens' weapons Jack jumped in his car. Distant sirens sounded. It was time to go. After his debrief Jack was asked 'anything else?' 'Yes, that commander informant, I want him next.'
Archived comments for Skulduggery
Mikeverdi on 27-03-2015
Skulduggery
For me it's a bit 'Batman and Robin' The idea is good, but the story lacks in the intro. Once you get to the killing ground it takes hold. I don't think we needed 'The briefing was brief' πŸ™‚

You have a couple of typos starting about line five.

Mike

Author's Reply:
Thanks Mike valuable comment as usual. I'll look at the typos probably been using American spell checker again! It was to be written in 700 words or less so maybe I was using my quota!
Cheers mate much appreciated.

deadpoet on 07-04-2015
Skulduggery
I read this too Pronto- I was attracted by the title- seem to remember hearing that word before! I have just been listening to Belfast child.This is in the memories of my youth- though I am far away in Denmark. Asked a bloke from Australia visiting if he followed the trouble in Northern Ireland and he had never heard of it! Imagine! Thanks for the read. Nobodys really a hero when there is killing IMO

Author's Reply:
Thanks for the coment DP I should have started with the crash-bang action really. I find the intro a bit long-winded now after time to re-read it.

I know what you mean about no heroes though. As a soldier of that era I always told people: There ain't no glory. Don't believe the hollywood bullshit.

BTW I used to sail across the Baltic From Bremerhaven to a port in Denmark called Sonderburg (Or Berg?) beautiful country and great people, too.

Cheers.


Killjoy wos 'ere (posted on: 13-03-15)
This is a skit on the "nanny knows best" 'Elf n' safety culture, though many may find it not too far wide of the mark.

Terrence and Tina Townsend were walking in the countryside with their twin children Tuck and Tanya. All was fun and frolics until they came upon on a bridge over a stream. 'Oh daddy, look' cried the eight year olds in unison 'can we play pooh sticks, please daddy please?' A couple of dead twigs were broken off a nearby tree and the children lifted so they could see over the high parapet. The sticks were duly dropped the ten feet into the water with a barely discernible plop. The children scampered excitedly across the track tugging at each other in an effort to be first. They were lifted up again amid hugs, tickles and giggles to await the stick's reappearance to see who had won. 'Excuse me sir might I have a word?' Terrence and Tina turned to see a portly person parading towards them. He was dressed in an oversized high-vis jacket above which was perched precariously a pink safety helmet. He glanced from the family to his clipboard as he advanced. The children were lowered and ceased giggling as the family politely waited for him to speak. Drawing himself up to his full five foot four inch height the stranger said 'may I ask exactly what activity you're involved in here?' Terrence, resenting the man's officious tone, asked 'Who are you and why do you want to know?' 'I am' said the man pausing to ensure he had their full attention, Mr. Percy Panjandrum the council's Chief Environmental Safety Officer. He flourished his ID card dramatically. Then this epitome of pomposity pronounced peremptorily 'I believe, sir, that you are engaged in activities which contravene several local bye-laws.' Tina's mouth dropped open 'Is this some kind of joke mister?' she asked incredulously. Terrence surveyed the surrounding fields 'OK, so where's the hidden camera mate? This is one of those TV wind-ups, yeah?' Panjandrum put his fist to his mouth and affected a throat clearing cough. Composing his fat face and triple chin into what he fondly imagined was a stern authoritarian look he said 'I'm afraid this is no joking matter sir. I have observed you damaging a tree and putting minors at risk twice by elevating them to an inappropriate position.' Percy peered petulantly over his safety spectacles 'May I ask if you carried out a full risk assessment before commencing this dangerous adventure sir?' Terrence and Tina were dumbstruck. At last Terrence, blinking and bemused, managed 'a what mate?' 'Clearly there are major safety implications here' continued Panjandrum ignoring Terrence's question. 'To begin with it is required under bye-law 2702, paragraph 13, sub section iv that minors wear high-visibility vests at all times when participating in outdoor pursuits in council controlled countryside' he paused and took a deep breath. 'Secondly when engaging in these arduous adventurous activities minors should be equipped with safety helmets, harnesses, floatation devices and any other approved safety equipment required by the said activity.' Panjandrum paused inwardly congratulating himself on his memory for minutiae. Glancing at his clipboard he ticked several boxes with the punctilious air of a comic opera clown. Seeing Tina about to speak he held up a pudgy hand to indicate there was more to come. 'Furthermore,' he continued, 'you allowed these minors to run unescorted and unsupervised across the highway contrary to section 84 paragraph 147 sub clause 89 amendment 12 of the highways and byways act 2013.' 'But it's only an empty bridle path barely twelve feet wide' protested Terrence too gobsmacked even to feel angry. 'That is as maybe sir' said the prince of pomp 'but it still constitutes a highway for purposes of environmental health and safety.' He glanced again at his clipboard checking his notes. 'Now, we come to the criminal damage to the tree Mr er...er...? 'Oh you mean the two dead twigs?' said Terrence sidestepping the oblique request for his name 'I'll report it to the local branch manager' he quipped trying to inject a little humour into the bizarre situation. It fell flat. 'Bye-law 1013a of 1972 chapter 41 paragraph 19 sub paragraph Vii states categorically that under no circumstances may any tree, bush, shrub, plant or herb be pruned, cut, transplanted, carried away or otherwise molested unless written permission from the Parks And Recreational Areas Committee (PARAC) is first obtained.' Panjandrum hovered, his pen poised expectantly above his clipboard 'I'll need your full names and address for my report' he said. Terrence, a mild-mannered man, finally snapped 'you ain't having them mate' he growled belligerently. 'For a start you've upset my family with your pathetic petty persecution. That, Percy, is contrary to Parental Practices for Pleasurable Pursuits protocol 32, chapter 19 paragraph 197 sub clause 17 bloody b he bawled his frustration rising. Secondly: If you don't piss off and leave us alone I'll wedge my non-standard, unapproved, size 10 walking boot so hard up your fat arse it'll make your eyes bleed.' Panjandrum's face paled 'I shall have to report this unwarranted threat of physical violence to the appropriate authorities immediately 'he said prissily pulling out his phone. 'Oh dear I haven't got a signal I shall have to commandeer yours' he said holding out his hand. *** Percy Panjandrum plodded painfully into the council meeting, his haemorrhoids hurting him horribly, to recite his recommendations. At the cost of £25,012.40 to the local taxpayers the council erected an anti pooh sticks fence at the upstream end of the bridge. They daubed the parapet with anti-climb paint with statuary warning signs prominently displayed. They also placed garish green notice boards at regular intervals along the path to warn people not to lean over the bridge. 'Danger deep water' signs were erected and a lifebelt provided either side of the stream to amuse the local vandals. The stream was only ten inches deep but the signs had been deemed necessary because in springtime of 1948, due to a huge snow melt, the stream had reached a depth of two feet eight inches.   Postscript: Mr. Percy Panjandrum tragically died in unexplained circumstances. He was found lying face down in the stream under the bridge smeared in anti-climb paint. He had suffered neck injuries consistent with a fall. The likeliest explanation of his demise was he that he, being a very conscientious ESO, had been testing the effectiveness of his safety measures when he slipped and fell. The coroner, however, returned an open verdict because no adequate explanation could be found as to why a large twig was protruding from Percy's anus. Copyright © J A Milligan All rights reserved.
Archived comments for Killjoy wos 'ere
franciman on 13-03-2015
Killjoy wos ere
Good story. I enjoyed the read. In places the alliteration is pretty pleasing but it becomes a bit boring after a while.
It does what it says on the tin.
cheers,
Jim


Author's Reply:
Cheers Jim thanks for your honest comment. If anything I thought I may have overdone the use of quotes from the Council bye-laws. I'll wait to see what other comments I get before I do a final edit.
It's why I like this site one gets so much useful feedback.

Mikeverdi on 13-03-2015
Killjoy wos ere
HaHa! I liked it, a little over done but you made your point. If you give it a good prune, not taking too many of the dead twigs, it will flow better under the bridge. πŸ™‚
Mike

Author's Reply:
Thanks for your feedback Mike I appreciate it.

I thought maybe a a 1000 + words a bit long to get my point across but then again sometimes one can be too frugal. So I thought I'd float it and see what kind of response I got.
Cheers mate.


A Flash of Inspiration. (posted on: 06-03-15)
Take heed of my plight, see the light, do only that which is right!

I was wandering in the woods Admiring the springtime sunshine The daffodils and crocuses Were withered and wasted Now brash Bluebells boldly bounced 'Neath shady trees honey bees Weaved erratically from bloom to bloom Their murmur filled me with mesmeric magic A nearby robin chirped a challenge to his chums Whilst a beautiful blackbird sang a soulful mating melody Poetic inspiration came from these soporific sounds I sat beneath the boughs of a pathside pine Soon I drifted into the arms of Morpheus I awoke with a start as a bee stung my private part Pulling out my perforated penile prong I leapt lamenting and Wailing woefully Whilst waving my wounded Willie In the cooling breeze To ease, perchance, the pounding pain The sting caused the serious swelling I did not see the gaggle of Girl Guides Out on their weekend walk And that, your honour, Concludes the case for my defence
Archived comments for A Flash of Inspiration.
Mikeverdi on 06-03-2015
A Flash of Inspiration.
Oh Dear πŸ™‚ HaHaHa! I think you get my thanks for the laughter on this one!
Mike

Author's Reply:
Cheers Mike if it gave you a giggle then my job is done!


The Ballad of Waterloo (posted on: 20-02-15)
In this the 200th anniversary year of the Battle of Waterloo I'll be putting together a few poems in honour of the fallen.

We saw many a young comrade fall         Disembowelled by a cannon ball We could but stand like a human wall As the deadly roundshot flew me boys As the roundshot mightily flew I tell you we were damn near done Standing in the hot June sun Of drinking water there was none As the deadly roundshot flew me boys As the roundshot mightily flew In the evening of that scorching day We were quickly marched away From Quatre Bras were many lay As the deadly roundshot flew me boys As the roundshot mightily flew And then the weather sudden changed As we marched on it rained and rained We were soaked and sorely pained As the deadly roundshot flew me boys As the roundshot mightily flew All next day we lay in mud Suffering the scream and thud And the cracking shells that spilled our blood As the deadly roundshot flew me boys As the roundshot mightily flew And from this hell his thoughts did wrench He spoke of England and a comely wench He was forced to leave to fight the French As the deadly roundshot flew me boys As the roundshot mightily flew Then it's on yer feet and form a square There's cavalry charging from over there Against our bayonets they'd not a prayer As the deadly roundshot flew me boys As the roundshot mightily flew They charged and charged and came again Met by our musket's lethal rain A thousand men and horses slain As the deadly roundshot flew me boys As the roundshot mightily flew Then rattling drums rent the air And cries of Vive L'empereur Chilled the blood of everyone there As the deadly roundshot flew me boys As the roundshot mightily flew We were the scum of Scotland, Wales And the sweepings of the English jails Blessed with a nerve that never fails As the deadly roundshot flew me boys As the roundshot mightily flew Then we faced his Imperial Guard And drove them backwards yard by yard With musket bayonet pike and sword As the deadly roundshot flew me boys As the roundshot mightily flew When Bloucher came we won the day And Napoleon beaten rode away But a terrible price we'd had to pay As the deadly roundshot flew me boys As the roundshot mightily flew And the very last shot removed his head Before he falls the man is dead Now his wench he'll never wed Then the roundshot no longer flew O'er the field of Waterloo me boys O'er field of Waterloo
Archived comments for The Ballad of Waterloo
Mikeverdi on 20-02-2015
The Ballad of Waterloo
Lots to like about this one, a couple of places where the extra word interrupted the flow, but an enjoyable read about a subject you clearly know about.

"and drove them back yard by yard" Only me πŸ™‚

Author's Reply:
Thanks Mike I'll look again but many ballads are imperfect. Glad you enjoyed it mate.

franciman on 20-02-2015
The Ballad of Waterloo
It has the feel of the Napoleonic Era. Really well done. This was quite a challenge.
I have a very old Memoir of General Friant on my shelf. Co-incidence; I was in Liege City Hall three weeks back. viewing an enormous set of diorama of Waterloo. The main diorama (beyond the ridge of Mont St Jean; squares and Milhaud's Cuirrasiers) covered 8 table-tennis tables.
God, I don't half rabbit on:
cheers,
Jim


Author's Reply:
Thanks Jim for your kind comment and generous rating. I served in an artillery battery in the 60's and 70's that fought at Waterloo we had to learn it's history. We visited the battlefield in '65 for the 150th anniversary. To see the film and read the blurb there in those days you'd think the French had won.

I've recently read Bernard Cornwell's (The author of the Sharpe series)history of the battle and found it a very readable account. Like Wellington said it was a damned close run thing.


Aging Romeo (posted on: 20-02-15)
When exactly does the child become the parent and start giving advice instead of taking it? At what age do we start deferring to our offspring? It's a gradual process but can sometimes seem a little harsh and sudden to an ageing Romeo!

You're looking old and wrinkled your body's very crinkled The fairy with the aging dust has been around and sprinkled Everybody sniggers when you're poncing round the town Look there's that aging Romeo, oh what a silly clown Don't try to suck yer belly in when a pretty girl goes by You cause us such embarrassment, Mum just wants to die You look so ridiculous yer arse balloons and sags Stuffed into those skin tight jeans instead of Oxford bags Talk about ageing gracelessly, you look a proper fool Swaggering about like a youngster trying to look cool It's no use dressing young, dad, my stern advice is sage Stop combing over your bald patch and act your bloody age!
Archived comments for Aging Romeo
Mikeverdi on 20-02-2015
Aging Romeo
Oh Dear....I'll take that on board HaHa! I stopped Dad Dancing a long time ago πŸ™‚
Mike

Author's Reply:
Glad you enjoyed it Mike teenage daughters can be harsh critics. What was it Burns said? "Oh whood sum poower the gifty gie us, Tae see oorsel's as others see us" something like that anyway. πŸ™‚

franciman on 20-02-2015
Aging Romeo
oOh God! That much self-awareness has to sting.
Great work,
cheers,
Jim

Author's Reply:
It's the teenage girls perspective, a bit of hyperbole added for good measure.

sweetwater on 20-02-2015
Aging Romeo
I enjoyed this, however I think you are being a little too harsh in the criticism, after all we spend our lives trying to look our best, so why when we become a 'certain' age must we stop and let ourselves go, as long as we can look good, but not silly that's fine, nothing wrong with a comb over if it suits you and can stay put! Personally I intend to colour my hair, wear jeans, carry on loving rock music and fancying younger singers as well as the ' age appropriate ' ones. Rock on Status Quo! When you think about it how stupid do so many youngsters look anyway. Great poem, keep on doing your own thing :-)) Sue.

Author's Reply:
Yup Sue I agree one should always look one's bet. My 'victim' here is a caricature but like all exaggerations of this sort it carries the sting of some truth within. It's the people who let themselves go and still try to look cool that look ridiculous not the smart, tasteful folk.

Thanks for your comment and keep rockin' on baby! πŸ˜‰

e-griff on 20-02-2015
Aging Romeo
This was good and funny . Two small suggestions only V2 add a full stop or comma after embarrassment just to smooth the rhythm a bit, similarly V3 comma after 'dad' for better clarity (ie not looking 'young dad')

Nice read, cheered me up. πŸ™‚

Author's Reply:
Thanks for your kind suggestions Griff I'm glad you enjoyed my bit o' nonsense. I was on the bus with my dear wife who had her head on my shoulder zuzzing away when he got on. He wasn't as bad as I have depicted of course but was clearly a fifty something who thought he was twenty one! By the time I got off 20 minutes later it was done in my head. Don't know where this stuff comes from. πŸ™‚


Impatiently Waiting (posted on: 09-02-15)
The things one thinks of standing at the checkout!

She was old and befuddled as any could see But old or not she had still beaten me Standing at the checkout just wanting to go 'Will you take a cheque dear' oldie wants to know? Oh spare me dear lord I've picked the wrong queue Has this sort of thing ever happened to you? Fishing in her handbag 'A card dear? Don't know' They must have sent me one a long time ago Fiddling and fumbling 'til I want to scream Surely to god this is just a bad dream? But no it's real and she's taking all day I'm off to a party, want to be on my way Three hours at the party goes by in a flash Three minutes behind someone who usually pays cash Drags like an eternity, my patience was spent I realised this morning I shouldn't resent For patience is a virtue and time an illusion T'was me not her suffered most confusion For the faster we hurry the quicker we pave Our path through this life, why dash to the grave?
Archived comments for Impatiently Waiting
Mikeverdi on 09-02-2015
Impatiently Waiting
Great stuff, sadly its often me at the front end these days HaHa! There are some words I would strip out... but so what I enjoyed the read πŸ™‚
Mike

Author's Reply:
Thanks Mike for you comments. Reading it again I see what you mean. It looked OK after a few glasses of red wine though!

sweetwater on 10-02-2015
Impatiently Waiting
I live in dread of becoming the befuddled little old lady at the head of the queue, hope I have a little longer yet though. I liked this very much, especially the last line. Sue.

Author's Reply:
I know what you mean Sue Ill be 73 on Thursday (12th Feb) though I'm I still very fit and active and have my marbles (Well I think I have) However if I become the doddering old man at the front of the queue I'll try and have fun dong it!

Thanks for your kind comment.


Last Laugh (posted on: 02-02-15)
Written as an exercise the subject being: The funniest thing ever to happen to me.(Limited to 250 words.)

After retiring as a Trading Standards Officer I volunteered as an in-store collector for a childrens' charity. Being an avid people watcher I love studying human behaviour and body language; I enjoy it immensely. Most folk I meet are warm hearted, generous souls and I love them. There are, however, some whom I term 'funnyosities' odd balls whose bizarre antics amuse me greatly. One such was a young man who sashayed up one day with his decorative girlfriend. From his gold plated neck chain, fake Rolex and contraband trainers, the guy read 'flash and brash.' F&B plonked a twenty pound note on my table with a fifty pence piece atop it. 'I'm always lucky' he bragged. 'He's always lucky' echoed his smirking girlfriend. 'Toss yer, heads you get the twenty, tails the fifty pence.' 'Fine' I said. He tossed then showed me I'd lost. 'Told yer' he said retrieved his twenty and swaggered off. Picking up the coin I was about to drop it into the bucket when I noticed something odd. About three months later F&B happened by again. 'I want to thank you sir for that fifty pence you donated' I said 'the charity was deeply grateful.' 'Whaddya mean?' 'It was the Olympic swimming fifty pence with the swimmer's face obscured there's only two hundred and fifty in existence. It fetched fifteen hundred.' The young guy's jaw dropped 'fifteen hundred pounds?' 'Yes' I quipped happily 'enough for a deposit on a genuine Rolex.'
Archived comments for Last Laugh
Mikeverdi on 02-02-2015
Last Laugh
We used to do these at a writers group I belonged to, great fun! You did this well, the twist was well done. We used to have a time limit as well. I think if I am to critique (as one does) the line starting 'being an avid people watcher... needs a little sorting. Maybe a comer after watcher, one less 'and'..swap the last one for an I. As usual it's only me and WTF do I know. πŸ™‚
Mike

Author's Reply:
Thanks Mike for your kind comments. Your critique is quite valid mate. I worried about that bit too but, after a bottle of red, one tends to think Ah bollox, I'll have time to change it before it's posted up.' Serves me right! I'll take another look Ta! πŸ˜‰


Dirty British Soldiers (posted on: 30-01-15)
With the 200th anniversary of one the most important battles ever fought on European soil fast approaching I've set myself the task of writing a few poems in its honour. I visited the battlefield for the 150th anniversary in 1965 it was an eye opener. Enjoy.

Where did he steal that fowl he has a-roasting on his fire He looks a dirty scoundrel, a godless thug, a liar I've heard that they're all rapists every woman's dread When they've finished with 'em they leave their victims dead I've heard that they eat babies and broil them on a spit 'Tis known in other the villages and that's the truth of it Thus whispered fearful peasants behind the soldiers pack Should he leave them to the enemy they'd damn soon want him back Hold your peace cried the village priest at his Sunday sermon He's come to fight the tyrant with the Dutchman and the German They pay in gold for the food they take not plunder us like the French And he'd hang from the gallows tree should he rape any wench He slept out in the fields last night exposed to pouring rain This morn he has no breakfast so he'll curse and he'll complain Yet when they get to fighting there's none better, braver, bolder Be he uncouth and foul of mouth God bless the British soldier Be grateful that he's here good folk, upon on your knees and pray For all will need god's mercy on this June's eighteenth day He's fighting for our freedom for the sake of me and you And many of them will die for us near our village Waterloo
Archived comments for Dirty British Soldiers
Mikeverdi on 30-01-2015
Dirty British Soldiers
I think it's excellent, The whole thing gives a sense of the time. I also think you need to change the lay out as the words run into each other at times, causing me to retreat and start again; a bit like the battle at times πŸ™‚
Looking forwards to some more on this.
Mike

Author's Reply:
Thanks for the kind comment Mike and I see what you mean about the layout. Talk about the elephant in the room! I've turned the verses into four line ones by adding two new lines. I think it reads better now; hope so anyway. πŸ˜‰


Hurricane Joe (posted on: 19-01-15)
A tale of Aids in old any age.

As I grow older I find I need aid 'Cos my body is creaking and rather decayed A chair for the stair that gets me up there Without Mr. Stannah I haven't a prayer My ancient ear holes are damn near dead Twin hearing aids help me know what's being said Hand rails in the shower high seat on the loo I'd be buggered without them, I just couldn't do To assist me with walking I need a stick I swear it helps me go comparatively quick I love it so much I that gave it a name I call my walking stick my 'hurry' cane
Archived comments for Hurricane Joe
Mikeverdi on 19-01-2015
Hurricane Joe
Love it! tell the truth My mother-in-law had all of these; I'm not looking forwards to them. My daughter says not long now πŸ™
Mike

Author's Reply:
Thanks Mike Kids can be so cruel at times can't they? My daughter calls me A P short for aged parent cheeky little git she's 43 herself!! Oh well! πŸ˜‰

sweetwater on 19-01-2015
Hurricane Joe
Think I have to admit to the cane, or rather a flowery stick. But only out and about. And I blame arthritis, not age for that! I really enjoyed this poking fun at infirmity, poem it's always best to see the lighter side I feel. Sue.

Author's Reply:
Quite right Sue and truth to tell I'm a hale and hearty 72 year old (For the next couple of weeks anyway) I do enjoy poking fun at 'the dying of the light'
Thanks or the kind comment.

ValDohren on 19-01-2015
Hurricane Joe
Love the 'hurry' cane = hurricane, very clever ! Methinks old age is not the golden age as 'they' would have us believe, and I'm well on the way. Great poem.
Val

Author's Reply:
Hi Val I'm glad my bit of tomfoolery entertained you. The thing with age is that right now, at this very moment, we're the youngest we're ever going be! Depressing thought what? πŸ˜‰

Nemo on 22-01-2015
Hurricane Joe
As my father-in-law said: 'Old age is not all it's cracked out to be.' At least you can poke fun at it.
Cheers, Gerald.

Author's Reply:
Thanks for your comments Gerald it's the case that we all go the same way sooner or later so we may at well see the funny side of it.

Pronto


Glasshouse Guidance (posted on: 12-01-15)
A true story written for a competition 500 word limit

I missed a parade one day for reasons now long forgotten. My Sergeant Major, whom I'd nicknamed ''Jambang Tikus'' (Malay for shithouse rat) loved me as much as I loved him. Tikus charged me with being absent from place of parade. A first time offender I was fined and warned. The next week the Tikus 'volunteered' me for a religious retreat in Singapore. I didn't want to go. I was told I was going amen! Now the fist of fate struck me a series of perverse blows the first of which was that the Malaysian railways went on strike so alternative transport was arranged. My copy of orders said: Report to the guardroom at 0800 and catch the mini bus. I was in good time. There was a bus but it was a large one. I waited for a mini bus. None came. The big bus left. Tikus went berserk. My copy of the travel order mysteriously vanished and his copy said Mil (short for Military) bus. I was marched in front of the Battery Captain because the Battery Commander was away. A decent fellow who hated punishing soldiers the captain referred me to our Regiment's Colonel. The Colonel was also away so his second in command, a strict martinet, deputized. ''This is a second, most serious offence'' he told me sternly. Before I could plead that religious retreats weren't compulsory and that I'd simply changed my mind (A plausible lie) he barked "Seven days detention march out.'' The glasshouse is a place of harsh discipline, work and woe where wayward warriors are 'guided' back to the paths of righteousness. Here fate had another quirk in store. In the cell opposite mine was a huge, mean looking bloke everyone feared. He was recently discharged from the SAS for hospitalising someone over a woman. Somehow Sonny and I became friends. After lunch each day we were allowed to associate with other prisoners for half an hour. Sonny possessed a packet of illicit tobacco which he willingly shared with me. Upon evening cell inspection he clenched the packet in the cleft of his enormous arse grinning whilst doing so. They searched his pockets and his cell thoroughly but they never found it. As the orderly officer and sergeant turned and came into my cell Sonny would retrieve the tobacco and wave it at me behind their backs pulling faces, trying to make me laugh. The bugger nearly succeeded too whilst I, standing stiffly to attention, had to bawl my number, rank, name and sentence. Later, whilst on active service in Brunei and Borneo, this friendship stood me in good stead. A veteran of the Communist Terrorist war in Malaya Sonny taught me survival. The jungle is extremely beautiful but it's a hellish place to hold a war and no place for a novice. So a wicked injustice was perfectly counter balanced by a deep and enduring friendship courtesy of a Jambang Tikus. He moveth in mysterious ways.
Archived comments for Glasshouse Guidance
Mikeverdi on 12-01-2015
Glasshouse Guidance
Great story...even better as you say it's true!
"Jambang Tikus" HaHa!
Mike

Author's Reply:
Hi Mike yes in this particular case it is all true though I often use bullhit/hyperbole to enhance a tale; in this case I didn't have to. 'Sonny' was a guy called Raymond 'Bunny' Austin who later joined 29 Commando Regiment RA and earned a well deserved military medal for bravery in the Aden conflict. His story, worth a read, is on Google.

Thanks for your kind comment mate.


In Noyade's Interest (posted on: 12-12-14)
The saga of single mother

I wanted a Christmas for the kids To buy the things most families do Never dreamt I'd end up on the skids Not knowing what I next should do I committed the world's most heinous crime That can never be forgiven Out of job and money at the time So to borrowing I was driven Yet still the need to clothe and feed The children I had bred Drove me on it was not greed But simple lack instead For I'm now trapped in interest's coil And sadly have I found For all my labour and my toil Still I flail and drown From financial snares carefully laid I never shall be free For by the time I've paid it off I'll be a hundred and twenty three Take heed then of my sorry plight Or like me you'll be a slave Working hard both day and night 'Til relief comes via the grave
Archived comments for In Noyade's Interest
Bozzz on 13-12-2014
In Noyades Interest
Yes 'interest' is a weasel word - profit to one party, loss to the other. You paint the picture very well - I hope not though intimate knowledge. As a poem, the beat is a bit ragged in places, arguably to represent the mind of the supposed writer? Cheers, David


Author's Reply:
Hi David,
Thanks for your kind comment and assessment. The piece is based not on personal experience but on that of a relative who got seriously into debt just by trying to do the 'right thing' by her kids.

If I had spent time polishing and pruning this piece it would, I feel, have lost it's authentic ring and become merely a poem 'about' instead of 'by' the person concerned.

Merry Christmas mate.


Changing Charles (posted on: 21-11-14)
Sometimes it takes a stranger to point out the blindingly obvious to us.

Charles described himself as a comfortable person. Comfy Tee shirts, Jeans and trainers albeit the trainers were worn down to the uppers. This foul footwear was, when he was not at work, a permanent fixture on his feet. His clothes he described as well worn in. His hair had to be seen to be believed. In working hours it was scragged hard back in a ponytail but on evenings and weekends he let it fall free. Alison, his long suffering wife, said it resembled something a bird had built. Alison was a smart elegant young lady with certain standards. Often she'd nagged Charles to do something about his appearance. 'You look like you've been dragged through a hedge backwards' was her oft quoted criticism. Charles however doggedly refused to change his ways telling her he would much rather be comfortable than presentable. He often complained to his mates in the pub 'she wants me to dress up like a pox doctor's clerk all the bloody time.' He was having none of it. Then came the fateful Saturday when Charles and Alison had separate errands to do in the town. 'I'll meet you outside McDonald's at half past twelve' he told her 'and don't be late.' Alison was always late because she dawdled in the shops looking at men's clothes wondering if she dared buy Charles something new. She dreamt of seeing him in a lounge suit but knew he'd meant it when he'd told her that he'd fly arse first around the moon before he'd wear one. Maybe a blazer and some smart slacks? No chance. She knew he'd been wearing his 'favourite' jeans for more than five years now and, extremely disreputable looking though they were, he showed no inclination to throw them away and went bananas when she threatened to. Twelve thirty came and went and Charles sighed she was late again. He went into McDonald's braving the Saturday afternoon din of kids parties and awful piped music and bought himself a take-away coffee. He was lounging against the window, cup half way to his mouth, watching Alison thread her way through the market day crowd when he became aware that someone was addressing him. A little old lady was standing before him waving her hand. 'And visit the charity shop young man, please don't spend it on drugs you poor soul' she said. Before Charles could gather his wits she'd dropped a handful of loose change into his coffee and shuffled away leaving him speechless. To make matters worse Alison had witnessed the whole scene. She laughed until she cried looking at his shocked face. 'Did you put her up to that?' was all he could lamely manage. That afternoon they went to a few Gent's outfitters and also bought Charles some new trainers. On the way home Alison dropped him off at his local barber and he had his unruly mop hacked into something resembling tidy. Charles was changed.
Archived comments for Changing Charles
Mikeverdi on 21-11-2014
Changing Charles
Errr.... Did my wife put you up to this??? I hate kids like you, now I will have to get a hair cut and change my trainers....Bugger! πŸ™‚ Apparently I look like I did in 1967 πŸ™‚ Ever since I retired I have tried to avoid suits, not that they would fit me now.
This conversation is going on in my house at the moment HaHa!
Mike

Author's Reply:
Hi Mike thanks for the kind comment mate. I wish I looked like I did in 1967 and that's a fact. The only suit I now own is a smart black one. It is worn only for funerals these days (3 so far) then it gets tucked away. I am trying to keep my weight down so that, in long years hence, I'll wear it at my "passing out" parade. I too bear more that a passing resemblance to Charles. πŸ™‚


Consternation (posted on: 03-10-14)
Fear can hold us in it's grip until we're paralysed by it.

The man called out 'Oi' as he left the dark doorway and started walking slowly, menacingly she thought, in her direction. She couldn't see his face as a black balaclava covered most of it. The chill wind whipped his overcoat around his lean frame and the sole street light threw his shadow long on the wet pavement. Shuddering she looked around the gloomy street searching for help. There was none. It was nine PM and the business district was deserted. Anxiously she cast about for another person, a taxi, anything to get her away from the approaching spectre. Fear made her legs useless, her knees turned to jelly as she backed into the corner of an unlit bus shelter utterly trapped. The man came on slowly purposefully, looking straight at her. She could see some of his face now the great hooked nose broken and offset, the uneven teeth stained dirty yellow with tobacco. Then she saw his eyes two deep brown staring pools that transfixed her. She sobbed in terror. Once again Mary's money had run out before the month had. She had worked overtime two months in a row to try and remedy her situation but it was a slow process. Now, down to her last few pounds, she'd been walking home to save the fare; it seemed it was to be her undoing. The man stopped a bare two feet away towering over her. She smelled his rancid breath, his foul body odour, she was nauseated and totally petrified. 'I watch you from that doorway' he said his voice flat and expressionless. 'I follow you most nights.' 'Oh please, please' Mary managed at last 'I've a little money if you want that.' She brought her handbag to the fore proffering it to the stranger desperate to keep him away. The man shook his head. 'I don't want yer money' he said in the same toneless voice. His hand stretched slowly out towards her breast and Mary felt herself about to vomit. 'Anyway you haven't got any money 'cos you dropped this when you left your office.' She looked down to see he was handing her her purse. 'I follow you to make sure you get to the busy streets safe.' Without waiting for thanks the old down-and-out put the purse into her trembling hand, turned and shuffled back to his doorway. 'G'night' he said quietly. Copyright © all rights reserved J A Milligan
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Do Badger Farts Smell? (posted on: 03-10-14)
This is the answer to one of life's deeply considered questions that I'm sure you've oft pondered upon.

Whilst strolling in the countryside I had time to dwell On deeply profound questions Like: Do badger farts have a smell? I pondered as I wandered On this important thought And then I found a badger sett And so I thought I ought To settle this complex question That had bothered me all day I stuck my silly head down there Boy, was I made to pay For a badger when he thinks he's trapped Lets go a tremendous fart The gas was green and nauseous And damn near stopped my heart Trying to withdraw in haste I ran out of luck For no matter how I wriggled My head was firmly stuck A passer-by chanced on me But he was not a friend He stole my boots and trousers Exposing my rear end The farmer who dug me out Laughed until he cried I had to walk home bare of arse Whilst covering my pride So now I've learned a lesson With experiments to be frugal I'll wait until I get back home And look it up on Google (Would you believe this question is actually answered on Google?) πŸ™‚
Archived comments for Do Badger Farts Smell?
Mikeverdi on 03-10-2014
Do Badger Farts Smell?
HaHaHa! Brilliant, just the thing to start off my day; I will still be laughing at tea time!
Mike

Author's Reply:
Thanks Mike I reckon I was just in a daft mood at least I now know the title of my next book of comic verse! πŸ™‚

ValDohren on 03-10-2014
Do Badger Farts Smell?
What a strange imagination you have Pronto !!! Very funny though LOL.
Val

Author's Reply:
Thanks Val being slightly mad helps!

pommer on 05-10-2014
Do Badger Farts Smell?
very funny and well written. I can almost smell it. Be lucky, Peter.

Author's Reply:
Thanks Peter I'm glad you enjoyed my bit of daftness!


Bullshit Baffles Brains (posted on: 05-09-14)
The hero of this story is a sort of amalgamation of several characters I met whilst serving as a soldier in the sixties. The sort of mischief here described did often happen and sometimes much worse.

Over his long and far from illustrious Army career Bombardier Bob Grice had been a sergeant then got himself busted (twice) down to the basic rank of gunner. His great character, initiative and natural low cunning had got him promoted again (almost twice). The big gruff Yorkshireman had grown up in a succession of orphanages and foster homes forcing him to become extremely self reliant or, as one Sergeant Major had described him: ''As sharp as a shit house rat and slicker than snot on a glass hand rail.'' Bob had joined the British Army in 1943 at the age of 18 and showed great promise in basic training. He had gone ashore on D day plus one with his regiment of 25 pounder field guns and fought a hard campaign. This was followed in the fifties by the war in Korea. After that he'd fought the Communist terrorists in the jungles of Malaya then, after a quiet spell in England, he'd been posted to Singapore. This posting in late 1962 was just in time for the Indonesian confrontation and he saw action again in Brunei and Borneo. Various commanding officers had over the years despaired of Bob as a soldier but greatly respected him as a man. He was a lovable rogue, always cheerful, full of enthusiasm and no one ever heard him complain about anything. He showed a surprising range of skills including that of bookmaker to his unit. This was an activity much frowned upon by authority but tolerated because he was discrete and always paid up if he lost. The trouble with Bob was he liked a drink and, when in his cups, saw no wrong in calling a spade a spade often using his fists to emphasize a point. The last time he'd done this he'd punched the Regimental Sergeant Major in the sergeants' mess. The RSM, an old veteran himself, had knocked Bob senseless and put him to bed. However Bob had paid the price he was busted and posted. Now after two years of displaying good behaviour and natural leadership he had two of his three stripes back. It was 1967 and Bob, now serving in Germany, was looking forward to retirement. He had one year to go to complete 25 years service and hoped to make sergeant again to boost his pension. Exercise ''Quick Train'' was a test of readiness in case the Russians decided to turn the cold war hot. Every year the whole of the British Army of the Rhine took to the field at short notice to run around the German countryside for three days with virtually no sleep.After that they'd go home again and sinking back into their usual state of unpreparedness. This year the brigadier had decided that the cooks would carry weapons and act as proper soldiers; the field kitchens would not be set up for the men. They would survive on 24 hour ration packs cooking for themselves over Hexamine stoves. This order of course excluded the officers who had a catering corporal assigned to their mess tent. Cook corporal Willie Watson was suffering from a huge hangover when the troops were called out on Quick Train. He wasn't feeling much better the next morning when he cooked the officers' breakfasts. As he was finishing service he managed to burn his hand quite severely and was dispatched to the British Military Hospital in Hannover. Major John Thetford-Beavis, finding that there wasn't a replacement cook to be had was cursing his luck and thinking things couldn't get any worse. That was before he received a radio message to say his Colonel would be visiting along with the brigadier and dining with them that evening. The major was beginning to panic when he remembered that Bombardier Grice had a reputation of being an excellent hand with field rations. 'Yes sir, certainly sir' said the amiable Grice when told he would be chef that night 'If I might make a suggestion sah?' 'Certainly bombardier.' 'Well sir for a hundred marks or so I could nip down to the nearest village and obtain some proper supplies sir.' He paused to let this idea sink into the officer's consciousness. 'After all sir we don't get many chances to impress the brigadier sir.' The major thought for a moment and decided that making a favourable impression on the brigadier could do his career no harm at all. 'You know bombardier you're absolutely right and I suppose mess funds can stand it.' The money was promptly found and handed over. Bob grabbed four of his most trusted gunners and drove the major's Land Rover down the lane. After a mile he suddenly pulled up near a farm. He had spotted a golden opportunity. 'Right two of you out and pick me those blackberries and you others into that orchard and grab some cooking apples. Look sharp now.' Bob looked up the drive towards the farm he saw at the side of the building a hen pen. He knew a bit about chickens having once been fostered on a farm. There, strutting about in all his magnificence, was the biggest, most beautiful rooster he'd ever seen. Keeping out of sight of the house Bob climbed into the pen and grabbed the prize cockerel. Tucking it under his arm he marched up to the farmhouse and knocked on the door. 'Jah Mein herr?' queried the farmer's wife looking Bob up and down suspiciously. 'Sprechen sie English bitte?' Bob asked in his broad Yorkshire accent. 'Nein.' She replied and then called over her shoulder to her daughter. Helga was a bright young girl about 15 years old 'Mother says how she can help you und vie are you holding my father's cock?' 'Ah' said Bob struggling to keep a straight face 'I'm returning it to you. It was on the road and I almost ran over it. He handed the bird to the girl with exaggerated care. 'I can see it's a very valuable bird. I'm so glad I managed to miss it. 'Are you alright?' asked Helga looking concerned. Bob rubbed his neck twisting it from side to side as if it were painful. 'Oh yes, I managed to get the Landrover out of the ditch without too much trouble and there's no real damage done' he said in a tone which conveyed that the just opposite was true. 'I'm just glad your bird is OK.' Helga translated for her mother who looked from the bird to Bob her mouth agape 'Mein liebe gott!' she exclaimed 'Bitte kommen sie hierein mein herr.' 'She wants you to come in' said Helga waving him into the large kitchen. Five minutes later, the cock having been restored to his adoring hens, Bob was ensconced in front of a blazing fire with a cold beer in his fist. He was telling Helga a tale of woe about how he'd been ordered to provide a dinner for his officers and he'd had to scrape together a few marks to buy food for them. Would they, by any chance, be able to sell him some as the village was a good few kilometres away and he didn't speak German. Bob produced a pathetic handful of loose Deutsch marks and pfennigs from his pocket and proffered them his face a picture of hopeful innocence. Gerda, the farmer's wife, asked through Helga how many officers had he to feed. 'Oh only eight or so' he said cheerfully. Gerda scurried away and produced a huge pile of wild boar steaks plus plenty of fresh vegetables and some flour, sugar, milk, butter and eggs which she placed in a large cardboard box. Waving away Bob's offer of payment she explained that the cockerel was her husband's pride and joy and saving its life would leave them forever in his debt. Bob's eyes reflected his deep gratitude. He smiled benignly like a bishop bestowing a benediction before finishing his beer and bowing his way out of the kitchen with many ''Donkey-shins.'' His lads were sitting around smoking and looking bored having completed their task of foraging some time ago. 'Where the hell have you been bom?' they asked in chorus. 'Bloody hell lads' said Bob sounding aggrieved, I've been buying food of course. These farmers drive a hard bargain you know, tight sods the lot of 'em. Ninety eight marks the buggers charged me for this lot.' Shaking his head in disgust he loaded his ill-gotten gains into the vehicle. 'Still' he brightened it's all fresh and there's enough for all of us. It saves us a long trip, too.' The lads of course moaned because they'd wanted a trip to the village and the chance of a few beers. Bob on the other hand needed them bright eyed and alert to serve the meal that night. Back at the camp Bob worked hard and produced a really delicious meal for the officers rounded off by a superb apple and blackberry crumble with lashings of home made custard. Afterwards whilst his men were washing up bob was called to receive the congratulations due to a chef of his calibre. Thereafter Bob hung close around the back of the mess tent eaves dropping. He knew the officer clan very well and he had a sneaking suspicion of what was coming next. Well not if he could help it. Sure enough shortly after the guests had left his suspicions were confirmed. He heard his Battery Commander say 'You know old Grice really surprised me tonight I think I'll appoint him our cook for the rest of the exercise.' This was greeted by a wave of assent from the other officers. Bob smiled wryly as he slipped away, he wasn't worried for the wily old soldier had a plan. 'Jones' he called to one of his trusted gunners 'go to the gun limber and fetch me some Swarfega and a nail brush.' 'A nail brush Bom? Where the 'ell am I supposed to get one of those?' Bob thought for a moment 'Where's the Battery Sergeant Major?' 'He's gone on a reconnaissance Bom' said Jones That meant he'd buggered off to a Gasthoff for a few beers. 'Right go to his tent and rescue his toothbrush, ok?' 'Yes Bom' said Jones hurrying away. Bob scrubbed his hands until they were immaculate his nails gleamed and the usual traces of gun grease that got ground into the creases of his skin were no longer in evidence. The toothbrush was duly returned and Bob awaited the summons to his BC's presence. 'That was a superb meal bombardier the Brigadier was most impressed and asked me to thank you yet again.' 'Oh great sir, I'm glad you all enjoyed it sir' Bob beamed. 'We did enjoy it greatly so much so that we are going to let you carry on cooking Bombardier' he said in that condescending tone some officers adopt when addressing the rank and file. 'I don't think we'll bother the Catering Corps for a replacement.' 'Oh that's wonderful news sir' Bob enthused his face glowing with pride. 'Do you know sir mixing that crumble was absolutely fantastic. I mean just look at my hands sir. Rubbing that flour and butter really gets all the dirt and grime from under the fingernails sir and all the gun grease is gone too sir. It's magic.' The major's smile froze on his face as he looked down at Bob's immaculate hands. 'Er, er.. yes, yes I see.. Well, er, we'll talk about it again in the morning Bombardier.' Next day it was decided that, after further consideration, the officers had deemed it unfair to put upon Bob and that he should be allowed to continue his excellent work on the guns.
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The Whore (posted on: 01-08-14)
This poem was inspired by an article in my local paper being discussed in a cafe. As opinion ebbed and flowed I wanted to cry.

Prostitute found dead the papers said Wounds to the genitals breast and head Cast aside in a corner dark Of the municipal park Like some rubbish in a bag Just some whore? Some little slag? Or a teenage girl all alone Who'd a baby daughter of her own Who was big sis to her little brother A much loved child of a single mother Used, abused and thrown aside In terror and loneliness she died If we don't look behind headline Move on quickly then we'll be fine Otherwise we may feel grief Or, god forbid, change a fixed belief She was just some whore who got hers But, perhaps a mention in our prayers? We may feel brief pity, heave a sigh There, but for the grace of God, go I Then turn the page, find the sport Shit happens when you're born that sort It's just society nothing more And, after all, she was just a whore (Wasn't she?)
Archived comments for The Whore
Pronto on 04-09-2014
The Whore
Thank you all for your kind comments. I've not been on the site for a while nor have I been able to post in response to your kindness. Sorry if I seemed ungrateful.

Author's Reply:


Ruby Tuesday (posted on: 13-06-14)
He accepted a social outcast as a friend and found a way to his own salvation.

Looking from his office window Robert watched the old bag lady sit down on a bench in the square below. She unwrapped a sandwich and began slowly to break it into pieces, a piece for herself and a piece for the birds. How kind he thought that someone with so little was willing to share. He thought of how he too always fed them but that was different his mother always packed much more that he could comfortably eat. He watched absently as she finished and rose to leave. It was almost time for his own lunch and he would be sitting on that same bench. He little knew then how this old lady was going to affect his life. The next week, it was a Tuesday, he was seated on the same bench enjoying the spring sunshine He was alone as usual, most of his colleagues thought him a little weird so chose not to eat with him. The old bag lady came and sat at the other end of his bench. 'Hello' he said with no great enthusiasm. 'Hello yourself' she replied in a soft Irish accent 'Eating on your own again I see.' 'Yes, yes I prefer to' he said feeling slightly defensive. 'I'm not into football or any sport for that matter you see so the other blokes kind of hang together talking of these things.' 'What about the girls?' she asked. 'Oh in our office there's only Stella who's under fifty and who is not either married or courting' he answered. He was feeling a little intruded upon and it irritated him slightly. 'What about you?' he asked trying to steer the conversation away from himself. 'How come you live like this if that's not too rude a question?' If she could be nosy, he thought, so could he. 'Circumstances' she sighed her voice sad, 'just circumstances.' Then she suddenly smiled at him and Robert saw a brief flash of the woman she had once been. 'Ah yes' he replied thinking of the circumstances that kept him from doing what he wanted to do. 'They can get in the way.' At thirty six he was still living with his mother. His father had been dead these past four years. He'd love to have a place of his own but property prices being what they were in London it was virtually impossible to get a mortgage deposit together on his salary even if he could have afforded the repayments ''I want to show you me jewels' she said out of the blue 'I'll show you because you're a nice boy but I won't show anyone else.' Oh god he thought she's a nutter why are the nutters always attracted to me? 'Sorry, I've got to be going now' he said briskly 'some other time perhaps ok?' He half rose to leave when she spoke again. 'Oh I understand, I'm just a daft old woman soft in the head and here was me thinking you were different.' There was a deep sadness in her voice that arrested him. He sat down again feeling embarrassed and slightly ashamed of himself. 'Er, well ok I don't have to go for a few minutes yet' he saw her face break into a broad toothless smile. She delved into one of her numerous bags and came out with a battered coronation souvenir tin from which she prised the lid. 'There' she said with pride 'what do you think of those then?' Robert looked into the tin and what he saw confirmed his worst fears the 'jewels' were mostly the sort of stuff one would find in Christmas crackers. 'Very nice' he said forcing a smile 'you had them long?' 'No' she replied 'only since I freed myself thirty years odd ago. How old are you?' she asked, suddenly changing the subject. I'm thirty six.' He replied a little surprised. 'You got anyone special? She queried looking straight into his eyes. 'No. not at the moment, there was a girl but… but it didn't last.' He let the words trail off he didn't want to think about Joan and his inability to provide her with a house as the reason for their split, he still felt quite raw. 'What happened?' she asked sympathetically. 'I don't want to talk about it if you don't mind' he said brusquely 'and now I really must be off.' With that he rose, threw his sandwich paper into a nearby waste bin and headed for his office. 'OK' she called after him 'I'll see you next Tuesday.' The following week Robert saw the bag lady again he was sitting on the same bench thinking about his mother. He loved her dearly but wished she'd accept that he was grown man and could make decisions of his own. He'd asked her repeatedly for just two sandwiches for lunch but she always replied that he was a growing lad and should eat more. He suddenly became aware that he was not alone any more. 'Hello there' she said brightly 'any of those sandwiches going spare?' 'Sure, help yourself' he said handing her the packet glad not to be throwing them to the pigeons. 'It's nice to see you again.' 'It's nice to see you too' she replied 'one gets so little good conversation these days.' She paused 'I used to enjoy conversations with all sorts highly intelligent people.' She said wistfully. 'Why do you always come here on a Tuesday?' He asked curious to know. 'Oh I have a circuit' she replied 'Tuesdays here next day somewhere else people get used to seeing me around you see and I don't like to disappoint me public.' He smiled, she was a harmless old soul and he loved her blarney It was like a breath of fresh air, cheering him up and lightening the monotony of his day. 'And you had great conversations in your former life? 'Yes, oh yes' she said with something akin to enthusiasm 'We always had interesting visitors up at the big house. Father was a scientist you know he had all sorts of clever friends.' Robert was intrigued she did have a rather refined Irish accent and mostly spoke as though she was still in contact with reality. But then he remembered her jewels and sighed. Before he could formulate a response she went on. 'I call myself Ruby now but back then I was Lady Rowena Mary O'Malley-Fitzpatrick of Connedown.' A small tear appeared at the corner of her eye and Robert could feel nothing but pity for this deluded old woman. O k so she was as mad as a box of snakes but she believed her story and her distress was real enough. He looked at her wrinkled face and washed out blue eyes feeling deep compassion for this hapless victim of life. Whatever she was or had been she was still a human being and a vulnerable one at that. He found his voice 'What happened to make you so unhappy Ruby?' She let out a long sigh 'Oh I had a great time as a child, a gloriously happy childhood right enough but then when I was eighteen I fell in love with the wrong person. We were found out you see.' She choked as if about to burst into tears and he reached out and took her grubby hand. 'We were caught 'flagrante delicto' as they say, in the silver cupboard both naked to the waist so we were kissing passionately and fondling each other's breasts.' Robert felt a slight shock at this revelation but held his peace it was nineteen sixty four for god's sake this sort of thing was becoming more accepted now-a-days by the young at least. 'Father hit the roof.' She went on to tell how he had declared that not only were these the passions of the devil they were abhorrent in the sight god and deviant in the extreme. 'The other girl, Molly, was our new palour maid you see. She'd only been with us a month or so but as soon as we saw each other we knew.' She paused in sad reflection for a moment 'Molly's father was summoned and he took her home in disgrace that very afternoon.' 'What happened to her? Have you met her since? 'No she was taken to see the priest who prayed for her and said a mass for her salvation then a suitable young man was found and she was forced to marry. She committed suicide a year later. I was sent to a convent home to be ''cured.'' Not the normal Irish home for wayward girls of course I was from a good family you see. The only other girl there was called Sheila she was the same age as me. Sheila was eight months pregnant and the father had run off to America; just another fool who fell in love. I remember when she had the baby it was in the early hours of the morning and by breakfast time the baby was gone, sent for adoption. Ireland was a very conservative place in those days; it still is for that matter.' Robert was incredulous 'Cured?' he exclaimed 'How the hell were they supposed to do that?' 'By constant prayer and deep contemplation upon the crucified Christ who died for all our sins.' She said it mechanically as if repeating what someone had drummed into her. 'We rose at five a.m. and prayed for half an hour then went back to bed until seven thirty. Ablutions followed and then a priest came to say morning mass before a breakfast of porridge, always porridge except on Sundays when we had a boiled egg with it. We worked in the garden or sewed until we said the angelus at twelve. Lunch was soup and dry bread with a cup of tea. More work until five when we prayed again and sang hymns for an hour. Supper was at seven then we went to bed at eight lights went out at nine.' 'Good god' said Robert aghast 'how long did that go on for?' 'It was supposed to be for six months but mother died suddenly after I'd been there for three months' She sounded bitter as she went on: 'Father sent a letter telling me it was my fault and that she had died of shame and a broken heart caused by me. I was not allowed to return home again nor was I welcome at her funeral. I was never to contact my brother, sister or any family member again, ever. Robert felt like crying at the sheer cruelty of it all. The poor woman was wrenched from her family and cast aside simply because she was homosexual. Good god did these people believe that being gay was a choice that one made? 'Has there been no one else in your life since Ruby?' 'Oh yes' she said brightly cheering up 'when I was twenty one I declared myself cured and left the sisters. I had a little money and some of mother's jewellery so I took the boat to Liverpool. I got work as a ladies companion for a while but it was tedious and that old style was fast dying out. Then I met Amber and we fell in love. We moved to London for work and what they called the Bohemian lifestyle but the war came and we had to take jobs in different places. I guess we just drifted apart. After the war I met Julia but we were hounded out of one place after another when they found out we were a couple. Eventually it got to me I couldn't find work and started drinking one thing led to another and here I am.' 'Do you still drink Ruby?' 'No not a drop I gave it up when I found a place at the hostel. They were very nice and really helped me with my problems but then the place closed and we had to move out.' John looked at his watch 'Good lord Ruby I should be in work. See you next Tuesday ok?' and with that Robert hurried away. He saw Ruby only once more, it was on the following Tuesday. She was sitting next to him talking very lucidly about the current Wilson government when she suddenly clutched her chest and groaned. The ambulance was called and Robert accompanied her to the hospital. He went to visit her that evening but she had passed away. A staff nurse handed him her 'jewel' box. 'She said you'd be back and she wanted you to have these oh and there's a photo too.' She handed him an tattered old black and white postcard size photo. Looking at the picture Robert saw it was of a very young Ruby dressed, it appeared, for a ball in a flowing elegant gown and long sleeved gloves. There was a tiara in her hair and she held a small evening bag, from her wrist dangled a dance card. At her throat was what looked like a large diamond pendant on a choker; she looked absolutely stunning. Back in his room Robert wept bitterly for Ruby and the life destroyed by blind prejudice. How could the people who were supposed to love her have treated her like that? At Ruby's funeral Robert was the only mourner; the hospital had asked him what religion she was. They were mystified when he had replied that she was a cured catholic. On returning home Richard, who had put the jewel box aside, now opened it and smiled at the junk inside stirring it with his forefinger until one item caught his eye. It looked vaguely familiar but was caked in filth yet held a certain beauty. Suddenly he picked up the trinket and the photo and looked again. There was no doubt at all it was the same pendant that had been round her throat all those years before. He hurried to the bathroom, took a nail brush and began carefully removing the dirt of decades. The whole thing took on a sparkling brilliance that told him that these were real diamonds not only that but the centre one was positively huge. When the man at Hatton Gardens told him what it was worth Robert nearly fainted. 'Are you sure?' he asked hardly able to believe his ears. 'Oh quite' the jeweller had replied 'It's Russian made, four and a half carats of the best stones I've ever seen, mounted in platinum and bearing the Faberge mark; an absolutely stunning piece.' Robert Winston Brewer passed away in two thousand and thirteen at the age of eighty five. His daughter knew that she had been named Rowena Mary after a great Irish noblewoman her father had once known. Not until near the end though did he tell her the full story of why the house she had grown up in so loved and cherished had been named Ruby Tuesday.
Archived comments for Ruby Tuesday
Bonnie on 13-06-2014
Ruby Tuesday
I liked this. I enjoyed the idea of a bag lady having regular visits, and the way they were chatting.


Author's Reply:
Thank you Bonnie this story was inspired by a bag lady I once met who had a degree in psychology would you believe?

I'm grateful you took the time to wade through it and for the kind comment comment. πŸ™‚

Mikeverdi on 14-06-2014
Ruby Tuesday
I enjoyed the story, if I'm to critique it needs a polish. I saw the ending a little to quickly perhaps. I liked the twist with her relationships, it definately added a little spice to the mix. I think you could look at his thoughts about her, if there was a week bit for me it was there. That said I did enjoy the read and it got better as it moved along.
Mike


Author's Reply:
Hi Mike,
Thanks for the imput mate and what you say has some validity. From having the idea to finishing the story took about four hours. Maybe i should have followed my own rule and kept it at least two days before posting.
One of my concerns was that it was getting quite long; I seldom write a short story of much over two thousand words. I will look at it again but at the moment I'm about a third through a full length novel (An Army of One) I'm also doing the final edit of a book of comic verse (Milligan's Mirth) yup, it's my name so I can use it. This book will be available on Kindle and Createspace in a matter of days.

Cheers mate
Tony

expat on 15-06-2014
Ruby Tuesday
As Mike says, some editing needed. It's an interesting story at the core and if it were mine, I'd probably spend two or three weeks revising it, bit by bit until everything dovetailed.
As it is, some commas adrift and the occasional capitalised letter after speech, when it should be lower case. For example:
'I’m thirty six.’ He replied a little surprised.
Perhaps you could have expanded on Ruby's heart attack, the hospital events and the funeral - I think it would heighten the pathos. The narrative closes the door too quickly.
The ending... the denouement didn't quite fit in naturally for me. Maybe we don't even need the ultimate paragraph as the reader would put two and two together and make Β£75,000, thus solving Robert's financial dilemma. πŸ™‚
A good plot and even better with a bit of tweaking.
Steve


Author's Reply:
Thanks Steve, One of the main reasons I publish here is because there are kind folk like you who take the time to read, analyse and comment upon work such as mine. I knew I'd brushed over the death of Ruby a little quickly. I suppose I was becoming aware at that stage that the story was getting well past my normal length for a short story. As for the commas and the rest of the silly mistakes I usually write the story, edit myself then send it to a good friend of mine who is a proof reader. This I failed to do on this occasion
You are quite right I should have withheld it for a few days at least and considered it more carefully. As for the ending I can't say I agree with you but your point has validity.
Thank you for your comment Steve much appreciated.

Skytrucker on 26-06-2014
Ruby Tuesday
If you want my advice, as a writer of total drivel, Do Not Change A Single Thing. It reads well and is totally natural. It may have one or two technical flaws but the piece as a whole is excellent. A great story!

Author's Reply:
Thanks Skytrucker for your kind comment and very generous rating. I feel most encouraged now. I can't change it yet awhile anyway as I'm busy writing a full length "crash-bang" novel called an Army of One.
I've also just published my book of humorous poetry on Amazon.co.uk called Milligan's Mirth. I've allowed folk to look inside without incurring cost. All proceeds go to Youth Cancer Trust. Right that's the commercial break over. Thanks once again mate.


Phil Mawallit (posted on: 09-06-14)
Again I'm slating my wife's folks poor souls good job they have a sense of humour! πŸ˜‰

Phil Mawallit Yorkshire's tightest man Can do some stuff that no other can If you buy him a pint down the old Frog and Sprocket He'll peel you an orange whilst it's still in his pocket He once dropped a penny, so it is said, Dived so quick to retrieve, it hit the back of his head
Archived comments for Phil Mawallit
Mikeverdi on 09-06-2014
Phil Mawallit
HaHaHa! there you go again!!
Mike

Author's Reply:
Hi Mike I'm glad my bit o' daftness made you grin. Thanks for the comment.

sweetwater on 09-06-2014
Phil Mawallit
Didn't understand the peeling an orange in his pocket line, am pondering on its meaning πŸ™‚ Laughed out loud at last line, brilliant, as was whole of poem. Sue.

Author's Reply:
Hi Sue it is an old joke that a tight-fisted person, unwilling to share his orange, could peel it one handed in his pocket. It dates back to WW2 austerity when oranges were in very short supply. Sorry to be such an old fogey and forgetting that in these days a shortage of anything is unthinkable. I'm glad it gave you some amusement though! Thanks for the comment.

expat on 11-06-2014
Phil Mawallit
I love this sort of rhyme; I can't get enough of Carroll, Belloc, Nash and Chesterton. Nice one!
Couldn't help noticing a couple of words transposed in the third line:
If you buy him a pint down old the Frog and Sprocket
(If you buy him a pint down the old Frog and Sprocket)

Author's Reply:
Thanks Expat for pointing out the 'elephant in the room' and thanks or your kind remarks. If you like Carroll. Lear et al then look up my poem The Numpty of Noo.
Tony :-

Skytrucker on 17-06-2014
Phil Mawallit
Silly. I loved it.

Author's Reply:
Thanks for you comment Skytrucker glad it made you smile.


The Guru (posted on: 06-06-14)
This one needs a bit of thinking about but the Guru is dead right!

In Bangla Gong near Wazzackstan There lived a Hindu holy man Folk would come from miles around To hear his wisdom so profound They came from China England too Even from far flung Peru To hear his words with eager heart To gain the wisdom he'd impart Over hill and dale and desert plain Suffering thirst and hunger's pain Enduring cold and blazing heat Just to sit at the wise man's feet He fasted for days in meditation Lost in thought and contemplation 'Til at last this holy bloke Held up his hand before he spoke What great wisdom he would give To guide them on the way to live? He said: 'when it comes down to the crunch There's no such thing as a free lunch'
Archived comments for The Guru

No comments archives found!
Yorkshire's Great Invention (posted on: 06-06-14)
I slated the poor Scots recently (The Pull of the Pound) now it's time for my wife's folks to get a bit of stick! Oh joy. Should there be any politically correct folk among you I advise against reading it.

Two Yorkshiremen simultaneously saw A penny lying on the floor Both made a grab, got hold together Would either man let go? Never! Each tugged and pulled and cursed the other 'This penny's mine, let go yer bugger' They heaved and strained 'til fit to burst Each claimed he'd seen the penny first They heaved all day and through the night Neither would give up the fight Now you may think that I'm a liar But it's how Yorkshire invented copper wire
Archived comments for Yorkshire's Great Invention
stormwolf on 06-06-2014
Yorkshires Great Invention
LOL Keep 'em coming!

Alison x

Author's Reply:
Glad you liked it Alison thanks for the compliment! I tried to get onto the sit earlier but it was unavailable. Was there a problem?
Well hey-ho on we go!

Kipper on 07-06-2014
Yorkshires Great Invention
Very funny and totally true of course.

Word has it that you are working on a sequel - How the Yorkshire Pudding was invented. Looking forward to that!

A Yorkshire Kipper

Michael

Author's Reply:
Thanks Michael I have written a sequel would you believe? it's about Yorkshire's tightest son Phil Mawallit

Good prediction mate you can do me lottery ticket next week!

QBall on 08-06-2014
Yorkshires Great Invention
I prefer this type of poetry and this made ne smile. Well done!

Author's Reply:
Thanks Qball for the kind comment and generous rating. Glad it gave you a giggle.

Mikeverdi on 08-06-2014
Yorkshires Great Invention
Now were back on line I can have my morning laugh, Love it! Got some family up there HaHa!!
Mike

Author's Reply:
Glad it amused you Mike and great to have you back too. Let me know where your folks live I'll make sure I avoid it. πŸ˜‰

Skytrucker on 17-06-2014
Yorkshires Great Invention
Another little gem! How I love to read poetry that is neither pompous nor self indulgent.

Author's Reply:
Thanks Skytrucker for the kind comment and the great rating! I love writing silly poems in fact I've just published a book on them called Milligan's Mirth on Createspace.
Tony


The Pull of the Pound (posted on: 02-06-14)
With apologies to all out Scottish brethren I'm half Scots myself so I'm excused (I hope.) Enjoy!

Hamish McGinty, a canny Scot Loved his money quite a lot In the dentists he hit the roof When he heard the cost of pulling a tooth Whit? Twa hundred poonds he said Fer wrenchin' a molar from a head? Well if it's less you want to pay I won't use nurses or X-ray Then that will cost a hundred pound Cheapest deal for miles around If with anaesthetic we dispensed Would fifty poonds mak mair sense? Without anaesthetic I'll be plain T'will cause excruciating pain Aye ah ken an' ah'm no being funny But I hate parting with my money Pain will quickly go away And I'll keep my cash for anither day Well if you insist I'll pull the tooth But you'll regret it that's the truth Do you want me to do you right away Or come again another day? Och it's no fer me, not on ye'er life This appointment's fer the wife
Archived comments for The Pull of the Pound
QBall on 02-06-2014
The Pull of the Pound
Loved it!


Author's Reply:
Thanks Q glad it gave you a giggle!

pommer on 02-06-2014
The Pull of the Pound
This is good,made me smile.I wonder if she ever had the tooth pulled,or if the cheaper version of a piece of string round the tooth and door handle would have done the job to Hamish's delight? A DIY job. Peter.

Author's Reply:
Hi Pommer,
Thanks for the kind comment and good rating mate. If it got yer giggling gear going then I'm happy! πŸ˜‰

stormwolf on 02-06-2014
The Pull of the Pound
Gave me a laugh. Thanks for sharing 😝
Alison x

Author's Reply:
Glad you enjoyed it Alison thanks for commenting!
Luv & hugz,
Tony

Kipper on 02-06-2014
The Pull of the Pound
Should have seen it coming but I didni
Nice story and a good laugh.
Cheers, Michael

Author's Reply:
Thanks Michael for your honest comment mate. Glad you had a giggle! πŸ™‚

sweetwater on 04-06-2014
The Pull of the Pound
Ooh that made me wince, also glad I don't have a husband (Scottish or otherwise) Very funny, enjoyed it. πŸ™‚ Sue.x

Author's Reply:
If you had a husband Sue you would be able to book one for him on the same terms mayhap? Glad you enjoyed and thank you for the comment.

Tony


The Clouted Clegg (posted on: 30-05-14)
A limerick of our time.

Poor Clegg the party leader Is down in the mouth poor bleeder By U-kippers thrashed By his own party trashed Folks would rather vote Al Queada πŸ˜‰
Archived comments for The Clouted Clegg
stormwolf on 01-06-2014
The Clouted Clegg
hahaha Cannot understand why nobody has commented!
Miserable buggers! (only joking folks)

Alison x

Author's Reply:
Well Alison it could be that we have a lot of 'Cleggites' on the site (Though I doubt it) or maybe it's not worth commenting on? Who knows? Who cares? I just had a bit of a laugh poking fun. I'm going to change it around a bit anyway!

Thanks for your kindness.

Tony


Walls (posted on: 30-05-14)
Dedicated to all who sadly suffer from domestic violence.

Walls I built for my own protection Walls that cannot fall mental, spiritual Built by ritual To keep you without drunken lout Those same walls keep me locked within A prisoner of your violent whim Though you strike I shall not yield My hardened spirit is my shield When you finally kill me sweet release My troubles cease I shall be free You'll find your woes have just begun For where I have lost you haven't won
Archived comments for Walls
Savvi on 30-05-2014
Walls
I like that you focus on the mind before the violence, it begs the question which is the tougher. Thanks Keith

Author's Reply:
Hi Keith thanks for the very high rating and comment. Which is worse mental or physical violence? Having suffered both myself ir's hard to call really.
Tony


The Mendicant Monk (posted on: 26-05-14)
A ghost story, A glimpse into another world.

His ragged robes billowed in the breeze A hooded cowl hid his ashen face In almond tree shade he took his ease Almost as thin as the staff he leaned upon Here a day or two then gone Yet this figure held a certain grace The eyes seemed focused in another place Begging bowl in hand he wandered the land Asking only a little food And in return did naught but good A local bandit looked askance saw a chance To denigrate, humiliate mayhap even annihilate This person perceived worthless at first glance Roberto bandito didn't hesitate To the bandit's tune this man would dance With an evil sneer drew he near Threw the mendicant to the dust Spat on him with unfeigned disgust Said he 'I want you out of here' The old man smiled, showed no fear The mendicant held up his bowl 'Look into this be not alarmed Do as I ask you will not be harmed For I have come to save your soul Hear my words, be re-born whole' The bandit saw a vision therein Standing before the village church It was himself, the clock said twelve And behind him with an axe A monster screamed an awful din It was his brother whom he had killed This last year gone his blood was chilled He grabbed the bowl threw it down the lane 'Be gone old man come not again' Repent, repent cried the mendicant Next day the bandit passed the church The mendicant stood pointing at the time The hour of twelve about to chime Behind Roberto cemetery gates creak As the clock struck twelve there came an hideous shriek…
Archived comments for The Mendicant Monk
Mikeverdi on 27-05-2014
The Mendicant Monk
Well done, I liked the story line. I think you could expand it into a short story; just a thought.
Mike

Author's Reply:
Thanks Mike that's an idea worth considering.

Savvi on 27-05-2014
The Mendicant Monk
Them dead brother they just wont stay were you murdered them πŸ˜‰ very entertaining pronto I admire anyone that can tell a story in verse such as this. One small nit, did you mean billowed in the first line ? best Keith

Author's Reply:
Hi Keith,

Thanks for the kind comment mate. I have a brother whom, in the past, I could gleefully have necked a time or two. Some people are only alive 'cos it's illegal to kill 'em! (Me included I suspect)

Maybe I did mean billowed I shall change it forthwith if not sooner!

Cheers mate,
Tony


Self Made Man (posted on: 26-05-14)
An observation of the human condition, say contrition, change position, focus upon a new mission.

Ah the brimstone fires of hell To most of us a familiar smell For the hell we build is most our own A hinterland for us alone Built of sin and wasteful want Built of everything to daunt Built to maximize distress Built to destroy our happiness Self destruction seems our goal Divided we who once were whole Warring within our inner space Banishing peace, killing grace We desire the stars but accept the moon Afraid in case we meet out doom Mediocrity we settle for When, if we'd reached, had so much more This then is human kind Prey to sin and its own mind And should you ever doubt this truth Look at me I'm living proof
Archived comments for Self Made Man
Mikeverdi on 27-05-2014
Self Made Man
Clever writing again, you build your story well 'we desire the stars but accept the moon' great lines. Hope you get more reads, your work deserves it.
Mike

Author's Reply:
Thanks Mike you're very kind. As I still consider myself a 'work-in-progress' a wide readership is not all that important to me. It is very nice to receive praise of course and honest criticism too. It all helps make me a better writer and keeps my feet on the ground when I get told I have done it wrong. It is also very encouraging when I get good reviews
Cheers mate πŸ™‚

stormwolf on 27-05-2014
Self Made Man
Yah! I got the message loud and clear. Deep and thoughtful warning to humanity. I share many of the things you have said.
From the crit side,
I feel that it needs a fair amount of tidying up, rhythm wise, as when we write in these short rhyming verses, it has to be 'tight'.
The first verse should set the rhythm for the rest. Then you simply put every verse written after that against it, to see if you have kept the metre.
Make the first the best it can be...then go on from there.

The first here has repeated words and needs to be sharpened in keeping with the subject matter.
I am only saying this in response to your reply to Mike.

The poem could be much more 'in your face' with some necessary tweaks ;-))
Alison x

Try to find other words instead or repeating.

Ah(,) the brimstone fires of hell (hell mentioned twice)
To (most) of (us) a familiar smell
For the (hell) we build is (most) our own
A hinterland for (us) alone
see below suggestion.
( please note, only off the top of my head to give you a n idea what I am trying to say. ;-))

Ah,the brimstone fires of hell
reminds us, with demonic smell
the torment built, is most our own
A hinterland for us alone

Author's Reply:
Good and valid points thank you Alison I shall revise it in the fullness of time. Thanks also for taking so much time and effort on my behalf. Much appreciated.

I'm busy at the moment publishing my book of comic verse and writing a novel as well as more comic verse. Now that I'm retired I often wonder how I found time to go out to work!


The Doggies' Party (posted on: 19-05-14)
I think I wrote this bit o' nonsense with a school friend way back in the fifties one rainy afternoon when sports was called off. So long ago I can't remember for sure now. But it's an answer to an age old question. Oh yes!

The doggies had a party They came from near and far Some came in by aeroplane Whilst others came by car But before inside the old town hall They were allowed to look They had to take their backsides off And hang them from a hook So in they trooped side by side Each mother son and squire But hardly had they all sat down When some idiot shouted FIRE! So to the door they made one mad rush They never stopped to look They grabbed at any arsehole From any bloody hook So now you know the reason Why a dog will leave a bone To sniff another doggies arse To see if it's his own
Archived comments for The Doggies' Party
sweetwater on 19-05-2014
The Doggies Party
Ahh I can see the school boy in this,very amusing and well written. πŸ™‚

Author's Reply:
Thanks for the kind comment mate. I can't even remember my co-author's name now but I still remember his face. Strange thing age and memory.

pommer on 20-05-2014
The Doggies Party
It gave me a good laugh. Liked it. Peter

Author's Reply:
Good on yer Pommer, glad you had occasion to use yer giggling gear!


Mother's Ruin (posted on: 09-05-14)
Short and sweet

Mother loved a drop of gin Agin, agin, agin and agin
Archived comments for Mother's Ruin
Bozzz on 09-05-2014
Mothers Ruin
Longer, but just as sweet :

The principle sin
of gin
is, among others,
ruining mothers.

Snap....Bozzz

Author's Reply:
Nice one Bozz I've been known to imbibe a bit myself on occasion!

stormwolf on 09-05-2014
Mothers Ruin
hahaha loved it!
Alison x

Author's Reply:
Thanks Alison Just a bit of daftness glad you enjoyed! πŸ™‚

sweetwater on 09-05-2014
Mothers Ruin
Haha Good for mother, personally I prefer cider πŸ™‚ Sue.x

Author's Reply:
Thanks for the comment personally I prefer red wine! πŸ˜‰

ValDohren on 11-05-2014
Mothers Ruin
And father liked a drop of rum
By gum, by gum, by gum, by gum !
Val x

Author's Reply:
Than you had to watch yer bum Harrum harrum harrum!!
Thanks for the amusing comment Val πŸ˜‰


Stone Dead (posted on: 09-05-14)
Regional dialects can be, at times, a minefield and lead to all sorts of misunderstanding. This is a very short tale of just such happenings up in the Colne Valley in deepest Lancashire.

When Mary Smith passed away her husband wanted a simple headstone as Mary had been a deeply religious woman of plain and simple tastes. He told the monumental mason'Ah wants a plain granite 'ead stooin, nowt fancy like, as she were a simple soul tha' knaws. Allus ah wants it ter read is:                                                         Mary Smith                                                         1925-2014                                                  Lord she was thine When he went to collect the stone it was mostly correct but the bottom line read: ''Lord she was thin." Smith naturally complained about the missing 'e.' 'Tha' daft bugger' he said to the old mason 'tha's missed the 'e' off it. What the 'ell yer playin' at?' 'Give us 'til ter-morrer lad an' Ah'll 'ave it fixed fer thee' said the mason apologetically.. When Mr. Smith went back next day the stone now read:                                                             Mary Smith                                                             1925-2014                                                      E lord she was thin
Archived comments for Stone Dead
Ionicus on 10-05-2014
Stone Dead
Very droll, Pronto.

Author's Reply:
Thanks mate I lost a stone writing that! πŸ˜‰

sweetwater on 10-05-2014
Stone Dead
Haha, didn't expect the 'E' to go there, many thanks for the giggle. A charming and fun, poem. πŸ™‚ Sue.x

Author's Reply:
Thank you Sue for the kindly comment and the generous rating!

Andrea on 10-05-2014
Stone Dead
Hahaha, very amusing, made me laugh πŸ™‚

Author's Reply:
Thanks Andrea, glad you had a giggle.

Bozzz on 11-05-2014
Stone Dead
There is a sickness called Draughtsman's disease. Writing in capitals disturbs the balance of the mind and spelling mistakes occur - usually omitting a letter. Not in your case, but if you had seen the short silent film "A home of your own" - about the building of a small group of new Council houses, you would remember the inscription (in captal letters) on the memorial stone to celebrate the event. "These erections were raised by pubic subscription".
Sorry... Bozzz.

Author's Reply:
Well she was a stiff after all! Thanks for the enlightening comment mate.

ValDohren on 11-05-2014
Stone Dead
Wonderful Pronto - I hope I can be said to be thin when my time comes!! Great stuff.
Val x

Author's Reply:
Thanks Val glad my bit o' nonsense amused you.


Twenty Third Barm (posted on: 28-04-14)
Just a variation on a theme.

Yeah, though I squawk through The valley of the shadow of deaf Yet will I hear no evil
Archived comments for Twenty Third Barm
Andrea on 28-04-2014
Twenty Third Barm
Haha, very droll, Pronto πŸ™‚

Author's Reply:
Thanks Andrea,
Thanks for the comment. It was just one of my dafter moments! It's called "Daft owd sod syndrome!" πŸ™‚

stormwolf on 28-04-2014
Twenty Third Barm
Lol like it 😝
Nice bit of levity!
Alison x

Author's Reply:
Thanks Alison, Glad imy bit o' lunacy gave you a giggle! πŸ™‚

Kipper on 29-04-2014
Twenty Third Barm
Hi Proto
Have you got another for us with specs?
Good laugh
Michael

Author's Reply:
Thanks Michael glad you had a giggle as for a 'specs' version I'll look into it but don't foresee anything just yet due to lack of foresight on my part!


Drug Thug (posted on: 25-04-14)
If you're power resides in the muscle of others exercise caution.

He swaggered into the ale house, pushed his way up to the bar Waved a fifty in his fist, 'here yer are mate, here yer are.' The Barman rushes up to serve drug dealer Willie Burn Fellow stood beside him says 'D'yer mind mate? Wait your turn' Burn can't believe his ears he asks: 'Who the hell are you?' 'I'm the guy before yer mate so you can join the queue 'Do you know just who I am? I rule the roost round here So just say yes sir three bags full an' I'll let yer buy my beer' 'I can make one phone call and you'll have broken legs' The man's met this kind of vermin and knows he is the dregs Burn reaches for his mobile phone a sneer upon his face 'A cocky twat like you mate needs putting in his place' It's the last thing he remembered before flying through the air Then waking up in a plaster cast in intensive care That's the drawback with hard men when you need 'em can't be found So before you shoot your mouth off pal make sure that they're around
Archived comments for Drug Thug
stormwolf on 26-04-2014
Drug Thug
Ha ha Good lesson in the poem.;-)
Could be greatly improved with some more punctuation.
I feel this comment is meaningful as you have chosen to use it through the poem and so the bits lacking stand out.
I am trying to be more candid in my comments but realise that may not be well received (by some) but hopefully we are all in the same boat of wanting our work to be the best it can be and so are open to genuine helpful crit from one another.
Alison x

Author's Reply:
Hi Alison,
I never take offence at well meant help/guidance my friend for I am far from perfect. If you would like to send me a personal email or message with your suggestions on further punctuation I shall be glad of the imput.
Thanks for taking the trouble to comment.


Tails from the Dales (posted on: 25-04-14)
A shaggy dog story for the musically inclined among you and apologies to the good folk of Yorkshire! πŸ™‚

It was closing time at the Ferret & Fiddler a cosy hostelry near the North Yorkshire village of Shepshagg one market day in the early fifties. The local farmers were calling their sheep dogs from under the benches and tables were the poor animals had been lying bored to the limit of endurance all night. Cries of 'Bess, c'mon lass let's be gooin' and 'Tom, si' thi' lad, time t' be off' The various dogs leapt to join their inebriated owners for the journey home. One owner called to his dog 'Grieg c'mon lad let's be 'aving yer.' The animal, looking deeply embarrassed, slunk from under his master's chair to cringe at his feet nervously eyeing the other canines in the room. On the walk home Bill, Grieg's owner, was joined by local farmer Owd Fred. Owd Fred had had an unusually good day at market and a lot of brass was jingling in his pockets. He had drunk rather more than his customary quota of Singing Shepherd bitter ale. The drink conspired with the fresh Dales air and emboldened him to ask the question that had been on everyone's mind ever since Bill had had the dog. Now Yorkshire farmers elevate minding their own business into a religion so it took a while for Owd Fred to broach the subject that had been such a point of speculation among the local populous. Finally he asked 'Si thi' Bill most folk round 'ere call their dogs ordinary, sensible names like Bess or Bob.' 'Aye ah knaws' replied Bill unhelpfully. This blank reply was the Yorkshire equivalent of saying 'Mind thee own damned affairs' without causing offence. However the drink got the better of him and Owd Fred persisted 'Well lad it seems uncommon strange that thou call'st that theer animal Greig after some damn foreign classical composer. Tha's not 'omosexual are thi? Bill was shocked to his core 'Ee bah gum Fred is that what folk round 'ere is thinkin'? Nay! Well ah'll tell thi' so tha knows then 'appen yer'll spread the word, reet?' Owd Fred nodded solemnly 'Ah reckon that's fair enough Bill' he slurred 'So why the posh poncy name then? 'Well, it 'so 'appened Fred that when 'e were born the pup were taken reet badly like.' It cost us three shillings an' six pence at the vet's tha' knaws. Bill paused whilst the mournful memory of the day he had taken the dog to the vets and parted with his cash had passed. With a deep sigh he continued: 'The vet gi' us some medicine fer 'im an' said I 'ad to keep 'im warm and on no account let the little sod out in t' yard. The emotion of having had to part with his hard earned money again overwhelmed Bill and for a moment he again fell silent.   'Aye lad' said Fred sympathetically 'I understand thi' feelin's yer poor soul that were a fair amount o' brass fer a Yorkshireman t' part wi' but how does that tally wi' the poncy name then? Well we kept pup in t' parlour Fred an' e used ter pee agin't suite!' πŸ™‚
Archived comments for Tails from the Dales
Kipper on 25-04-2014
Tails from the Dales
Hi Pronto

I'm still laughing. If ya cup ya ear yull ear us all't way from Yorkshire (I lad, all't way) (I think that you are better at this than me)

I'm still laughing - did I say? Had to read that last line four times before the penny dropped.

Apologies to Yorkshire folk not needed, at least not this one, but we don't all speak like that you know.

A good story with a great end; It made me laugh !!!


Mich'chuckle'ael


PS Just having another look at that last line!

Author's Reply:
So glad you enjoyed it Kipper I know that not everyone will get it but to have explained it at the end would, in my humble opinion, have ruined it. Anyway I'm sure a lot of folk on this site will have no trouble at all.
So thanks once again for your kind comments
Tony


All in the Family (posted on: 21-04-14)
Want to know a strange family secret? read on.

He came out to his granny That he was a tranny And loved dressing up in her clothes He told her he's straight His granny said great Not that I care I suppose She said: 'I'm really called Burt' And she lifted her skirt Revealing the bulge in her pants We've lived all our life As husband a wife But yer granddad's a woman called Nance
Archived comments for All in the Family
Andrea on 21-04-2014
All in the Family
Hahaha, very funny!

Author's Reply:
Thanks Andrea I'm glad my bit o' nonsense amused you!

pdemitchell on 22-04-2014
All in the Family
Short burst of humour that made me smile - a rare feat!

Author's Reply:
Thanks pdemitchel I'm glad my daft ditty amused you.

ValDohren on 23-04-2014
All in the Family
Oooh, you are a one !! Loved it.
Val,:-)

Author's Reply:
Thanks Val If you're pleased so am I mate.


Outback Facilities (posted on: 21-04-14)
In the 1930's the Australian outback was no place for posh folk (It still ain't)

In an Aussie pub in the outback these many years past 'Where are your 'facilities' a lady traveller asked? The puzzled barman stroked his chin Realization dawned he said with a grin 'Oh you mean the Dunny lady? It's in the little shed Out the back down the path roofs low so mind yer head' When she came back she looked distressed Of the facilities she was unimpressed 'There's nothing but a bucket in a hole dug in the floor It smells really awful and there's no lock upon the door' The lady was quite snooty and she looked rather vexed The landlord stood scratching his arse looking quite perplexed 'A lock upon the door?' said he sounding quite bemused I don't think that we need one ma'am you must be quite confused I've owned this place thirty years and as sure as my name's Bill Tucket No one, in all that time, ever stole that bucket.
Archived comments for Outback Facilities
ValDohren on 21-04-2014
Outback Facilities
Haha - very good. Remind me not to visit the Australian Outback, although some of the public loos in GB are a disgrace. Gave me a laugh Pronto.
Val πŸ™‚

Author's Reply:
Thanks Val I much appreciate the comment and rating. I'm glad you had a giggle.

sweetwater on 21-04-2014
Outback Facilities
Hehe loved it, especially last line. Can picture the whole scene. πŸ™‚ Sue.

Author's Reply:
Thanks for your kind comment and rating Sue. If I gave you a giggle I'm well satisfied.

stormwolf on 21-04-2014
Outback Facilities
hahaha good one!

Alison x

Author's Reply:
I'm glad you enjoyed it Alison πŸ™‚

pommer on 21-04-2014
Outback Facilities
Made me laugh and reflect.I used to bury the bucket regularly,when I lived in an English village in the late fifties.Didn't mind.Peter.

Author's Reply:
Thanks Peter great rating too mate. Yup, the bucket-and-chuck-it method was still around then in rural areas. I had country cousins who did this. πŸ™‚

pdemitchell on 22-04-2014
Outback Facilities
Very amusing. I remember a trip in a sleek Bulgarian hydrofoil in 1995 and took my young dauighter to the loo to find a large room with a crap-encrusted hole in the decking. She endured the trip clenched and boggle-eyed rather than use the facilities.... Mitch πŸ˜‰

Author's Reply:
Oh yes and they still exist Mitch. I hope your now not-so-young-daughter has recovered from her dreadful experience.
I remember crossing the Indian Ocean on the troop ship The Oxfordshire in 1961 with the monsoon winds blowing fifty foot waves. Oh those bogs as 1000 troops puked almost in unison! This lucky bar steward found out he does not suffer sea sickness. Whoopee no queue for breakie!
Thanks for the comment mate

Ionicus on 23-04-2014
Outback Facilities
I wonder if that snooty lady was Mrs. Bucket (pronounced Bouquet, don't you know?). An amusing ditty, Pronto.

Author's Reply:
Hi Ionicus,
Gad you enjoyed it mate it's just a daft joke I heard years ago 'poeticised' πŸ™‚

Kipper on 23-04-2014
Outback Facilities
Very enjoyable tale with a good finish.

Michael

Author's Reply:
Thanks Michael glad it tickled you.

Kipper on 23-04-2014
Outback Facilities
Very enjoyable tale with a good finish.

Michael

Author's Reply:
Thank you Michael I'm glad you enjoyed it mate.


Tyred & Exhausted (posted on: 21-04-14)
A simple trip to get some car maintenance can lead to a Zen experience. 'appen.

As the missus and me are going away for a few days next week I thought to give the old jalopy the once over. I reckoned the car would come to no harm for a couple of new front tyres. And that was the start of a unique people watching experience. The Oldham Tyre and Exhaust Company has been established for many years. They are the cheapest for miles around and, by and large, do a very good job. Having used them before I know that customer service is not their long suit. However if you want to sit in a warm customer lounge drinking fresh coffee and reading a glossy magazine then you're going to pay £20+ more per tyre. The business is situated in a dilapidated old building that was once a petrol station back in the days when we used to have small, convenient, local refuelling places. It was last painted I would guess around 1963. The whole building now looks like a vandals' playground but the festoons of security cameras, ranks of steel shutters and anti ramming posts seem, for the moment at least, to be holding disaster at bay. The proprietor of this 'tyred and exhausted' emporium is a mild mannered gentleman with a comfortable looking beer paunch who sits on a rickety swivel chair in the midst of a small rubbish tip he calls an office. He seems to exude an attitude that the world can go to hell in a hand cart as long as it leaves him alone. He can afford this attitude because he knows he's the best priced for miles around. If you want to be called sir/madam and receive ingratiating smiles whist you wait you've come to the wrong shop. The guys who work there, too, are an interesting bunch. Not for them the flashy overalls with company logos. Most of them look like prisoners on day release who got dressed in the dark in the reject room of a charity shop. Old trainers are the preferred footwear of these gentlemen who eschew the 'Elf n' safety steel toe capped clod hoppers. However they all know their job and are as efficient as the system allows them to be. Knowing how long I waited last time I used them I decide that this time I'd make an appointment. 'Two o'clock mate will be good.' I was told over the phone. 'What sort of car is it?' 'It's a blue Honda Accord' I told him 'Do you want the registration number?' 'No mate that'll do. See ya.' And with that the phone went down. Arriving just before the appointed hour I was told 'just 'ang around mate, we'll call yer.' Half an hour slid by. I spoke to a chap in another blue Honda Accord who, like me, was wondering how they would tell us apart. Other people came and went being served it seemed on a whim. After forty five minutes I was getting chilly and was wondering if I'd been forgotten so back to the shambolic office to enquire. 'Tyred and Exhausted' looked up with a harassed glance expecting chastisement for the tawdriness of his operation. When no verbal attack came he glanced at an oil stained clip board and announced 'You're the next job' and with that he turned back to studying the oldest, dirtiest computer screen in captivity. T&E was as good as his word a minute later a skin headed guy in his late twenties nodded at my car and told me 'slide it around 'ere mate.' In spite of his 'day release' appearance he went to work with a rapid skill born of long experience and soon had two new tyres fixed to my car and inflated to the correct pressure too. He then pointed out a potential fault on some torn mounts giving me sound advice as to how to save my tyres from uneven wear and tear. No, he still didn't smile though I got the impression he was genuinely trying to be helpful and polite. I think that they all must have attended the Saddam Hussein School of Charm. Oh well. Back in the office I paid my very reasonable bill and, spotting the lad who'd worked on my car, I called him outside. Sliding a crisp fiver into his hand I said 'thanks for the help mate.' My fiver disappeared into the filthiest jeans I've ever seen this side of a rubbish tip and I received 'Oh nice one mate ta.' Still no smile though.
Archived comments for Tyred & Exhausted
Rab on 22-04-2014
Tyres & Exhausted
I think this would benefit from a bit of expansion. The descriptions of the tyre depot, the office and the staff are good, but there's not much 'zen' experience there. I think it's a good idea, and if you were to make more of the waiting, and perhaps the second blue Honda, you could end up with a humorous take on the whole zen thing. Zen and the Art of Honda Tyre Maintenance perhaps?

Author's Reply:
Thanks, Rab, for your good constructive ideas. This was originally just a diary entry so I suppose I did not take too much trouble over it. I shall take your ideas on board.

Warm regards,

Tony

pdemitchell on 22-04-2014
Tyres & Exhausted
I agree with the Rab - it is a lovely observationally-keen piece that would benefit from some fleshing out as it pivots around the 'tyred and exhausted' pun. You have soem well-drawn characters here that you can really have an affectionate field day with - but as they say: you've never been fitted up quicker than by a KwikFit fitter! Mitch :0)

Author's Reply:
Thanks for the comment mate I'll give it some more work on one of my sleepless nights (Full moon)
Cheers
T


Vapour Trails (posted on: 18-04-14)
A flush of youth remembered

We flew too high in that azure sky In those days of me and you Both soaring each adoring But secretly we knew So high so fast it couldn't last Oh grief when passion fails And all that's left to us bereft Are fading vapour trails
Archived comments for Vapour Trails
Pelequin23 on 18-04-2014
Vapour Trails
the light that burns twice as bright ! but at least you left memories scored onto the sky

Author's Reply:
Thank you my friend for the comment and rating,
heady days of a first real love are always long remembered.
Warm regards,
Tony

Mikeverdi on 18-04-2014
Vapour Trails
You captured the feeling well (one I know) I liked this a lot.
Mike

Author's Reply:
Thanks Mike for your generous rating,
I'm sure a lot of folk can relate to this I'm glad if it touched a place in your heart.

stormwolf on 19-04-2014
Vapour Trails
Short and concise with great meaning. Left me feeling sad and that is a good thing.
I can relate deeply.

Alison x

Author's Reply:
hank you Alison for your kind comment I'm glad it had an impact on you even if not one you expected.

Luv & hugz,
Tony

Bozzz on 20-04-2014
Vapour Trails
You infamous puppy Tony, hope you did not break the sound barrier. Great fun

Author's Reply:
Thanks mate great comment good rating too. Glad you enjoyed it.

ValDohren on 20-04-2014
Vapour Trails
Very well expressed Tony. Marry in haste, repent at leisure, they say.
Val

Author's Reply:
Why thank you Val. Yup my first marriage only lasted 26 years, the girl had no staying power! Very flattered by the rating thank you.

sweetwater on 20-04-2014
Vapour Trails
Very well said, it's a really lovely poem. Sue X.

Author's Reply:
Thank you Sue for the comment and the excellent rating. You are very kind and your kindness encourages me to try more like this.


The Coffin Dodgers' Club (posted on: 14-04-14)
On the aggravation of ageing

We meet each week us old codgers At a club we call The Coffin Dodgers To complain about all politics And the soaring cost of walking sticks New technology leaves us perplexed Just how the hell do you send a text? And now the club's one smart-arsed female Wants to teach the mysteries of e-mail How on earth's an older gent No matter how intelligent To learn new tricks with such great speed To satisfy this modern need? Then most guaranteed to vex Are lecturers on ageing sex Not one of them are more than fifty I'm ninety one and still quite nifty But I'd rather do it on my own Than lie abed with some old crone Who can't spread her arthritic thighs A challenge to which we just can't rise The world today keeps turning faster It'll all end up in a great disaster So stuff your computer and mobile phone Please just piss off, leave us alone!
Archived comments for The Coffin Dodgers' Club
Mikeverdi on 14-04-2014
The Coffin Dodgers Club
HaHaHa! I love it I will put my name forwards... or maybe you can let me start a Plymouth branch. Brilliant writing, my morning laugh taken care of.
Mike

Author's Reply:
Thanks Mike for the kind comment and very generous rating. I'm glad it gave you a laugh and cheered the morning up for you.
Tony

Andrea on 14-04-2014
The Coffin Dodgers Club
Here's a song for you, Pronto πŸ™‚



Author's Reply:
Hi Andrea that song could have been written for me. As (I think) I've said before I don't stop on the stairs these days in case I forget whether I was going up or down!

Thanks for taking the trouble to post that it made writing the poem worthwhile!

sweetwater on 14-04-2014
The Coffin Dodgers Club
This also made me laugh, I think you have pretty much covered all my niggles, I am frequently quietly screaming the last two lines. πŸ™‚ Sue X.

Author's Reply:
Thanks Sue for your kind comment and rating. I reckon that no matter how outrageous the poem the bit that makes us laugh is the underlying truth that we can personally relate to! πŸ™‚

Bozzz on 14-04-2014
The Coffin Dodgers Club
On the ball, as usual - or should that be plural? A delight to read, gives hope for the future - will join you in a few days - will report progress. Well done Sir....David

Author's Reply:
Thanks a lot David for your generosity mate. If I managed to give you a giggle I'm well pleased.

stormwolf on 16-04-2014
The Coffin Dodgers Club
OMG! That gave me a right laugh!
But I’d rather do it on my own
Than lie abed with some old crone
Who can’t spread her arthritic thighs
A challenge to which we just can't rise

Is this all that lies ahead for me? lol May as well top myself now.
Well done!
Alison x

Author's Reply:
Hi Alison, Thanks for the kind remarks and generous rating. Getting older is a process I'm thoroughly enjoying. I can observe all sorts of folly and write about it and what's more no one expects too much of me these days. (He's getting on a bit now poor old soul) Only in body though I'm still twenty one in my head! πŸ™‚

Ionicus on 16-04-2014
The Coffin Dodgers Club
Good job that we 'old codgers' can laugh at ourselves, Pronto.
In one of his comments Bozzz asked: "Whatever happened to masturbation?" The following lines from your poem might give him an answer
'But I’d rather do it on my own
Than lie abed with some old crone
Who can’t spread her arthritic thighs
A challenge to which we just can't rise'
Glad to hear you are still nifty. May it continue. Cheers.

Author's Reply:
Thanks Ionicus I'm glad my daft ditty amused you! But I have to admit to some hyperbole 'cos I'm only 72!:-)

ValDohren on 16-04-2014
The Coffin Dodgers Club
Gave me a laugh too Tony, and that takes some doing these days.
Val

Author's Reply:
Hi Val Thanks a lot. If my daftness caused you to stretch your giggling gear then my job is done! πŸ™‚
Big smiles to you.
Tony


Poetry Plain and Simple (posted on: 14-04-14)
A simple expression of poetry

Poetry can be gut wrenching truth As subtle as a kick in the crotch It can be a taboo subject That others dare not touch It can be delicate as a butterfly Or rough as a bear's backside It must be unpretentious Leaving the poet no place to hide As simple as a wimple Worn by a virgin nun Or wicked as a harlot And as dangerous as a gun It never must be clever Just for cleverness's sake Convoluted or confusing For that's a great mistake Whether it rhymes or whether not Matters not at all It may be writ on vellum fine Or scrawled on the shithouse wall The thing that matters most of all Is that it is your truth And leaves you open, vulnerable This simple ditty's proof
Archived comments for Poetry Plain and Simple
Pelequin23 on 14-04-2014
Poetry Plain and Simple
poetry is a fickle mistress who seduces us all

Author's Reply:
Thanks for the kind comment and generous rating P. I've certainly had my share of frustration and pleasure from this seductress. I wouldn't have it any other way.

sweetwater on 14-04-2014
Poetry Plain and Simple
Loved this, fascinated by the bear's backside line πŸ™‚ You write the truth for us all. Sue X.

Author's Reply:
Thank you Sue for the kind comment and very generous rating. The bear's backside reference (As rough as a bear's arse) was a common term in the British Army of my era though why a bears posterior should be considered so god alone knows!
Luv & hugz,
Tony

Bozzz on 14-04-2014
Poetry Plain and Simple
Love this one, Tony, cause for celebration - truths we share are sacred - cheers.... David

Author's Reply:
Wow thanks David a most encouraging comment and rating. From a pen of your quality that's praise indeed sir! πŸ™‚

stormwolf on 15-04-2014
Poetry Plain and Simple
LOVED it!
Bullshit free zone! right up my street as they say!
On the crit side the rhythm veered off a bit or it would have been a 9 from me! πŸ˜‰ x
Alison x

Author's Reply:
Thanks Alison for a fair comment and crit. I knew it was less than perfect when I put it up but neglected to tinker because the very flaws prove the point somewhat.
Glad you liked it though!

ValDohren on 15-04-2014
Poetry Plain and Simple
Well you won't find mine on a shithouse wall Tony, although some may say it belongs there - ha !! Seems we are of like mind this week - loved yours.
Val

Author's Reply:
Thanks Val for your kindness. Your poetry my friend will never deserve to be writ on the khazi wall; far too good. πŸ™‚

Mikeverdi on 15-04-2014
Poetry Plain and Simple
Point made... If it needed to be, and nicely done.
Mike

Author's Reply:
Thank you Mike

Ionicus on 16-04-2014
Poetry Plain and Simple
How very true.
Now, as is my wont, I will point out a few typos.
Fifth line 'de' should be 'be'.
Line fourteen: don't you mean 'for cleverness's sake'?
Line nineteen: vellum not velum.

Author's Reply:
Hi Ionicus Thank you for your comments.
Well now you are quite right sir. It's mostly my fault (Due to abysmal ignorance and poor eyesight) And that of the red wine. Sometimes though it's because I can't over ride my American spell checker.

Blessings.


Every Day is Valentine's (posted on: 24-01-14)
Yes, I'm as smooth as a mink lined jock strap. You tend to your love life I'll tend to mine OK? πŸ˜‰

Superb Sunday Magnificent Monday Terrific Tuesday Wondrous Wednesday Tantric Thursday Fantastic Friday Scintillating Saturday Just a week of life with my beautiful wife One quarter of a magnificent month But a twelfth my dear of a brilliant year I love you.
Archived comments for Every Day is Valentine's
Mikeverdi on 24-01-2014
Every Day is Valentines
Guess you'll get another go tonight then πŸ™‚ Ha Ha!
Mike

Author's Reply:
Oh yeas Thursdays are always special πŸ˜‰ Thanks for the comment Mike.

Andrea on 24-01-2014
Every Day is Valentines
Mink-lined jockstrap - crikey!

Author's Reply:
Oh yes Andrea the old MLJ always tickles a man's fancy! Thanks for the comment dear lady.

Bozzz on 24-01-2014
Every Day is Valentines
A jock strap, mink-lined or otherwise-lined is not a bad contraceptive. Washable? Enjoy....David.

Author's Reply:
Thanks Bozzz the strap is dry clean only I'm afraid but bugger the expense I say give the cat another goldfish! Thanks for dropping by mate.

stormwolf on 24-01-2014
Every Day is Valentines
The mind boggles....
Ah well, all power to yer..erm elbow! 😜
Alison x

Author's Reply:
Thanks Alison me elbow is quite strong especially and is adapted for glass lifting πŸ˜‰
Thanks for the comment. πŸ™‚

ValDohren on 24-01-2014
Every Day is Valentines
Awwww how sweet - oh to be in love. Don't forget the Valentine's card, speaking of cards ......
Val :-))

Author's Reply:
Hi Val,
I've learned not to forget Valentine's as it's two days after my birthday and the house is full of cards. I have however managed to forget it twice before. (Oh woe was unto me) Thanks for dropping by.

pommer on 25-01-2014
Every Day is Valentines
Liked it.Mink lined Jockstrap and all,Where can one get one?Amazon? be lucky, Pommer.

Author's Reply:
Hi Pommer thanks mate I thought Amazons were big strong girls! Maybe Ebay or Craig's List?
Glad you liked it sir.

Ionicus on 26-01-2014
Every Day is Valentines
A sweet love poem, Pronto.
Is Thursday when you stay in all day and nobody comes, as John Mortimer once said?

Author's Reply:
Hi Ionicus,
Thanks for the comment mate. Yes Thursday is 'in' day and I shall refrain from making the obvious crude comments about who comes. πŸ˜‰


The Amazing Mr Dundat (posted on: 20-01-14)
I think we've all met someone like this at one time or another the entertaining idiot who tells tall stories.

The Amazing Mr. Dundat I have a new Indian neighbour A man of most intriguing flavour Excitedly he tells of his adventures The spittle flying from his dentures As he relates most wondrous tales Of finding gold mines deep in Wales If you've been somewhere he's been too Done ten times more than me and you He's been the captain of a jet Then he retrained as a vet Chased pirates on the China seas Brought drug barons to their knees Strangled giant snakes in French Guiana Whilst he was fishing for piranha Then he flew down to Brazil To wrestle crocodiles for a thrill He left me with my mouth agape He'd saved HM the Queen from rape Taught Kung Fu to the SAS He's an honorary Major in their mess Then this most amazing man Was part of NASA's space programme He could be called there very soon To lead a secret mission to the moon Now at the age of fifty two There's not much left for him to do So he moved in next door to me He thought I needed company And the name of this stupendous prat? I call him Mr. Bindair Dundat
Archived comments for The Amazing Mr Dundat
pommer on 20-01-2014
The Amazing Mr Dundat
Hi Pronto,
Mr Bindair Dundat must be an offspring of my Baron von Muenchhausen he left in India on his fabulous journeys he told me about.I bet your man hasn't been to Biggleswade either.A really good poem.Well done, Pommer.

Author's Reply:
Hi Pommer thanks for the comment mate. I must admit I drew inspiration from your baron it was an excellent piece. I then, the same day I heard a daft joke about Bindair Dundat and that set me off. (It doesn't take much) Not only has Mr Dundat not been to Biggleswade neither have I as far as I remember! I have however been to Giggleswick so there πŸ˜‰

Now that might be a theme for you The Baron Goes to Biggleswade! What a culture clash that would be eh?

Mikeverdi on 21-01-2014
The Amazing Mr Dundat
This is a great idea mate, but I think you need to prune it; you got carried away:-) I really like it, just take out the unnecessary bits and you have a terrific poem.
In friendship. Mike

Author's Reply:
Hmmn... Maybe Mike, I must admit I did add the penultimate stanza after I had' finished' the poem. However this poem has been on two other sites for a week and has not drawn such a comment. I shall give it further consideration. Thanks for kindly rating and for giving an honest opinion.

Bozzz on 21-01-2014
The Amazing Mr Dundat
Gorgeous romp - Never mind Peter Pommer's Baron, how you have managed to copy my life story so exactly suggests that you are the Big Bad Hacker the Met police seek - Amazing - loved it....David

Author's Reply:
Damn my secrets out!
Thanks for the kind comment and rating Bozzz now, can you give me the grid reference of one of those gold mines please? πŸ˜‰

ValDohren on 23-01-2014
The Amazing Mr Dundat
We've all met one haven't we ! An amusing read, much enjoyed.
Val πŸ™‚

Author's Reply:
Hi Val,

I'm glad my daft little ditty amused you it was my sole aim in writing it. Thank you kindly for commenting and the generous rating.

Jaybee on 13-03-2014
The Amazing Mr Dundat
What an amusing poem, I am still laughing now. Must admit Indian people sometimes have such strange accents!

I am not really interested in any sort of poetry, but you caught my attention here. Very cleverly written and great imagination too. It was superb so i give you a '10'

Author's Reply:
Why thank you Jaybee I'm very flattered. by your comment and the very generous rating. The poem was not based on a real person by the way Indian or otherwise. It was a mixture of several folk I've met over the years. I just love writing comic poetry.

Cheers


Bankers All (posted on: 17-01-14)
An explanation of our place in the universe, the gospel according to bankers.

My essential executive job with a W should be spelt But as a stalwart banker I can't tighten my belt You may think my salary simply can't be justified Just because I've cheated, robbed you all and lied The thing you folks don't understand (and I'm not being funny) I was born to be sleek and rich (and that takes lots of money) If I didn't drive a posh car Rolls and Bentley might go broke I'm only thinking of the job of you the plebby folk What's that? You say I'm arrogant that I don't give a toss? And that I get rewarded for creating massive loss? You see you just don't understand that whoever bears the onus It's your job to pay more tax so I still get my bonus I could sell my 'talent' overseas get another post with ease At least that's what I tell you all whilst wallowing in sleaze I've only got two working parts my arsehole and my gob Like politicians they're interchangeable it's why I keep my job So next time when you're overdraft you simply cannot pay I'll listen with greatest sympathy then take your house away I know you think it's very harsh, a hard and cruel blow But I've simply got to do it to maintain the status quo So here endeth the lesson I hope you've got it now That bankers are all demigods to whom you scrape and bow You see we are the movers who control the universe And ever will it be so no matter how perverse
Archived comments for Bankers All
Elfstone on 18-01-2014
Bankers All
This is very good - I can't think why it hasn't had more reads and comments. I smiled (through my grinding teeth) as I read. You hit the bullseye with this. Elfstone.

Author's Reply:
Maybe there are a lot of bankers on the site? I dunno it's early day yet though! Thank you for the very kind comment.

Bozzz on 18-01-2014
Bankers All
Terrific stuff Pronto. Aptly worded, humorous, sarcastic, well rhymed, good lines, great subject matter - minor wobbles on the beat and maybe 'blebs' should be 'plebs' (short for plebeians). but for inspiration it must get my first ten this year. Bravo...Bozzz

Author's Reply:
Hi Bozzz Thank you for the very generous rating and the kind comments mate.
I meant to put 'Plebby' as opposed to Pleb to underline the patronising attitude these knaves have towards us. Trust me to do a typo! I mean if the B and the P where near each other on the keyboard there might be some excuse! πŸ™ Thanks for pointing it out now amended. πŸ™‚

Mikeverdi on 19-01-2014
Bankers All
That was both brilliant and 'oh so bloody true' thanks for this one. Mike

Author's Reply:
Thanks Mike for commenting and the generous rating. πŸ™‚


The Innocent Voice (posted on: 03-01-14)
We may worry that we have over indulged and overspent this festive season. How lucky we are to have these 'problems.'

In this season of plenty whilst our world rejoices Beyond in the darkness cry the small voices Of the children of war in a far desert land Their lives torn apart their blood on the sand What wrong did they do? What crime was committed? Why must they be punished? Why can't they be pitied? Robbed of their fathers, siblings and mothers Left to the mercy of merciless others What if it were here that the conflict arose What would it be like if we became those? Who once were the haves now were the have nots Crowd refugee camps in the land of the Scots? If sectarian violence ruled every town Our civilization brought tumbling down Burn down a mosque blow up a church As looking for victims the killer packs search Not quite as far-fetched as you think it may seem It would come to pass if some had their dream If evil and violence were once to hold sway If all the good people turned their heads way It has happened before it could happen again It probably will do we just don't know when So happy New Year relax and rejoice Then scream out your protest for the innocent voice
Archived comments for The Innocent Voice
Bozzz on 03-01-2014
The Innocent Voice
A passionate poem, well written polemic, a grave warning. Our job as poets must be to help by looking out for and exposing /criticisinge fanatic lunacy when it occurs... David

Author's Reply:
Thank you for the generous rating and your kind comments. Much appreciated.

Kipper on 03-01-2014
The Innocent Voice
Very telling and asks some relevant questions, such as 'Are we the ones who look the other way?' We worry about obesity when so many little mites starve to death.
It almost makes one feel guilty to consider the concept of a 'Happy New Year' and yet, despite a feeling of helplessness I wish that for you.
Michael

Author's Reply:
Thanks Kipper you have the understanding of it for sure. I'm grateful for the rating ad comment.

Weefatfella on 04-01-2014
The Innocent Voice
 photo 9ad6ff1f-0d9b-467e-b5d6-2d3f72a688a0_zps705a5781.jpg

Awrrabest. Happy New Year Pronto.
A horrifying truth.
Well highlighted.
Weefatfella.

Author's Reply:
Thank you WFF I'm always pleased to have you respond to my work and I look forward to reading more of your unique stories in the New Year. All the best mate.

Mikeverdi on 05-01-2014
The Innocent Voice
One of your best, and one of the best of this type of poems I have seen in a while; well said and done. Mike

Author's Reply:
Thank you Mike for the kind comment and generous rating. Happy New Year to you.


Life and Death (posted on: 30-12-13)
We think we know who we are but we are as yet incomplete, a work in progress.

We sweep in through the gates of earth In the majesty of our birth Already on the road to death With every single passing breath I will be not I Nor will you be you Until the time when we pass through Only then we are complete Beyond all this world's deceit Our full value true be shown Only when the spirits flown
Archived comments for Life and Death
Bozzz on 30-12-2013
Life and Death
The brevity of the poet in full flow - not much time for us to muck around in between arrival and departure. Think I'll try another airline terminal.... Succinct, clever writing.....David

Author's Reply:

deadpoet on 31-12-2013
Life and Death
I like this very much Pronto- really says a lot about fallible humans..pure in spirit yet causing so much grief on earth..

Pia

Author's Reply:
Thank you Pia for your comment and very generous rating.

Mikeverdi on 31-12-2013
Life and Death
You encompassed so much with so little...the mark of great writing, well done mate.
Mike

Author's Reply:
Thanks Mike I am very grateful for the positive encouragement and your great rating.
Happy New Year to you.


Christmas Corn (posted on: 23-12-13)
It's the same every year damn near June before I recover!

Corn needs must be sown Long 'ere it can be mown To borrow against the unsown morrow Leads to naught but strife and sorrow ''Neither lender nor borrower be'' Said some smart-arsed bard or other He never had my sisters or brother Or kids expecting much largesse Leaving my finances in a mess But if much money isn't spent I'll get me ear 'ole badly bent So stuff the wisdom and all yer bards Now where did she hide my credit cards?
Archived comments for Christmas Corn
stormwolf on 23-12-2013
Christmas Corn
hahaha gave me a right laugh, it did. I take it that you are not a suitable candidate for my xmas begging letter;-)
Merry Christmas regardless!

Alison xxx

Author's Reply:
Thanks Alison for the comment and generous rating. I was hoping you might be a suitable candidate for my begging letters! Looks like we'll both be disappointed! πŸ˜‰

pommer on 23-12-2013
Christmas Corn
Made me laugh.Spent out, but will start saving for next Christmas day after tomorrow.Have a great time and a Happy Christmas. Peter.

Author's Reply:
Thanks for the kind comment generous rating Peter. If it made you grin my job was done. Have a great Christmas mate.

TheScribbler on 23-12-2013
Christmas Corn
I'm not averse
To a bit of comic verse

wishing you a Happy Christmas and a not too impoverished new year

Author's Reply:
Thanks Sciibbler I love a bit o' humour it keeps me sane!
A very happy Christmas to you too.


The Land of Heart (posted on: 06-12-13)
A parable of peace

In the land of Heart a spirit called Freedom Offered wisdom to the people He told them lay down your swords Unstring your bows, break your spears He taught them to cultivate the Heart And they flourished He taught them the commerce of peace And they prospered When he taught them to sing they made him king And there was rapture in the land He taught them the philosophy of love And they were raised above All hatred and lies, they became wise He taught them to meditate and they became great But as the king grew old there was one who grew bold He looked upon the land with envy And coveted the king's throne He regarded with malice Heart's golden palace Wanting it for his own He raised an army of Doubt and Fear And marched against them Instructing his generals Greed and Avarice To destroy all who opposed him To enslave the others and seize their prosperity But the wise king told his people arise Put on the armour of your faith Take up the staff of love and follow me Be unafraid for they cannot harm you The enemy attacked with his arrows of hate And drove in on his chariots of envy and lust They could penetrate not the shield of strength Were deflected by the armour of faith Greed and Avarice were confounded By the generals Love and Generosity They were dashed against the walls serenity and tranquilly And fell upon their swords of sorrow and despair And Heart was at peace once more Copyright © J A Milligan
Archived comments for The Land of Heart
Bozzz on 06-12-2013
The Land of Heart
A chaucerised story in modern text. Giant Despair lurks, but it's Christmas - be happy....Bozzz.

Author's Reply:
Thanks for the kind comment Bozzz,
I never read the classics like Pilgrim's Progress or Canterbury Tales I always found such stuff heavy going. I am however flattered by the implied comparison.

This poem came to me as I was about to fall asleep so I wrote it down before it slipped away. I have for some time now kept a notebook and pen by the bed.
Merry Christmas.


The Wiccan Word (posted on: 02-12-13)
I was half asleep when this came to me almost word for word. I sat up and wrote it down.

And the WORD floated in the void And the WORD was the void And the void was the WORD The Angel told me To laugh is to pray To breathe is to believe To simply be is to see Arise then from supplication On bended knee What need has the WORD of your fearful worship? What need have you for laws save one: And the one from the WORD Is the WORD from the one ''And if it harm no other do what thou wilt Shall be the whole of the law'' Therefore rejoice, live for you are perfect You are of the WORD And the WORD is of you.
Archived comments for The Wiccan Word
bo_duke99 on 02-12-2013
The Wiccan Word
And if it harm no other being the key omission for too many - not my area of expertise, but striking and resonant - Greg

Author's Reply:
Yup, the Wiccan bashers always leave out the "If it harm no other" bit. They are the same sorry souls that call them witches too, another untruth. I'm not Wiccan myself but love their simplicity.

Thanks for the comment my friend.


Widow's and Orphans (posted on: 11-11-13)
Dedicated to the war widows and orphans who remember every day. They are are the bravest of the brave.

Bands play and marching arms do swing At cenotaph the vicars pray Old soldiers stand their hymns to sing Their blazing poppies on display The widows and orphans side by side Dignified they silent stand Loved ones medals worn with pride Of those who've fallen for this land Those who with loss live every day And bear with stoic pride The awful price that they must pay Of the love they've been denied Young blonde girl so sad and shy Leans close against her mother A tear drop in her soft blue eye Arm round her little brother Theirs a grief that must be borne Not just upon this day Soft remembered love they mourn Too early torn away As bugle notes fade on the breeze Two minutes silence spent Pray for those whose pain won't cease Whose grief will not relent
Archived comments for Widow's and Orphans
Mikeverdi on 11-11-2013
Widows and Orphans
Words well said, Pommer has one on the same theme; more should be said about the living..the dead are past caring, the living never are. Mike

Author's Reply:
Thanks Mike,

Yes it was seeing a scene such as this that made me question the priorities of the situation.

Thanks for your comment generous rating mate.

pommer on 12-11-2013
Widows and Orphans
Hi Pronto,
I really like what you are saying.I have seen it so often,and I shall never forget the day, when one of my friends was told that her only son had been killed in NI,or the grief of the friend whose husband had been killed on the first day of WW2,and the loss of her son three years later.What tragedy, and what for. Will we ever learn? A great poem Pronto. Take care, Pommer.

Author's Reply:
Hi Pommer bless you for the understanding comment and the top rating.

I knew a guy when I was serving he was on patrol in Londonderry (1972) when a group of women with kids in pushchairs blocked a street end shouting insults. A gunman crept up behind them and shot one of our lads in the back killing him instantly. Of course fire could not be returned so he got away.

My comrade had recently been married and his wife was three months pregnant with their daughter at the time.

Kipper on 13-11-2013
Widows and Orphans
You have caught well a theme that seems to be in the minds of many of us here on UKA. Mine too.
Michael

Author's Reply:
Thanks kipper for your kind comment and great rating. It is a subject close to my heart.

bo_duke99 on 13-11-2013
Widows and Orphans
good point made, we play at hurting once a year and some live it daily

Author's Reply:
Thanks Duke for your comment, that's exactly the point I was making.


Trick or Treat (posted on: 01-11-13)
A strange story halloween for halloween

As Paul Basso handed back the keys to his company car he felt his life had reached the lowest point possible. Sandra had left him and taken the children because of his serial flings with the office girls. The mortgage people were being unreasonable about his arrears simply because circumstances had caused him to break his word a few times and his credit cards were all maxed out. On top of all that the bank had rung him that morning wanting to speak to him urgently about his overdraft. Now he'd been fired for poor performance having lost several important accounts to the competition lately. He'd seen the writing on the wall a while back but the actuality still came as a shock. Standing in the late afternoon drizzle as he waited for a bus Paul felt very sorry for himself. He reflected on life and the unfairness of it all. Here he was approaching forty no job, few prospects and the whole damn world conspiring against him. He wondered why was it that he, a hard working bloke who only wanted to enjoy a few of life's pleasures, seemed destined to be like king Midas in reverse? Everything he touched seemed to turn to dross. On the other hand there were people like his rich uncle Joshua sitting in undeserved luxury enjoying his retirement. He had a big house and a couple of nice cars on the drive and more money than he knew what to do with. Damn, it just wasn't fair. Paul had always hated his uncle Joshua, he resented his success at making a fortune out of what he regarded as nothing but con-trickery. What was he anyway? A damned old fraud, a conman who took people in with his supposed psychic powers. Medium my arse he thought bitterly as the bus finally arrived. Uncle Joshua had for many years run sιances in church halls, he had read tarot cards and stared into a crystal ball predicting, advising and generally guiding his clients to the best of his ability. He had built up a considerable following of devotees and only charged what he felt they could afford. He had received a letter one day inviting him to audition for a TV show. It had been the making of him; his fame spread and then there were several lucrative book deals too. Through all this fame and fortune Joshua had remained his modest self. Sure he'd bought a bigger house for himself and Audrey his wife and there were a couple of comfortable cars on the drive but nothing extravagant. They had bought some terraced properties with their new found wealth and let them out at affordable rents to working families, seeing this as a righteous investment. Audrey had 'gone over' two years ago and now Joshua rarely left the house. He spent his time looking into his crystal ball, reading his cards, talking to Audrey and writing the odd article for a psychic magazine. Today was different though. Today, as the result of what the spirits had told him he had to go out to visit his solicitor. He also had to buy sweets for the children he knew would be calling in a few days time trick or treating. Joshua loved children and had always been sad that he and Audrey were never able to have their own. As the bus made its way slowly to its destination various people got on and off and seemed to take forever to do it adding to Paul's annoyance. He glowered sourly out of the window wondering what he should do now. Much as he hated Joshua he was the old man's only living relative so there could be a solution to his problems if only he could get the old boy on his side. The seed of a plan began to form in his mind. A week later Paul rang his uncle's door bell and heard the old man call out ''Come in Paul it's open.'' Joshua was sat in the lounge his back to the window. Ah Paul thought the old devil must have seen me coming up the drive. He hadn't seen his uncle since the funeral of his aunt Audrey and then he'd stayed for only the minimum time that decency allowed. Paul forced a smile. ''Good evening Uncle Joshua how are you?'' ''I'm not bad all things considered Paul, to what do I owe this honour?'' ''Well if it's all right with you uncle I've come to see you on a business matter.'' Joshua frowned ''Business? I've finished with all that sort of thing now Paul.'' Ten minutes later, the social pleasantries out of the way, they were sitting in comfortable chairs sharing a pot of tea. ''It's like this Uncle Joshua'' Paul began ''I've had an opportunity to go into business by myself. It's an Internet business so I don't suppose you'll know too much about it but, believe me, it has the potential to make millions.'' Joshua looked at the crystal ball a couple of feet away on the coffee table. He seemed to be deep in thought. ''Go on'' he said finally. Paul went into a rambling presentation peppered with superlatives and hyperbole about the glowing prospects for his business. Finally he produced his trump card a carefully forged letter on his bank's headed paper purporting to offer finance facilities for the venture. The old man sat staring at the ball for what seemed like an eternity finally, letting out a long sigh, he spoke. ''Oh Paul you disappoint me, you really do. After all the loving care my dear late brother and your mother brought you up with you leave me very sad indeed.'' Paul was startled ''What the hell are you talking about uncle? Here am I offering you a cast iron deal that will net us both a fortune and you start talking like this.'' The old man's face hardened but he remained calm as he said ''Paul listen to me. For a start I knew you were coming this evening and I knew you would be asking me for money.'' He paused slightly before going on. ''I wish you'd just plain told me the truth about your financial and marital woes instead of coming here lying.'' Paul was angry now but bit his tongue this was not the response he'd hoped for. He made one last desperate attempt at getting Joshua to believe him ''Uncle please!'' he cried angrily ''why would I lie to you? I've been open and honest, I have proved I have finance equal to yours in place. I let you in on my deal and this is the thanks I get.'' He glared at the older man ''I'm disappointed Uncle I really am. Just because you've made a good living all these years as a con artist you judge everyone else by your own low standards.'' Paul was expecting an angry rebuttal or at least defensive argument from Joshua; he was not expecting what came next. The old man brushed a tear from his eye and spoke in a low voice ''Oh nephew if only you could see that path you have chosen is the source of all your ills. You have come here tonight with deceit in your heart bringing this cock and bull story hoping I'll invest a hundred thousand pounds in your frivolous lifestyle.'' He took a sip of tea as if to steady his nerves before continuing ''I am not nor have I ever been a fraud. What modest gifts I have are genuine and I have always tried to use them to help those in need.'' He looked Paul in the eye ''You will find this out soon enough dear foolish boy.'' Paul felt his anger rising ''Oh give it a rest you sanctimonious old fraud everyone knows that this psychic stuff is a load of garbage.'' His voice rose to a high pitch and the dam of frustration burst. ''You have made a fortune conning gullible fools into believing you could speak to their dead relatives.'' He was trembling with rage now ''How much have made eh? A million? Two million? Three? You make me sick. Paul picked up the heavy crystal ball and shook it in his uncle's face he screamed ''You expect me to believe that you can see the future in this stupid bit of glass?'' He raised his hand and smashed the ball down on his uncle's head. ''You didn't see that coming did you eh? Did you smart arse?'' The old man never made a sound he just slipped sideways in his chair. Paul slumped down in his chair his temper was subsiding now and he realized what he had done.'' Think Paul think'' he said aloud. ''Ah yes a burglary, yes that's it.'' He went around the house wearing a pair of gloves he'd taken from the kitchen. He found a few hundred pounds here, a gold watch there and some of his late aunt's jewelry went into his pockets too. He found a safe in the main bedroom but it was locked and bolted to the floor. Going from room to room he ransacked the house taking everything he could carry that looked like it was worth money. In the end he had to stuff it all into one of his uncle's suitcases in order to carry it all. Leaving the front door ajar he hurried to his uncle's car and stuffed the suitcase in the back seat. He accelerated away down the long driveway. As he swung onto the road he saw a group of children dressed in halloween costumes approaching. He blasted the horn and they all leapt aside, all except one. He felt a slight thud on the side of the car and looked in the mirror to see a little girl sprawled in the road her witches hat rolling away from her. He never thought of stopping for one second the kid would just have to take her chances. When he thought he was clear he stopped the car in a deserted lane and set it alight. Lets see them get DNA from that he thought. It was five days later that he was arrested whilst trying to catch a flight to Spain. In his interview with the police he realized that the children he brushed past were able to identify him as the man driving away from his uncle's house. The little girl he hit had a broken arm but luckily, no thanks to Paul, she had gotten of lightly. During his police interview he was asked why he had struck his uncle. He replied that it was because he wouldn't go along with his plan and that he made him angry by calling him names. His answer seemed to puzzle the detective, he left the room to consult with a colleague. When he returned the officer, one detective Sergeant Phillips, told Paul and his lawyer that he was being charged with burglary Taking a car without the owners consent, driving without due care and attention and failing to stop after an accident. He would be remanded in custody pending a psychiatric assessment. ''What about the death of my uncle'' Paul asked surprised? The policeman looked at him quizzically ''we know that you struck your uncle with that paperweight thing but according to the post mortem report your uncle died of a heart attack at least twenty four hours before your visit.'' Paul fainted. After the trial Sergeant Phillips was talking to his inspector about the case. ''You know sir there is something rather strange about all this. Until two days before Joshua Basso died he had left half of his estate to his nephew and the other half to childrens' charities.'' ''Really Sergeant, then what?'' ''He visited his solicitor two days before his death and added a codicil to his will to the effect that his nephew should not inherit his share for a period of one year and a day after his death and if, during that time he was to acquire a criminal record, then he was to be disinherited and the whole estate should go to the charities.'' ''Now we know Paul Basso must be barking mad claiming he'd been talking to his uncle that day but it makes you wonder about this psychic stuff sir don't it?''
Archived comments for Trick or Treat
Bonnie on 01-11-2013
Trick or Treat
I enjoyed this story!

Author's Reply:
Thank you Bonnie I appreciate your kind comment glad you enjoyed the story.

Kipper on 02-11-2013
Trick or Treat
Good story Pronto, well told; and if the outcome was slightly predictable there was just enough uncertainty to maintain the suspense. Was the 'predictable' ending itself a ploy? Perhaps it was!
Well done,
Michael

Author's Reply:
Funny ain't it most others ( My none writing friends) didn't see the end as predictable at all. This though is always a problem for writers when writing for their peers. You lot are too experienced and too clever by half! πŸ™‚

Thanks for commenting Kipper and for the generous rating I'm grateful.

Mikeverdi on 03-11-2013
Trick or Treat
Good stuff! Needs a prune and polish but the story is there, and a good one. Mike

Author's Reply:
Thanks Mike praise indeed from a pen the quality of yours. I hate prunes they give me the trot, polish is ok though! πŸ˜‰

Kipper on 03-11-2013
Trick or Treat
A PS to my earlier comment.
I feel that I might have overstated the 'predictable' element of my earlier remarks which seemed to suggest that I saw the end more clearly than I did. On re-reading I see that while I felt sure that Uncle Joshua was in for a sticky end, the nature it coming about did have more of a surprise element that I gave you credit for.
In any event I enjoyed reading it again,
Michael

Author's Reply:
Thank you Michael that's very decent of you to say so. Glad you enjoyed my little tale and thank you again for re-reading it.
Tony


The Exorcists (posted on: 25-10-13)
A senior citizen's solution to an age old problem.

There's a haunted house up on the hill Very quiet, very still Folk who've been up there went mad From evil spirits very bad Exorcisms have been done But failed to shift them, nary a one We went up there the other day To let our grand kids have a play We thought if we scared the little gits Frightened them clear out their wits They'd let us have some peace sublime Stop mithering all the bloody time We can't keep up we're out of breath And of us both they'll be the death So we thought up this cunning plan We'd get our own back me and gran In they ran and saw a ghost Now I'm usually not the one to boast But instead of screaming on the run They simply thought they'd have some fun Granddad we set his coat alight It scorched his arse gave him a fright Next we saw a giant spider So we all sat down beside her She wouldn't read us a fairy story So we splattered her and left her gory Next upstairs beneath the bed We found a man without a head How do you eat? we all asked him No wonder he was looking thin He tried to chase us, give us a scare So we kicked his backside down the stair Oh gramps we've had a smashing day Can we come back soon to play? They went again but came out sad Not a jot of fun they'd had The ghost's had left after the riot Looking for some peace and quiet Now we make great cash from the little shits We hire 'em out as exorcists
Archived comments for The Exorcists

No comments archives found!
Senior Sexting (posted on: 25-10-13)
If you thought it's never too late read on:

Sexting's the latest thing I'm told If the young can do it why not us old? So when I was sure that I was alone I whipped off me trousers and reach for me phone Sent some pics to a lady I know in the town A horny old crone by the name of May Brown I thought she'd be thrilled at my actions meant kind I forgotten that May was considered half blind I got a reply which made me repent Asking just what the hell is it this picture you've sent? It looks so shriveled, wrinkled and small Flaccid, useless and good for damn all Whatever it is there's one thing I can do Bring it around and I'll iron it for you.
Archived comments for Senior Sexting
OldPeculier on 25-10-2013
Senior Sexting
Made me spit my Sugar Puffs over my laptop. Laughing while having breakfast.

Very good

Author's Reply:
Thanks OP for your kind comment I'm glad it gave you a giggle.

Bozzz on 26-10-2013
Senior Sexting
Some stumbling blocks in the flow as a poem, but who cares when the reward is the best belly laugh of the week.
Loved it...David

Author's Reply:
Thank you David,

Are you sure your eyeballs are ok? Maybe imperfections are what make some poems work.Great rating mate much appreciated!

Andrea on 27-10-2013
Senior Sexting
Haha, brilliant!

Author's Reply:
Thanks Andrea for the coment nd the high rating. If it amused you then I've done my job. πŸ™‚

stormwolf on 27-10-2013
Senior Sexting
LOL!!!

Good one!
Someone once sent me a text to ask if I had liked the pic he sent me of his Willie. I texted back to say that I had not received such a thing and that he had the wrong number anyway. After a few mins he texted again to ask if I wanted to see it now?
lol

Alison x
(of course I declined ) *evil grin*

Author's Reply:
Hi Alison,
I've often wondered why folk feel the need to send photos of their naughty bits I'd be too embarrassed!

Thanks for the comment.


Snakes and Ladders (posted on: 18-10-13)
A cautionary tale for all would-be gardeners, do gooders et al

There I was folks peacefully mowing me lawn for the last time this summer when the electric cable supplying the mower somehow managed to get itself caught under the blades. Severed it was and all badly chewed up at the end and thrown behind me. Well ah were reet confused at first I can tell thee I stood scratching me 'ead fer a bit trying t' figure what 'ad gone wrong like. Stepping back from me dead machine I found out what were wrong as ah stood on the shredded electric wire. The shock sent me crashing into the window cleaner's ladder, he let go a sort of strangled yelp and sailed reet over the garden fence. Talk about a lucky bugger his fall were broken by the roof of my neighbour's greenhouse; well the lad 'ad a few lacerations like but nowt that a blood transfusion wouldn't cure. Now me neighbour John, 'e's a bit of a humourless git, come out of 'is 'ouse to see what were up. He went bloody wild at the window cleaner 'cos he'd flattened his best tomato plants and squashed all the tomatoes he were showin' that weekend at the harvest festival show. John has won first prize these last three years and were expecting to do it again.I think it were that that might have upset 'im a bit. 'Bloody sabotage' he yelled and started jumping up and down, by god he were fair spitting feathers. He grabbed a plant pot and started clouting the window cleaner round the 'ead with it. The poor bloody window cleaner were crying and wailing and trying to explain it weren't his fault like but John weren't listening so I grabbed one of his broken bamboo tomato poles and give 'im a swift jab in the arse just to get his attention tha' knows. I'm not a gardener, how the 'ell was I to know broken bamboo is razor sharp? I weren't being nasty or owt. Ah said 'hey oop John lad don't take on so, tha' can allus fry 'em up for thee breakfast like.' Well ah were only trying to be helpful, there were no need to thump me too. All this noise and kerfuffle attracted the attention of the missus who, up 'til that time, had been quietly knitting me a willie warmer fer a Christmas present out of an old ball of string she'd found on the rubbish tip. 'What the 'ell's 'appening 'ere?' says she picking up the mower wire and walking through the broken fence. Well when she saw the window cleaner laying in the greenhouse covered in blood she remembered doing first aid years ago.' Hold that a minute' she said handing John the wire. There were a big blue flash and a bang and John went flying though his garage window and knocked over a big pillar drill that fell off the bench and landed with an almighty bang on the bonnet of the vintage car he'd just finished restoring. The missus stood staring with her gob open for a second then whacked me around the ear hole as hard as she could. 'What the 'ell were that fer?' I wailed. 'That could have been me yer feckless owd fart' she snapped 'you should 'ave switched the bloody power off.' John's piercing scream caused his wife Joan to leave her ironing and dash down to see what was going on. Well she screamed too and ran into the garage to where John was on his knees clutching his broken ribs and looking at his vintage car. He were sobbing hysterically for some reason, some folk are very easily upset you know. Well you know what youngsters are like now-a-days no work ethic at all so I thought the window cleaner had probably better take the rest of the day off and maybe have the ambulance folk look him over to be on the safe side so I went into the house to ring 'em. As I was ringing 'em I noticed smoke pouring out of an upstairs window in John's house. Ah said 'Oh and can yer send the fire brigade as well please next door seems to be afire.' Apparently when Joan had heard John scream she'd dived down stairs from her workroom but she'd left the hot iron on a nylon shirt she'd been ironing and it had caught light. I must say the emergency services were there real quick. Whilst the ambulance folk were applying pressure to the window cleaner's scratches, sorting the slight compound fracture of his left femur and getting a drip into him the firemen turned up. Not one's for talking first and acting later those fire lads. The front door were locked so they took an axe to it and battered it down to run in a hose. It were a real pity 'cos the front door were a reet posh 'un, brand new it were and made out of solid polished oak. I believe it had cost John and Joan over fifteen hundred pounds just the week before, shame really. Well I watched the firemen until they came out of John's house again and the guy at the fire engine shut the pump down. I were proper impressed with the speed they'd sorted the fire so I run across to tell 'em. Now unfortunately in my enthusiasm to deliver my praise and admiration I tripped over the damned fire hose and went arse over tit into the lad controlling the pump. He shot his hand out to save himself as we fell and his flailing hand caught the pump lever. Lots of things happened all at once after that. The engine revs went berserk, the hosepipe instantly filled with water which shot out of the end causing it to start thrashing wildly like a giant snake gone mad. Now this in itself wouldn't have been too bad as it only knocked a couple of firemen off their feet and wet them a bit. However the paramedics chose that very moment to appear round the side of house wheeling the window cleaner down the rather steep drive to the ambulance with him strapped to the stretcher, gurney thingy. The hose took the legs from under the lady pushing the damn gurney thingy and off it shot down the drive with the strapped on window cleaner screaming his head off. Again he had incredible good luck as the bus driver saw him just in time and managed to swerve across the road missing him by inches and hitting the ambulance instead shunting it into the fire engine with a hell of a bang. Fortunately the gurney managed to stop when it hit the curbstone on the opposite side of the road and tipped up on its end. I found out later that the window cleaner didn't have a fractured skull before that happened but, hey, it could have been worse. At this point it all got a bit too much for me and our lass we ran in the house and hid under the bed 'til the shouting died down and the people off the bus had been treated by the fleet of ambulances that attended. I said to the missus 'well bounce my bollocks on a baseball bat, it was damn lucky the ambulance was already there because the paramedic who's been knocked over had her broken ankle seen to straight away. John and Joan's 'ouse were in a right state 'an no mistake, the smoke had damaged all John's decorating which he'd just had done and the water had ruined the bedroom carpet. It also brought down the kitchen ceiling and buggered up their nice kitchen units as well as completely wrecking their electrical system. We did offer to put them up for the night but they both refused muttering something about they'd feel safer sleeping in a minefield. Very harsh attitude I thought. The window cleaner was out of intensive care after a couple of weeks but, although he's well on the mend and will be discharged soon, he says he has given up window cleaning for good leaving me with dirty windows the rotten sod, after me calling the ambulance for him as well. No gratitude some folk. Post Script: All this happened a month ago and now John and Joan won't speak to us and have put their house on the market. The local papers exaggerated the whole affair as usual saying that damage amounting to half a million had been done and not all compensation claims have been finalized yet. As a result no one will call and clean me windows or cut me lawn so I was wondering would you mind coming round this weekend to give us a hand?
Archived comments for Snakes and Ladders
mageorge on 20-10-2013
Snakes and Ladders
Ha-ha... Loved it, pronto! Loved the dialogue, very funny. No, I think I'll give it a miss (comin' round ta yours)

Great laugh.

Regards,
Mark.

Author's Reply:
Why thank you Mark for the kind comments and for the high rating too. If you change your mind about the visit the offer's still open! πŸ˜‰


Chaos Rules OK? (posted on: 11-10-13)
It's surprising what can happen on a quiet walk in the country especially to an ignorant owd git like me!

Well this morning the missus says she fancies a walk in the country so off we went to the bus stop. I took me big golf umbrella to use as a walking stick and in case it rained. Now when we got to the bus stop me right hip were aching a bit so I puts the umbrella down and leaned on it. There was this hideous, agonized scream right down me hearing aid, it fair frightened the life out of me it did so that I near jumped out of me skin. It was this woman stood next to me in the queue I'd accidentally put the point of me brolly on 'er foot like. She was hopping about and screeching 'Me foot, oh me foot.' I tried to cheer her up a bit by saying 'well never mind lass tha's got another one.' I were only trying to make light of it like. 'Er 'usband were reet upset by this, some folk are easily upset you know. 'Yer ought to more careful yer damned owd fool' 'e bawled at me and started kicking off calling me all sorts. 'Si' thi' lad' ah said, waving me umbrella at him 'it were an accident reet?' 'Accident' he yelled 'Ah'll make thee 'ave an accident.' And with that he takes a swing at me with his brolly. Well I blocked his swipe with my brolly and took a swipe of me own which he blocked so I takes another. In the meantime the bus came and the driver, seeing us having a 'sword fight,' thought better of stopping and went right past us. Next thing ah knows the missus is a poundin' me back and screaming fer me t' stop but ah couldn't stop until t'other bloke did. In the end I could see he were getting out of breath even quicker than me so I ducked his next swipe and come up using me brolly like a soldier wi' a rifle an' bayonet and give him a good poke in the guts. He fell to his knees with a sort of gagging sound and puked all over his wife's shoes. There was this other bloke at the bus stop and tears were rolling down his cheeks; he said he hadn't had such a great laugh since his granny caught her tits in a revolving door. Anyway the couple that 'ad fallen out with me staggered off home and I had a half hour's ear bashing off the missus until the next bus came. . When we got t' this 'ere village the level crossing were shut fer a train t' go through and we stood quietly by the barrier chatting to this lady with a dog. Up rode this girl on her horse and waited like us then a car came behind her and stopped. All was peaceful and serene until this bloke rode up on his motor bike now I likes motor bikes so I went to have a look at it. I saw it were a Kawasaki and I like Hondas so I said 'A reet load o' rubbish these mate ain't they?' I was only giving my opinion like but he took the hump and blasted his way to the front of the queue and started revving like mad. This revving startled the horse and it lashed out backwards smashing the car's headlight. Out got the motorist and started yelling at the girl on the horse poor sod. I made me way back to the missus and the dog lady who'd witnessed the accident .She handed me her dog lead whilst she went to explain to the irate motorist. Things were getting real heated and I thought the motorist chap was getting out of order so I tied the dog to some handy railings and went to calm him down. Throughout all this excitement the dog was barking and jumping up and down wanting to defend his owner, the noise and confusion were terrific. Anyway I managed to calm the bloke down a bit by gently gripping his windpipe and coaxing him back into his car. In the meantime the train passed and the dog went quiet. Not the owner though she ran screaming up to the man in the signal box 'cos without thinking I'd tied the animal to the barrier rails and there it was dangling by its lead ten foot up in the air kicking like mad and making awful choking noises, not looking at all happy it weren't. The guy in the signal box looked horrified and dived back inside to lower the barrier again as fast as he could . The trouble was the girl on the 'orse was in the middle of the crossing and the motorist had started to move off. The lad on the bike who'd retreated to the back of the queue to avoid the trouble with the motorist decided he'd blast past everyone and make a fast getaway. The barrier came crashing down on the car smashing its windscreen and the daft sod on the bike rode face first into the barrier. He went flying backwards off his machine and lay there groaning. As his bike slid across the crossing the fuel cap came off and the sparks that were flying from its underside ignited the spilling fuel and up it went with a terrific whoosh. This terrified the already spooked horse and it reared up then bolted down the railway line with its rider hanging desperately round its neck shrieking for help. The motorist completely lost the plot he leapt out of his car screaming like a banshee and started kicking seven bells out of the biker. As me and our lass slipped surreptitiously away the dog lady was hugging her hound and howling hysterically the signalman was staring down on the scene white faced and open mouthed like he was about to go mad. I said to the missus 'Well bugger me backwards with a broken beer bottle we've only been in the village five minutes and we've been caught up in a riot, I'm damn glad I don't live in this place it's chaotic.' It's been on the local T.V. news would you believe and the police are looking for me to 'assist them with their enquiries' as they say. Could I come and stay with you until things quieten down please?
Archived comments for Chaos Rules OK?
deadpoet on 11-10-2013
Chaos Rules OK?
Very amusing. Not a peaceful walk in the country at all.

;)Pia

Author's Reply:
Hi DP a bit crude I was at the start please don't think it was me! πŸ˜‰ Thanks for dropping by and commenting.

JackCrowe on 13-10-2013
Chaos Rules OK?
It's true, trouble seems to follow some people around. But this is extreme. Great fun though.

Author's Reply:
Thanks for your comments Jack.

Trouble does indeed follow me around In fact things happen to me which are totally outrageous like on my 27th parachute jump I had a total failure of my main canopy to deploy. Using the reserve, which is rather small, I managed to land on the only bit of concrete for miles around and bounce my backside. People who had done two thousand jumps plus were coming up and asking me what it was like as they had never used a reserve even once.
On my first sailing lesson when we were just supposed to be tootling about on a fairly calm day a huge gust suddenly sprang up and I was knocked overboard. Stuff like that just happens to me however these happenings are pure BS. πŸ˜‰

Weefatfella on 13-10-2013
Chaos Rules OK?
 photo 89f4a5d0-5f15-4509-881e-443a08debcc5_zps272a8411.jpg
Eee up, Lad. Ad us ut great time reading this. It were loovly. Giggled out loud tha knows. Twere really nicely done there lad. When I get tut Tholesaler I'll ave us ut bag u sweeties Tha knows.
Weefatfella.

Author's Reply:
Thanks for the kind and very amusing comment WFF. I had a giggle reading your response thou got th'accent spot on owd lad!. Reet gradely!

mageorge on 13-10-2013
Chaos Rules OK?
Good old, solid, language. Not alien to me...

Nice write!

Regards,
Mark

Author's Reply:
Thank you for the kind comment and very generous rating.


Split the Difference (posted on: 04-10-13)
Too late the victims are considered, too great the damage we do by selfish acts.

And now perforce we must divorce Where did we go wrong? Our dreams it seems Lie shattered, scattered Along the highways and byways of life Man and wife locked in strife Children torn Forlorn Paying the price for our dead love God above Forgive us this trespass
Archived comments for Split the Difference
deadpoet on 04-10-2013
Split the Difference
My parents should never have gotten married,let alone had kids-

Author's Reply:
I can sympathize with you there DP, As children my brother and I used to think orphans were lucky buggers.

Thanks a lot for the comment.

Bozzz on 06-10-2013
Split the Difference
Shit happens - and having experienced it, we learn and live on. Tense poem - sorry is a poor plaster as your god might say. Well expressed piece Pronto - if it was you, my sympathy....David

Author's Reply:
Hi David,
Thank you for the kind comment mate. Yes I have been there and, as you quite rightly say, it happens. Now have been moved on, yeah these many years, but sometimes we think back, not so?
Luv & hugz,


Kipper on 06-10-2013
Split the Difference
Hi pronto

That clearly came from the heart. I notice that you posted your poem under 'Romance' but there seemed to be precious little of that.

Those of us whose lives were not turned upside down are perhaps the lucky ones. Notwithstanding your closeness to the subject it is a good and well told rendering.

Michael



Author's Reply:

Kipper on 06-10-2013
Split the Difference
Hi pronto
That clearly came from the heart. I notice that you posted your open under 'Romance' but there seemed to be precious little of that.
Those of us whose lives were not turned upside down are perhaps the lucky ones. Notwithstanding your closeness to the subject it is a good and well told rendering.
Michael


Author's Reply:


Ageing Romeo (posted on: 27-09-13)
Sometimes our ambition outstrips our ability!

Having still got my own hair and teeth It is my deep, sincere belief I can still shag ya If only with Viagra I would screw you this week whilst yer husband is away But the guy who lifts me on and off has gone on holiday!
Archived comments for Ageing Romeo
Bozzz on 27-09-2013
Aging Romeo
Nicely put.Sir. Succintly off message ...Bozzz

Men keep on trying
----------------
Sex in dotage stays a powerful drug.
Unrequited, still the passion lingers.
The mind will not admit the power is gone,
Yet keeps the faith alive with feeble fingers,
Holds the eye intent on female form,
To wrest a single second’s former joy.
Ever searching now the primal storm
Of its first taking, then the pubic boy.

David.

Author's Reply:
Thank you David for your kind remarks and great rating. I loved your offering too, so annoyingly true! πŸ˜‰

ValDohren on 28-09-2013
Aging Romeo
What's puzzling me Pronto is the age of the lucky lady?
Val πŸ™‚

Author's Reply:
Thanks for the comment Val but as you know a true lady never discusses her age! πŸ˜‰

Andrea on 28-09-2013
Aging Romeo
Hahah, very funny

(although 'aging' should be 'ageing' πŸ™‚

Author's Reply:
Thanks Andrea I must be ageing slipping up like that!!
Luv & hugz,
Tony


Of Summer Gone (posted on: 23-09-13)
A far remembered summer of bliss lost

Under louring skies of deepest winter will I remember those days sun drenched and flowing with unbounded joy your smile, your touch gone from me now with angry eye with bitter cry oh joyous yesterdays gone by even as the sun shines and birds foretell new summer yet I dwell in dark shadows of an empty heart could I have loved you more could I have spoken a more tender word kept you more deeply in my breast you who with the summer fled my empty bed sole witness to those acts that kept us bonded like immortal spirits soaring passions assuaged not with lustfulness but purest love known for but that fleeting summer And with the summer linnets flown
Archived comments for Of Summer Gone
orangedream on 23-09-2013
Of Summer Gone
An emotive poem, beautifully written.

Tina

Author's Reply:
Thank you for the kind comment Tina

cooky on 23-09-2013
Of Summer Gone
Excellent write. Captures that rare moment that only a few mortals will ever know.

Author's Reply:
Thank you cooky for your generous rating and kind words.

ValDohren on 24-09-2013
Of Summer Gone
Beautiful Pronto, especially like the last verse.
Val

Author's Reply:
Thank you Val for the great comment and rating. I'm glad you enjoyed it.

Algy on 26-09-2013
Of Summer Gone
Hi Pronto. Thanks. Am reminded that the seasons roll on, and soon the swallows will return.

Author's Reply:
Thanks Algy for your comment (Twice) and rating. The summer did indeed return the girl did not! Boo hoo ah well!

Algy on 26-09-2013
Of Summer Gone
Hi Pronto. Thanks. Am reminded that the seasons roll on, and soon the swallows will return.

Author's Reply:


The Chase (posted on: 23-09-13)
Beware of psychic pets they know of your intent!

Oh god I'm on the verge of death I'm in great pain and out of breath I've been trying to catch our moggie My head is spinning, vision foggy The little bastard ran away She knows that it's the vets today She needs a needle, worming pill But catching her is going to kill She ran upstairs I chased her there Where she dived behind a chair I went to grab her banged my head Then cracked my shin against the bed Down she ran into the cellar Pursued by me poor hapless fella Behind my wine rack then she hid Oh I do regret what next I did Grabbing wildly at her fur I didn't see the danger there Knocked rack over with a crash Sixty bottles gone for being rash I slipped upon the soaking floor As the little sod ran out the door Landing on the broken glass I lacerated my poor ass You great dumb brute the Missus said And slapped me hard around the head Come here Tiddles sweety poo What's that bad man done to you? Up she jumped upon the missus's knee Purring, preening happily I swear one day before I die I'll make that cat into a pie!
Archived comments for The Chase
deadpoet on 23-09-2013
The Chase
this really made me chuckle. It's a classic. You might want to use some punctuation.

Author's Reply:
Thanks for the kind comment and rating mate. I did think of punctuation but thought I might do more harm than good so I thought well they've all heard of DIY πŸ™‚

Bozzz on 23-09-2013
The Chase
Delightful poem Pronto - I laughed all the way through. There are one or two lapses in the beat - not difficult to deal with and they do tend to mar an otherwise immaculate and riotous piece..Great fun....Bozzz

Author's Reply:
Thank you Bozzz for your kind comments and high rating I'll have a look and see if I can rejig it somewhat.

ValDohren on 23-09-2013
The Chase
Needed a laugh Pronto, and this duly provided. How's your ass now by the way ?!

Val

Author's Reply:
Hi Val thanks for commenting, my ass is first class thanks for ass-king and blessings upon you for the generous rating. πŸ™‚

Weefatfella on 25-09-2013
The Chase
 photo 89f4a5d0-5f15-4509-881e-443a08debcc5_zps272a8411.jpg

Ha! Magic.  photo catpie_zpsa7fb8721.jpgCat Pie.. Yukk!
Weefatfella.

Author's Reply:
Oh nice one WFF trust you to come up trumps! Thanks for dropping by mate I've posted more lunacy which will be available next upload. πŸ™‚

pommer on 25-09-2013
The Chase
Had a real good laugh Pronto,Being a cat person. I could see the scene. Great poem , Pommer.

Author's Reply:
Thanks Pommer for the great rating and comment. I too love the little buggers they're so damned independent although there are times I could gleefully strangle mine. She's not called Mischief for nothing.


Sally Snott (posted on: 13-09-13)
This is a caricature of someone we've all worked with at one time or another. Now she's been forced to tell the truth!

I am a snivelling arse wipe my name is Sally Snott, Your secrets are not safe with me I gossip quite a lot, I glide around the office being everybody's friend, And if you've personal problems false sympathy I'll lend. You tell me, confidentially, your boyfriend's just left you, And now you think you're pregnant and don't know what to do, I'll sigh and say I'm sorry and give a sympathetic smile, But all will know your secret girl in just a little while. Taking coffee to the boss's office I say good morning Bob, Then let him grope my tits and arse that's how I keep my job, 'Cos I'm a useless bugger not good at anything, Except lolling in a wine bar whilst wearing lot's of bling. I am a sly and slimy git, who really takes great pleasure, In setting folk at loggerheads then watching at my leisure, ''Please do keep this secret do you know what Julie said? She told me confidentially she's had your bloke in bed.'' ''Oh please don't say I told you it would cause me lots of woe, But really Susan dah-ling I thought that you should know.'' And so I spread my vitriol round the office personnel, It's because I'm an unhappy bitch at home my life is hell. My husband's a fat bald bastard, who's as smarmy as he's smug, He visits massage parlours and thinks I don't know the mug, But I will not divorce him 'cos his salary's is very high, So I keep on over feeding him and hope the sod will die. We've never had any kids you see too selfish both are we, For self indulgent pleasures we both need to be free, We love expensive holidays and dining out a lot, And we never tire of hinting of how much money we have got. We pretend we're very happy and have everything in life, We put on this act to hide the fact we're full of inner strife, Constantly we're worried about what other people think, So we go posing down the golf club buying everyone a drink. Last year we had a gardener a handsome slender lad, I used to screw the arse off him, best sex I ever had, He borrowed lots of cash from me and never did come back, So I had to tell my husband that I'd given him the sack. ''He was always making eyes at me'' I with straight face said, ''And unpleasant innuendo about taking me to bed, So do not ring him up my dear it would embarrass both of us, And we can't afford a scandal love so please don't make a fuss.'' But secretly I'm burning up with hurt and injured pride, I yearn for his young body, to feel his rock-hard cock inside, That's why I'm such a bitter bitch who'll hurt you if she can, I envy your relationship with your tender loving man.
Archived comments for Sally Snott
Andrea on 13-09-2013
Sally Snott
Gawd, yes, I've known a few of them in me time...

Author's Reply:

franciman on 13-09-2013
Sally Snott
Yes, it has a real ring of truth.
Found this a bit clunky in parts, a little difficult to scan, although I would think it is easier as a performance piece.
Small things:
Line 4 - 'And if your problems personal false sympathy I’ll lend'- perhaps?
Line 6 - add another 'you'?
Line 23 - lose 'is'?
Line 26 - 'we both feel we should be free' - perhaps?
Feel free to take the advice or not. I won't be offended.
I enjoyed this.
cheers,
Jim

Author's Reply:
Thanks mate for taking the time to comment and for the generous rating. I may well take your advice and polish it a bit. I think sometimes I get too near the wood and find it difficult to see the trees. That's the trouble with posting after a few glasses of the 'red stuff' then forgetting you've done until the after comments come in! πŸ˜‰

roger303 on 15-09-2013
Sally Snott
Loved it.
Needs work, as per Jim's suggestions. That red stuff is responsible for so much!
Looking forward to more.
regards
Roger

Author's Reply:
Thanks Roger I'm working on it as we write! I promise I'll try to buck me ideas up! πŸ™‚


The Psalm of the Sergeant (posted on: 30-08-13)
A short story based on a real happening (Subject to the usual military Bull and hyperbole!)

''Why were you leading the whole bloody regiment sergeant?'' ''I dunno sah'' I bawled slamming up to attention ''It just happened I was commanding my vehicle when I was told to lead my packet sah.'' ''And who put your packet at the front of your battery which was leading the whole bloody regiment Sergeant?'' The colonel sounded annoyed beyond words his normal calm persona having temporarily deserted him. The thing is sergeants don't lead regiments; it just is not done except on this occasion it was. No one would have been any the wiser had I not dropped an enormous clanger. ''My troop commander sah'' In the Royal Artillery the armoured command post often leads the battery with the command post officer stuck out of the hatch pretending he can read a map. He is followed by the guns, their huge supercharged engines howling as they greedily devour diesel and air whilst belching black fumes from their exhausts. On this day we were short of officers, we were always short of officers in the sixties, and I was deputizing. No problem there as I'd done it a few times before. I was standing up through the open hatch catching all the weather whilst my troop commander led the second packet from the relative comfort of a Land Rover. The route instructions were simple, well written and clear: maintain a speed of eighteen miles per hour, fifty metres between vehicles and four hundred metres between each packet of vehicles that way we didn't create traffic chaos. My unit was leading a column of sixty odd vehicles going on exercise with the American army down in the south of Germany. We had travelled overnight on a very uncomfortable freight train then, at some god forsaken hour of the morning, we'd disembarked the vehicles and were finally heading for our camp still many miles away. ''Have you seen the extent of the damage sergeant?'' colonel Parmeter wanted to know. ''No sah'' I replied a few decibels quieter. ''Well I have and let me tell you, sergeant, it runs into many thousands of pounds.'' the ominous tone of his voice left me with a deep sense of impending disaster. The route instructions we were given ran to four pages. I was the only vehicle commander in the whole damn regiment to have been given just three pages, my page four was awol. I had no idea there was a fourth page. That would not have been such a problem if only my instructions, by a quirk of fate, hadn't run out just as we arrived at the gates of an American army base. Instead of going straight on I thought Ah we must be here then and turned in followed by my four monstrous guns. The colonel's voice dropped to a quiet hiss ''The roadways in that American camp are eight feet wide around their one way system which is quite adequate for their light infantry vehicles sergeant.'' My heart sank.Our tracked (American) 175 mm self propelled guns were eleven foot wide juggernauts with thirty odd foot long barrels that alone weighed nine tons. I pictured the neatly kept lawns and flower beds that had adorned the edges of the roadway past their command buildings. I had to pass these HQ buildings in order to correct my route. A bemused military policeman had stopped me holding a visitors list on his clipboard and informed me we were not on it. And did I know the gun tracks had churned up his commanding officer's flower beds as well as the asphalt road? The commanding officer, he informed me, was not best pleased about it and would I kindly get the hell off his base. Oh Jaysus, I'd managed to upset two armies in the space of but a few minutes. There was nothing else for it but to continue around the one way system to the exit followed by my convoy. My next problem loomed quickly. I was fast approaching a Tee junction and the arrangement of the buildings around it, one on each corner and one dead opposite, meant the guns would be unable to negotiate it. There was nothing for it but to order my driver to cut the corner by driving over what appeared to be some neatly clipped grass. ''Swing her left Jock'' I said into the microphone. ''Left it is Sarge'' came the reply from my driver, I could tell by the gleeful note in his voice that the little bugger was enjoying himself immensely. Half way across I looked back to ensure the guns were following me it was then I saw my tracks were flinging up great clods of this once gorgeous greensward which I now recognized was a beautifully manicured pitch and putt course. I groaned inwardly as my radio burst into life. ''Hello 2 this is 9 where the hell are you? Over. My call sign was 2, 9 was the colonel of the regiment. This was turning out to be a real shit day. ''Go to your vehicle and bring me your route instructions sergeant.'' Colonel Parmeter snapped. My heart palpitated as I threw up a salute, did a smart about turn and doubled away. Oh Jaysus Mary and Joseph I prayed grant, I beseech thee, a swift and painless death or rescue me in this my hour of greatest need. This fiasco could cost me at least one of my three stripes, and the consequent shame of demotion. I found my map case and extracted the papers there were just three sheets neatly stapled together. Then I saw to my horror another copy of the instructions lying on top of the radio a quick check revealed that these contained the required four pages. Bloody hell! If these were found in this vehicle I was in deep shit. All possible excuses would be swept aside and retribution would be swift and harsh. I quickly stuffed the surplus papers down the front of my trousers and returned to the colonel. He examined my instructions for what seemed like and age turning them over looking keenly at the staple seeking evidence that it had once held a fourth page. ''And this is all you were given?'' ''Yessah!'' He paused for an eternity just staring at me then ordered ''Ask your troop commander, Major Bladon and Major Allsop if they would be kind enough to join me Sergeant.'' ''Sah.'' I yelled, saluting smartly. I departed sharpish in pursuit of the said officers. Major Bladon was my battery commander and Allsop was the battery commander of HQ battery who was responsible for issuing the route instructions. I hovered at a distance whilst the officers shuffled uncomfortably in front of the colonel. Odd scraps of their conversation drifted my way. ''He's very unhappy…'' ripped up tarmac…. Flowerbeds trashed… What the hell…? How are we going…? ''He's coming over…'' ''Bloody hell Patrick…'' I couldn't hear much because of the noisy guns but could tell from the body language that my troop commander lieutenant Patrick Sheppard was getting a right old bollocking. The nasty sinking feeling in my stomach told me this episode was going to rumble on and on and that a huge mountain of poo was about to hit several fans in both armies; these fans, I felt, were aimed squarely at me. For some reason the twenty third psalm was going through my head 'yeah though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death yet will I fear no evil' was somehow stuck on repeat. The group of officers broke up and Major Bladon came up to me looking annoyed and embarrassed. ''This is all your fault sergeant, what the hell possessed you to turn into that camp man?'' He didn't bother to hide his exasperation. Before I could reply he continued ''There is, I'm told, a very senior American officer who is most displeased with you sergeant, most displeased indeed and he'll be here shortly to voice his displeasure to the colonel.'' he paused eyeing me up and down. ''Now for god's sake man should he ask to see you do try and give a good impression. You must stand to attention at all times and explain as briefly as possible how you made your mistake without making excuses. Is that clear?'' ''Yes sir.'' Now that we had finally arrived where we were supposed to be, a scruffy training camp a few miles down the road from the posh American one I'd trashed, I had work to do. The current situation took priority of course so I was left to stand outside the building that was to serve as the officers' mess for what seemed like an age all the time reciting the twenty third psalm. Now I'm not a religious man in the accepted sense of the word but the constant repetition helped calm my nerves. Anyway it could do no harm to enlist as much help as possible. The sleek American staff car was driving sedately up the road to the mess. On each wing a brightly coloured pennant fluttered proclaiming the importance of the car's occupant. Oh gord I thought as a shiver ran down my spine this was going to be even worse that I thought. I was recently married with a new born daughter. Ellen, my wife of a year, loved mess life and took to it like a duck to water. Now, due to my ill luck and/or stupidity, I was about to lose the lot. Such were the dark thoughts consuming my mind as the car drew to a halt. The driver got out and opened the rear door to reveal a two star general no less in all his finery. My colonel and his tribe of officers came out of the mess to salute the general somberly. No one even glanced at me standing to attention as stiff as a cigar store Indian as the party went inside. The general's chauffeur returned to the car and sat studiously ignoring me. I knew what was going on inside the mess of course the officer clan would be closing ranks tighter than a beaver's backside ensuring all the shit slid off them and landed on me. It was ever thus. After about fifteen minutes the general came out alone and approached me. I felt my throat go dry as he regarded me speculatively for a moment then he said ''let's walk sergeant.'' I was startled by this I didn't expect the general would want to walk with me for social reasons I thought maybe he's looking for a quiet spot to shoot me. ''Tell me what happened son.'' Son? Did I hear right? The quiet way in which the question was put threw me somewhat, was he trying to lull me into a false sense of security? I explained as concisely as I could about the route instructions ending: ''I'd like to apologize sir.'' We stopped about fifty yards from the mess and I assumed the attention position. ''At ease sergeant'' said the general in the same quiet voice. As I relaxed my trousers sagged slightly revealing the top edge of my hurriedly hidden paperwork. The sharp eyed general asked ''what's that sticking out of the top of your trousers sergeant?'' My heart sank oh god that's it I thought, my numbers up. I could hear the cell door clanging shut behind me. ''That is a copy of the full route instructions sir.'' ''So you had them all along eh?'' he sounded deeply disappointed. ''No sir'' I explained how I'd found them later. General Stirrup, looked me in the eye for a long moment as if trying to make his mind up about me. He then held out his hand and asked ''May I see those papers?'' I handed them over a feeling of deepest despair engulfing me. He leafed through them briefly ''What do you expect will happen now soldier?'' he asked his voice suddenly sharp. One thing I learned in the army was that one never made excuses no matter what and you don't whine. Ever. If you're caught out own up immediately and take your punishment that way things blow over a lot quicker. ''Court martial sir'' I replied unable to keep the sadness out of my voice, ''reduced to the ranks and probably an unaccompanied posting to the rocket range on the Outer Hebrides.'' ''You reckon you deserve that?'' he asked his voice casual once more. ''Yes sir'' ''So does every golf playing officer on my base sergeant most of 'em want to lynch you.'' He paused ''Well I don't agree with 'em son.'' I was shocked to the core I expected him to be sending for a military escort to jail me. ''How long have you been a sergeant?'' he asked. ''Six months sir'' Waving the route instructions the general asked ''May I keep these?'' Again I was shocked ''Certainly sir.'' He folded the papers carefully and slipped them into the inside pocket of his overcoat. As we walked slowly back to the mess he smiled at me ''You wanna know why I let you off the hook sergeant?'' he asked in an avuncular way. ''Er, yes sir, please sir'' I said feeling very wary and at a loss understand his attitude. ''Well son you were given a job that clearly wasn't yours and, as far as I can see, you did it pretty well until things went wrong and you were kinda left out on a limb. OK so you made a bad call but then you took full responsibility for your mistake. As for hiding these papers,'' he tapped his pocket conspiratorially; hell I'd have done the same in your position.'' I could hardly believe what I was hearing I reckon if he'd been a British general my feet wouldn't have touched. Burning with curiosity but not wanting to push my luck either I coughed nervously before saying ''may I ask why you want those papers sir?'' He gave a short snorting laugh ''I used to lecture on the importance of accurate military communications'' he said ''It's a kinda hobby horse of mine. I'm going to frame these and keep 'em in my office as a reminder to always be impeccable with my communications.'' He then looked stern again as we approached nearer the mess ''I've still got around fifty thousand dollars worth of damage I gotta fix though.'' We stopped again a few yards from the mess I could see various officers casting surreptitious glances through the windows at us anxious to know result of this interview. ''When I was driving up Sergeant I swear I saw your lips moving were you praying or something?'' ''Yes sir, twenty third psalm sir.'' ''Oh yeah'' he said smiling ''I used that one a lot in the Korean war, works pretty good don't it?'' Next morning my battery commander sent for me. ''Sergeant Gilhooly'' he said a puzzled tone in his voice ''I don't know what on earth you said to general Stirrup but he seems to be most impressed with you, he's invited all the officers over for drinks this evening. How on earth did you did you manage to get on such good terms with a very senior officer in so short a time? I grinned at him happily. ''We sing the same psalms sir.''
Archived comments for The Psalm of the Sergeant
Weefatfella on 30-08-2013
The Psalm of the Sergeant
 photo b75165e4-7600-48cb-b7fd-9f85d6470df7_zps4cd05353.jpg
Brilliant.
Loved it. Well written too, if you don't mind me saying.
Weefatfella.

Author's Reply:
Why thank you WFF praise from your pen is praise indeed.

Nomenklatura on 31-08-2013
The Psalm of the Sergeant
So much better than many examples of this kind of thing. Funny, too.

Author's Reply:
So glad you enjoyed it mate thank you very much.

Mikeverdi on 04-09-2013
The Psalm of the Sergeant
Late to the feast, and what a feast it is; agree with the others...bloody brilliant! Mike

Author's Reply:
Thanks a million Mike for your kind comments and generous rating I'm so glad you enjoyed it.

amman on 05-09-2013
The Psalm of the Sergeant
I'm also a tad late to the feast, but well worth the retrospective reading. Flows well and smacks of authenticity. One minor observation; the General would probably speak quite formally and not use words like 'wanna' and 'gotta'.
Good title and clever ending. I feel compelled to put this one into favs.
Cheers.
Tony.

Author's Reply:
Thank you very much I'm flattered by your generous rating and kind comments. It is based on a real happening although served with 'salad and dressing.'
Warm regards,
Tony


Royal Navy (Retired) (posted on: 30-08-13)
Upon leaving service life some folk find it hard to break old habits.

Upon leaving the forces he was bored with nowt to do So he worked part time as a greeter at a store called B&Q The management loved him the customers thought him great There was just one small problem he always came in late The exasperated manager had a quiet word For an ex serviceman like you John lateness is absurd What did they say in the Navy when you turned up late? I'll bet you got a bollocking for making people wait No they never showed me anger their smiles were bright and fair They said good morning Admiral would you like some coffee sir? πŸ˜‰
Archived comments for Royal Navy (Retired)
pommer on 30-08-2013
Royal Navy (Retired)
Absolutely great,Pronto. Pommer.

Author's Reply:
Thanks Pommer sure it was just a bit o' daftness!

Ionicus on 31-08-2013
Royal Navy (Retired)
We are all equals, some more than others. An amusing ditty, it made me smile.

Author's Reply:
Glad it amused you mate. Thanks for the generous rating too. πŸ™‚

Bradene on 05-09-2013
Royal Navy (Retired)
I loved this poem, really cheered me up this morning, thank you Pronto. Love valx

Author's Reply:
Wow Val this daft ditty has been rated from 6 to a very generous 10 by you. It just goes to show how tastes differ so widely when it come to humour! Grateful thanks for your generosity.
P


Sold (posted on: 16-08-13)
A grim reality for thousands of young girls in so many countries.

She was just ten when she first had an intimate knowledge of men Her father sold her to a man who lied, said she'd have a job Trained domestic servant to a wealthy family in Calcutta Fed on milk and butter She so small and fragile yet slender, agile Would send money home Help pay the landlord who made their life hard With endless interest on their loan The madam sold her, told her a rich man wants to see you to do you In her innocence asks do what? she gets a slap 'shut up you stupid slut' He wants your virginity of course to ride you like a horse She doesn't understand Until he takes and guides her hand mystified she sat and cried He doesn't care has no regard for her tears, her inner fears He orders her remove your clothes strike a pose Lays her on the filthy bed She feels the pain as he pushes again and again Until he's all the way inside She's ripped she's torn the agony borne With desperate sobs as he plunders, robs Her blood the only lubricant to ease the pain Virginity stolen for the price of a meal leaving her desolate No mother, father brother no other To save or salve the broken soul Of a life sold
Archived comments for Sold
deadpoet on 16-08-2013
Sold
Yes so terrible- good to remind us all of these attrocities. Thank you for posting this.

Author's Reply:
It's so depressing that in this modern world this type of thing is far from uncommon. Thank you for your comment.

mageorge on 16-08-2013
Sold
A very nasty story. People wouldn't believe these things still happen.

Regards,
Mark.

Author's Reply:
Hi Mark thanks for responding mate. Yes it is a nasty story but these things all too common I'm afraid I'm just shining what little light I can into some very dark corners.

Bozzz on 17-08-2013
Sold
This is an essay in cruelty - the blunt facts are a semaphore to a civilisation where money buys suffering.
Good writing brings it home. Well done Pronto..... Bozzz

Author's Reply:
Thanks Bozzz yes it is a sorry state of affairs but it needs bringing to notice. Sorry for the delay in responding, finger trouble on my part!

ValDohren on 18-08-2013
Sold
Man's inhumanity leaves me speechless, angry beyond words. It is an abomination that this still goes on. Good writing yes, but pity that it is there to write about.
Val

Author's Reply:
I couldn't agree more Val it is a terrible world sometimes. Thank you for commenting.


Wolf Heart (posted on: 16-08-13)
This poem is based on an old Native American folk tale.

Naughty boy on grandfather's knee Blinded by tears trying to see Why he did wrong Why he was not strong Grandfather explains Using the lore of the plains Inside the heart of every man two wolves fight One for the wrong and one for the right Some times one seems to win sometimes the other It is the same for every man and his brother In the end grandfather which wolf will win The one for good or the one for sin My son that depends on your every deed For the wolf that will win is the one that you feed
Archived comments for Wolf Heart
Weefatfella on 16-08-2013
Wolf Heart
 photo 915e0b75-fce7-4fc2-9921-556099197c13_zps1f6b3c50.jpg
Brilliant.
Like all ancient advice, spot on and poignant.
Enjoyed This.
Weefatfella

Author's Reply:
Thanks WFF I'm glad you enjoyed it sorry it took so long to answer I've been off the air!

ValDohren on 17-08-2013
Wolf Heart
Loved it Pronto, so very wise and true. Man rarely feeds the right one does he !
Val

Author's Reply:
Quite right Val it's because we're driven by fear I believe. Thanks for the comment and great rating.

Ionicus on 18-08-2013
Wolf Heart
A snippet of wisdom greatly appreciated, Pronto.
In the penultimate verse the line 'Some times one seems to win sometimes the other' should read 'Sometimes one seems to win, sometimes the other'.
Perhaps the punctuation could be better, especially in the last stanza.

Author's Reply:
Thank you Ionicus for the kind comment and rating I'm glad you enjoyed it. I agree and I will put it right asap.


The Numpty of Noo (posted on: 09-08-13)
With a respectful nod and a wink to the great Edward Lear

The Numpty of Noo had a face like a shrew And a belly so bulbous and fat Now this was the thing although he was king He slept on the floor like a cat One day it was raining he was curled up complaining There just was no fun in the land This ruling lark's draining I need entertaining An execution he mused would be grand Saddle my mule said Numpty the fool I must see my cousin in town For if he is willing I'll pay him a shilling To watch his dear head falling down His cousin said great! I simply can't wait To take part in this plan that you've hatched And although I'll be 'late' I'll be talk of the state And I'll sing before I'm dispatched Now I don't want to quibble but will you pay double A shilling ain't much of a fee And I'll do a card trick which looks rather slick Oh boy you'll be glad you chose me Then after the axe as I lie and relax Resplendent in coffin of oak I could cause a great hassle by haunting your castle And carry my head for a joke Now just hold on do I'm king of Noo The most important man in this land I'll be star of this show I'll have you know It's me who ought to look grand I'll stride round the stage looking noble and sage And sing 'em a song of my own With wave of my hand a drum roll from the band Then do a back flip off the throne With my neck on the block they'll all get a shock The attention will all be on me As my head's falling off I'll let go a great laugh Think just how famous I'll be And so it was done and Numpty was gone But his story's not told in great halls Known as Numpty the numb his legend lives on In graffiti on lavatory walls
Archived comments for The Numpty of Noo
stormwolf on 10-08-2013
The Numpty of Noo
ha ha very entertaining. Loved it, so daft it was incredibly clever.
A real treat to read.

Alison x

Author's Reply:
Thank you Alison I appreciate your kind comments and generous rating. I had great fun writing it but was unsure of it's reception due to its sheer 'daftness.'
Smiles,
P


Farce Cycle (posted on: 09-08-13)
Be sure your lies will find you out!

''Move over yer daft owd sod'' roared the red faced man. Bill tried to oblige but he was thwarted by a dense growth of brambles which protruded onto the towpath. The huge red faced man kept pedaling towards Bill at a furious pace seemingly determined to squeeze past him at any cost. He may well have succeeded too had not the canal bank at that point been partially collapsed making the narrow towpath even narrower. Bill braked and had almost come to a stop his shoulder hard against the prickly brambles when the red faced man's handlebars collided with his knocking his hand off the handlebar so that he belatedly applied only his front brake. With a wail of despair 'red face' went sailing over his handlebars sprawling head first into the canal with an almighty splash. Ducks and geese were scattered in squawking confusion for the safety of the opposite bank. Bill quickly dismounted his machine and went to the crumbling edge of the bank to render what assistance he could. Red face surfaced from the oily murk to stand waist deep amid the detritus that folk seem to think is OK to throw into any canal they happen to be passing. ''You stupid owd git'' the man bawled trying to wipe the mud and water weed from his face which only smeared it giving him the look of a living totem pole. ''I'm gonna kick yer arse for this just you wait 'til I get out'' and with that red face started to wade toward the bank his progress severely hindered by the thick ooze that formed the bottom of this two hundred year old waterway. Poor Bill was terrified and leapt towards his bike. ''Yer can pedal as fast as you like mate I'll still catch yer. I'm going to kick yer sorry arse into this canal.'' ''It was... it was an accident'' Bill stammered ''I'm awfully sorry mate honest.'' ''Sorry? You're not as sorry as you're going to be pal'' snarled red face as he reached for the bank. Bill was scared almost out of his wits, he'd only bought the bike a week previously to keep fit in his retirement. He was still getting used to cycling after not having done so since boyhood. He knew he was not as proficient as he could be but he was equally certain that this incident was caused by the aggressive way red face had been riding. Bill would never have contemplated his next move had he not been terrified.''Well if you're going to kick me mate you'll have to find your bike first'' he said mustering all his courage. Picking up red face's bike he raised it high above his head and threw it as hard and as far as he could into the canal, sheer desperation lending him strength. Red face stood staring opened mouthed in total disbelief. ''You daft, feckless owd fart I'll kill yer for that!'' he screamed, lunging for the bank. Bill jumped onto his bike and pedaled as though the hounds of hell were in pursuit, his spindly legs looking ridiculous in tight Lycra were pumping for all he was worth down the towpath. Bill didn't slow down or even risk a glance behind him until he was a good mile away by which time he'd missed his turn off point in his eagerness to place distance between himself and red face. He at last emerged panting for breath from the canal towpath into a housing estate with which he was unfamiliar. He dare not for the life of him retrace his route for fear of running into his antagonist in hot pursuit. Thus it was that an hour after the incident Bill finally arrived home weak kneed and trembling with exhaustion to remove his muddy cycling kit and climb wearily into a hot bath. His goggles and shiny new helmet were left dumped in the garden shed along with his mud splattered bike. Eileen his wife brought him a hot drink and sat nervously on the edge of the bath whilst Bill related his tale of woe still visibly shaken by his ordeal. ''Oh dear Bill" said Eileen looking worried "maybe you shouldn't go out riding again for a while until he's cooled down a bit.'' Then she suddenly changed the subject as she remembered they had people calling to view their house. Now that they were both retired and their children had grown and flown they had decided to downsize. ''Don't lie in there too long William we have people coming to look at the house in an hour.'' The use of his 'Sunday' name meant 'I'm serious get a move on.' They had almost given up waiting for the Jackson's to arrive for the house viewing; it was nearly an hour past the appointed time when the doorbell finally rang. Eileen went to answer it and Bill made his way into the kitchen to switch on the coffee maker in the hope the aroma would give the house a more attractive homely smell. As he completed this task Bill heard voices in the lounge and hurried to greet his potential purchasers. As he reached the lounge bill saw the two visitors their backs to him looking out of the front window and complementing Eileen on how well the garden looked. The huge man and his tiny wife turned around Bill saw to his horror that it was none other than red face himself. As Bill stood rooted to the floor with shock red face approached him holding out a huge paw ''Hi I'm Albert Johnson this is my wife Joan.'' Bill swallowed hard and took the giant's hand. ''Please to meet you Albert I'm sure he stuttered then shook hands with Joan. ''Pleased to meet you Joan.'' ''Sorry we're late Bill'' Joan said ''but Albert had a slight accident this afternoon which set us back a while.'' Bill looked at Joan then at Albert, it was beginning to dawn on him that because of his helmet and goggles red face hadn't recognized him. ''Oh nothing serious I hope?'' he said raising a quizzical eyebrow and feigning an air of innocence. ''Oh, well'' said Joan, preparing to launch into the tale in lurid detail ''he was riding along the canal and...'' She was abruptly interrupted by Albert. ''I fell off my bike that's all, it was nothing really, just meant I had to have a bath, a change of clothes and patch up one or two grazes'' He gave Joan a pleading glance that told her the subject was to be dropped please. Bill in the meantime looked at Eileen with horror giving his head a slight negative shake his eyes momentarily bulging with fear. ''Now that's strange...'' Eileen began only to be even more abruptly interrupted by Bill blurting desperately '' Nowt strange about it Eileen people sometimes fall off bikes you know, shall we press on with the viewing dear?'' Eileen had never seen Bill so nervous before she felt shocked and a little confused ''Oh er.. well, er, yes shall we look around the house then?'' Smiles and nods appeared all round and they began the house tour. The viewing progressed with the usual questions being asked and answered then Eileen, ever the generous hostess, offered her guests coffee which they accepted. They were sitting chatting amiably when Albert suddenly thought Bill looked rather familiar. ''Don't I know you from somewhere Bill?'' he asked his eyes narrowing slightly ''You look vaguely familiar somehow.'' ''No I don't think we've met before'' Bill lied hoping he sounded convincing. ''You don't ride a bike by any chance?'' asked Albert looking at Bill quizzically ''A bike?'' Bill squeaked hoping he didn't sound as nervous as he felt. ''No, no I haven't ridden a bike since I was a lad. Why do you ask?'' ''Oh nothing really I just thought I may have bumped into you before.'' Eileen, embarrassed, buried her face in her coffee cup a decent simple soul she could not for the life of her understand why her husband was lying about his bike. Seeing that her visitors had almost finished their coffee she said ''well if that's all Mr &Mrs Johnson time's really getting on...'' her voice trailed off as the Johnson's, taking the hint, stood to go. Bill felt a wave of relief flooding through him and began, prematurely, to thank his lucky stars. Albert looked through the patio door one more time to admire the back garden then remembered he had not inspected the garden shed. May I look in the shed Bill? I've got to make sure it's big enough for my bike and all my gardening gear too.'' Bill swallowed hard his spirits sinking as fast as his terror was rising. ''Shed? You want to look at the shed?'' he said horror creeping into his voice. ''It's just a shed Albert he said desperately "eight foot by six ohh and yes, I've got some fresh varnished wood in there. Yes that's it, fresh varnished wood still wet you know, 'fraid I can't open the door mate if it gets the slightest bit of dust on it it'll be ruined.'' Bill's eyes were large with fear his Adam's apple bobbed up and down like a frantic ferret as he swallowed convulsively his innards squirming. Eileen looked at Bill as if he'd lost his mind ''Varnish? She asked ''What varnish?" Bill looked daggers at Eileen ''Yes dear that shelf you wanted me to varnish I did it just an hour ago.'' Eileen's face was a picture of sheer bewilderment but she was spared from asking further questions by Albert's impatient request ''Well can I look through the shed window then?'' he asked with growing suspicion. ''Window?'' Bill asked weakly his knees knocking visibly ''You, you want to look through the window?.... Oh dear.'' Just then there was a knock on the back door it flew open and in breezed Jimmy Bill's next door neighbour and friend of many years. ''Oh sorry mate'' he quipped brightly ''didn't know you had company, I just popped around to ask how you're getting on with the new bike, saw you go out on it this afternoon.'' Albert looked from Jimmy to Bill who had let out a whimper and taken on the appearance of a trapped rat. ''Bike?'' said Albert staring at Bill in horror as understanding dawned on his face. His huge fists were clenching and unclenching, he looked like he was about to explode. ''Oh I'm so sorry Albert'' wailed Bill sinking to the sofa ''It was a pure accident I couldn't get out of your way'' Bill had now curled up into the foetal position trembling visibly. ''I only threw your bike into the canal to delay you, I thought you were going to kill me'' he snivelled. ''Albert Johnson!'' Joan's voice was loud and full of authority like the cracking of a bull whip taking everyone completely by surprise. She fixed her husband with an icy stare her beady little eyes narrowed to knife slits riveting Albert to the spot. She may have been less than half her husband's size but it was immediately clear who was boss in this relationship. ''Soooo'' she said her voice dropping to a deadly hiss ''a gang of yobs tried to mug for your bike eh? You gave two of them a good hiding did you? Then as more yobs turned up you leapt heroically into the canal with your precious bike knowing they wouldn't follow you eh? Struggled to the other side you claimed and finally returned home the conquering hero eh?'' Her voice dripping sarcasm. Joan placed her hands on her hips and gave Albert a look that would have curdled milk. ''So, you were knocked off yer bike by an old age pensioner.'' she sneered. ''Get in the car Albert Johnson yer great gormless wazzack and look sharp about it.'' Albert's huge frame sagged, he looked like a bouncy castle with half the air let out. ''Yes dear'' he said meekly and slouched away cheeks burning red his head lowered in shame. Joan looked at Bill who was still cowering on the couch. ''So it was you eh?'' Just an accident you say?'' ''Oh yes, please believe me Joan he tried to barge past but there just wasn't enough room honest'' Bill cried. Joan looked at Eileen and the two women shook their heads and rolled their eyes heavenwards ''Men'' they said simultaneously.
Archived comments for Farce Cycle

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Taxi! (posted on: 29-07-13)
Converted from a joke I heard a while ago.

Liverpool's Lime Street station Attracts girls from across the nation Working prostitutes on the street Smiling, at every man they greet In a taxi passing by They caught little Jonny's curious eye What are those ladies doing mum Why do they talk to every one? They're collecting money for charity For those less fortunate than you and me The taxi driver loudly objects Tell him the truth they're selling sex Little Jonny thinks then asks again What do they do with the babies then? Angry mummy quips pointedly Well young Jonny between you and me They all grow up to be loud mouthed skivers So train them up as taxi drivers! πŸ˜‰
Archived comments for Taxi!
Weefatfella on 29-07-2013
Taxi!
 photo 915e0b75-fce7-4fc2-9921-556099197c13_zps1f6b3c50.jpg
Well, there you are then.
Please don't base your final analysis on a small scouser sample.
Wefatfella. Taxi Driver extrordinaire.

Author's Reply:
Oh dear WFF I forgot that you're a taxi driver! πŸ˜‰ Well there are exceptions in every case and you sir are exceptional if you weren't you wouldn't write like you do! Thanks for the comment mate!
I still luv's yer honest!

ValDohren on 31-07-2013
Taxi!
Very funny Pronto - so now we know about WFF's origins !!

Val

Author's Reply:
Thanks for dropping by Val. I wouldn't dare cast aspersions upon WFF's antecedents. The dear fellow is a great writer, wit and raconteur so he'd be giving it back to me and my background wouldn't bear too close a scrutiny! πŸ˜‰
Luv & hugz,
P


The Gobshite (posted on: 26-07-13)
This really happened to my brother (Subject to the usual poetic hyperbole) It was in the way-back-when. He was the quiet little man drinking at the bar. So unexpected was his response he set the pub roaring with laugher! The gobshite disappeared never to be seen again! πŸ˜‰

A quiet little man sat at the bar Peacefully enjoying a drink from his jar In came a fellow with drink was half gone Looking for someone to foist himself on ''In my day when I was brought up as a kid Lads just did what their own fathers did'' ''If yer dad was a miner yer went down the mine We all knew our places and the country was fine If yer dad was a baker yer learned t'make bread Fancy ideas were knocked out of yer head'' He went on and on singing the praise Of what life was like in the far good old days Seemed he wanted attention from all in the room Shouting and spouting he loudly did boom Proclaiming the virtues of years gone by All forced to hear him wanted to cry They shrank in their seats praying for death Wishing this bastard would run out of breath So bored was the little man drinking his beer He just wanted this bugger to get out of here Suffering more of this fellow filled him with dread But then an idea popped into his head ''Oh I see'' he smiled brightly ''so if I'm thinking right I'd guess that your father was a fat mouthed gobshite''
Archived comments for The Gobshite
ValDohren on 27-07-2013
The Gobshite
Love it Pronto, we've all met them haven't we !! Just one little crit, first verse third line doesn't read well - now about changing it to read:

In came a fellow, his drink was half gone,

Val x

Author's Reply:
Isee what you mean Val however I was trying to convey he was half drunk (Gone with drink) not that his glass was half empty as your wording might suggest. I'll work on it though because I was not entirely happy with it myself. Thanks for your comment and the good rating.

Andrea on 27-07-2013
The Gobshite
Haha, brilliant! My mate Evelyn, who's a Dubby, is forever calling people 'gobshites' πŸ™‚

I actually made that 'doggerel' category for my rubbish - nice to see other people using it too.

Author's Reply:
Hi Andrea,
Well 'Gobshite' is Irish in origin and, not being rude to your Dubliner friend, I've met a few who hail from there! πŸ˜‰
Thanks for commenting and for the great rating mate,
Luv & hugz,
P


Mr X (posted on: 26-07-13)
Extreme explotation explained

Ex-husband ex-father ex-lover ex-soldier I seem to collect ex's as I grow older Ex-worker ex-person now I'm retired They want me ex-living, they want me ex-pired I'm just an ex-pense or so it would seem A drag on resources quite too ex-treme Ex-tortionate demands I make on the state Asking what I paid in for to ex-acerbate The dire position we're in as a nation By greedily holding this crass ex-pectation I'm a drag on ex-chequer I should ex-it this place Take Ex-treme unction and go with good grace Ex gratia payments? Seems they're all right For every ex-tremist, it's their 'uman rite To ex-ploit the system, have everything free All their ex-penses are on you and me It's just their politics they want to ex-tol By causing ex-plosions that seems their goal We cannot ex-port then to where they come from 'Cos they face ex-ecution for murders they've done Ex-cuse me for thinking this just isn't fair Shouldn't their ex-country pay its fair share? It seems this ex-creta is now sadly the norm And getting ex-cited considered bad form So here is your ballot paper just place your eX Don't matter who's in now, don't matter who's next All our ex-pletives won't do any good So when my ex-oskeleton's made out of wood Bury me deep in some far secret plot And put on my tombstone X marks the spot
Archived comments for Mr X
Bozzz on 27-07-2013
Mr X
A good bellyful this one, ingenious, witty and a touch deeper than meets the eye. Bravo...Bozzz

Author's Reply:
Wel thank you Bozzz your a star! A very generous rating coupled with kind comments, great!

Andrea on 27-07-2013
Mr X
Nice bit of satire here, Pronto - enjoyed it.

Author's Reply:
Thanks Andrea I appreciate your comments and rating mate. I know I ain't PC but sometimes I just get mad and have a rant. πŸ˜‰


The Panjandrum (posted on: 22-07-13)
Dedicated to those pompous high officials (Panjandrums) denizens of the halls of power everywhere! May your well padded arses fester in your overstuffed chairs!

I look from my Whitehall window At the people passing by Whilst savouring the splendour Of my office very high I am a senior panjandrum What shall I do today To exert my authority And make the people pay? Shall I introduce an increase In extortionate parking fines? Or create more inconvenience With double yellow lines? No point having authority If it's not imposed Raising sneaky stealthy taxes So that everybody knows Just who is in charge round here The importance of my position And how I ponder carefully Every crass decision Should I spend the morning Creating some new plot? Take tea with the head of paper clips Or count my pension pot? And after that an early lunch Expense account of course The thought of it make me hungry So that I could eat a horse Can't be gone too long though I must be back by three Just in time for a biscuit And another cup of tea I leave the office for the night When Big Ben strikes four Tomorrow is another day And I must graft once more How I do it for the money I simply can't explain But I'll be back tomorrow To screw you all again
Archived comments for The Panjandrum
Mikeverdi on 22-07-2013
The Panjandrum
This is brilliant, you have it all here. Mike

Author's Reply:
Wow Mike my gast is flabbered! Thanks for praise and the ultimate rating mate I'm gobsmacked and grateful.
Drop by any time πŸ™‚
P

Savvi on 23-07-2013
The Panjandrum
Yes and screwed again we will be, great stuff very well penned and solid end rhymes.

Can't be gone too long though
I must be back by three
Just in time for a biscuit
And another cup of tea

Love it. S

Author's Reply:
Thanks a bunch Savvi,
So glad you enjoyed it mate. This poem was brought about by my long standing contempt for the panjandrums of this world πŸ˜‰
P

Ionicus on 23-07-2013
The Panjandrum
Very enjoyable and so true.
'Take tea with the head of paper clips', he he: I recognise the type.
Thanks for revealing the Panjandrum's routine.

Author's Reply:
Cheers mate,
Thanks for the comment and generous rating I'm tickled pink it amused you. Well I must be off now I'm taking tea with Sir Humhrey. πŸ˜‰

ValDohren on 23-07-2013
The Panjandrum
Wonderful Pronto - they get up my nose too, pompous prigs, makes me angry just thinking about them !! Worthy of a top rating.
Val

Author's Reply:
Wow thanks a million Val your very generous my friend.
Yup these creatures do exist and of course and there has to be a modicum of truth in satire to make it work so if I got up your nose great (In the nicest possible way of course!)

Weefatfella on 23-07-2013
The Panjandrum
 photo 915e0b75-fce7-4fc2-9921-556099197c13_zps1f6b3c50.jpg
Aye the buggers exist I've no doubt.
Great write Pronto.
Loved it mate.
Weefatfella.

Author's Reply:
Thanks a bunch WFF You must have seen many changes in the Taxi world in your time sir. When I did it for a while in 1972 all you needed was a licence! Now you're regulated up to the hilt and I'm sure you've met your share of panjandrums (The minor ones are the worst)
Stay cool

stormwolf on 24-07-2013
The Panjandrum
Excellent! Makes my blood boil the way they behave..I really liked the air of arrogance and supposed superiority that came through the poem.
well done

Alison x

Author's Reply:
Thanks Alison for the kind comment and the great rating. I hoped you've calmed down a bit by now mate I'd hate to be the cause of your high blood pressure! πŸ˜‰

Corin on 24-07-2013
The Panjandrum
Very amusing Savvi, I very much admire your choice of target though the real villains, the politicians, are simply hiding cowardly behind them.

The rhyme and rhythm are enjoyable but somewhat irregular. For comic verse like this, ballad format is always very effective. This is an iambic tetrameter followed by an iambic trimeter. So its couplets of 4 beats then 3 beats with an ABAB rhyming format. Famously Coleridge used this form for the 'Rhyme of the Ancient Mariner’ but without comic intent. Perhaps the most famous comic ballad is:-

The Owl and the Pussy-cat

The Owl and the Pussy-cat went to sea
In a beautiful pea green boat,
They took some honey, and plenty of money,
Wrapped up in a five pound note.
The Owl looked up to the stars above,
And sang to a small guitar,
'O lovely Pussy! O Pussy my love,
What a beautiful Pussy you are.

I think that putting your piece into regular ballad form would increase the comic effect.



As I look out from grand Whitehall
At people passing by
They look unimportant and so small
From my office very high

I am a senior panjandrum
What shall I do today
To exert my authority
And make the people pay?

Shall I introduce a big increase
In extortionate parking fines?
Or create more inconvenience
With double yellow lines?

No point in having authority
If it’s not imposed
Raising sneaky stealthy taxes
So that everybody knows

Just who is in charge around here,
My important position
And how I ponder carefully
Every crass decision.

I know I know - I am just a poetic pedant:-)

Dave


Author's Reply:
Hi Dave,
Firstly let me thank you for taking such a great deal of time and trouble on my behalf and supplying a superbly detailed analysis of my poem, I am humbled that you have given me so much attention. However I think I prefer it as it is warts an’ all.

Maybe I should not have posted it under Humour. Perhaps Satire would have been a better home for this piece as it was intended to be a deeply sarcastic satirical work.

Oh BTW Dave I'm Pronto not Savvi, I'd hate that excellent poet to be tarred with my brush I'd have to sail away for a year and a day to escape his wrath πŸ˜‰

Luv & hugz,
P

pommer on 25-07-2013
The Panjandrum
Hi Pronto, A superbly written piece.It is so very true.I am harping on about this sort of thing every day,What do those idiots know about the real world?Well done,full marks.Be lucky, Pommer.

Author's Reply:
Thanks Pommer for the comment and the brill rating I'm so very glad you enjoyed the piece. I wrote it 'cos they get up my nose too. I even posted it on Yougov.co.uk so far a all I've heard is deafening silence. Now there's a surprise! πŸ˜‰


The Veteran (89) (posted on: 22-07-13)
Lest we forget.

Some seeing his face recoil with shock Youths did laughing sneering mock What an ugly old bastard Just look at his clock Hey grandpa how d'yer get them scars? Too much fighting in brothels and bars? He shouldn't be made to feel disgrace For the bullet that gouged across his face Smashed his ear to smithereens He still has nightmares, hears the screams Hand to hand and toe to toe Bayonet machete blow for blow Kohima's wound that scarred his head The enemy left him there for dead Now in this land for which he fought His value, it seems, is set at nought He finds himself in another war Leaving him wondering what was it all for? He's fighting prejudice, ignorance blind And, remembering comrades left behind Pointed to his scars and simply said Yes, I've got an ugly head I carry these scars in the hope that you Will never fight a war as I had to
Archived comments for The Veteran (89)
cooky on 22-07-2013
The Veteran (89)
You hit the heart of the matter that all veterans face. For they all come home scarred, both physical and mental. Unfortunately even the country forgets.

Author's Reply:
Spot on mate and Post Traumatic Stress Disorder was not recognised until quite recent years. Veterans with mental health problems were just cursed as awkward buggers.
Thanks for the kind comment mate and I'm well chuffed with the generous rating.
Tony

stormwolf on 22-07-2013
The Veteran (89)
Well done Pronto.
Such a sad state of affairs and must be hell for some veterans old and younger, to see the lack of respect and understanding from some young thugs.
A Gt Uncle of mine was a prisoner of the Turks. They smashed his whole face in with their rifle buts. He never spoke about the war to anybody.
My old Latin teacher was a prisoner of the Japs. These men held such awful memories.

Alison x

Author's Reply:
Hi Alison,
Thank you for your kind words and great rating I'm truly grateful.
Yes, when I was young I knew a man who walked funny because his Japanese captors amused themselves one night by breaking all his toes with pliers. Not nice and then to have to suffer abuse from the very people you fought for? Just too much!
Luv & hugz

Mikeverdi on 22-07-2013
The Veteran (89)
Another excellent poem from you, it's an emotive subject that many will feel the pain of; often there are more scars inside than out. Mike

Author's Reply:
Quite right Mike and we'll have more problems to come as the years go by with all the Middle East problems coming home to roost. Let's hope the government of the day don't renege on their promise of welfare and fair treatment but I fear it will be as it always was.
Thanks for the excellent rating mate.
P

ValDohren on 22-07-2013
The Veteran (89)
Brilliant Pronto, the youth of today have a lot to learn and sadly no-one's teaching them. Just one small point, second line of verse 3 - should it read 'The enemy left him there for dead' rather than 'left there him.'
Val

Author's Reply:
Quite right Val,
Sometimes I do miss the elephant in the room! πŸ˜‰ I shall fix it immediately (If not sooner!)
Thanks for commenting and the generous rating.
Luv & hugz,
P

Savvi on 22-07-2013
The Veteran (89)
Very well done pronto, you poem gives the issue a voice and does it proud. I agree with Val I tripped over that line to but still a cracking read thanks S

Author's Reply:
Savvi a thanks for the comment, smashing rating and help with my daft error I'm much obliged to you.
I'll shall put it right mate.

Weefatfella on 23-07-2013
The Veteran (89)
 photo 915e0b75-fce7-4fc2-9921-556099197c13_zps1f6b3c50.jpg
Brilliant Pronto. I remember some of these guys.
One was a barber, his face was burned when he was shot down in his aircraft.
I don't know if it was a spitfire or a bomber, but kids were afraid of him and it caused him lost business.
Another had been shot in the jaw.
Not a pretty sight.
Kids used to shout names at him.
He would wave his stick and growl at them.
Thanks for sharing.
Weefatfella.

Author's Reply:
Aye it's a sad state of affairs WFF. My first sergeant in 1961 was a WW2 vet who'd had is jaw smashed with a rifle butt by the Germans after he was captured. He wore a big moustache to partially hide it poor bugger.
Sgt "Cushy" Cousins was awarded the Croix de Guerre but he'd never say what for.


Forsaken (posted on: 19-07-13)
This happened to a friend of mine he said it was the ultimate humiliation.

Across dark deserts of despair I stumble, tumble Through chasms of perdition Craving your pardon, your pity Offering contrition For sins uncommitted Screams silent, haunted, violent Rage in empty acres of my heart Injustice burns but love still yearns Smelling your musk scent On pillow still Your body sweet on silken sheet Could she love you more than I? Has she more heart, more soul To extol your virtue, beauty? Than he who cannot forget Cannot extinguish cannot relinquish Passion's prior claim We, conjoined by vow By deed, by nurtured seed I, father of our child Forsaken For the summon Of another woman
Archived comments for Forsaken
Andrea on 19-07-2013
Foresaken
This is very good, Pronto. I think blokes would take it harder (as it were) than females. It's probably an ego thing πŸ™‚

Author's Reply:
Thanks for taking the time to comment and for the great rating Andrea. Her leaving for another bloke is one thing but for another woman? Yup probably does crush the ego a bit more!

Mikeverdi on 19-07-2013
Foresaken
Great writing about a sensitive subject, far more common these days than one would imagine; both ways. Mike

Author's Reply:
Hi mate thanks for the comment and the generous rating I fear you're right in what you say.

Gee on 20-07-2013
Foresaken
I like this a lot. I think you've really expressed the pain, confusion and yearning for a lost relationship.
"Cannot extinguish cannot relinquish" is such a simple phrase yet, for me, it summed up your poem.
Beautifully done.

Author's Reply:
Thank you for your generous comment and rating I truly appreciate it.

Ionicus on 20-07-2013
Foresaken
A good and expressive write, Pronto.

PS Could you amend the title to read 'Forsaken'? It looks a bit odd with the extra 'e'. Excuse my pedantry.

Best, Luigi



Author's Reply:
Thank you Luigi I checked everything but the title, talk about the elephant in the room!! πŸ˜‰

Bozzz on 20-07-2013
Forsaken
Hi Pronto - good stuff. I have always thought of poetry as a good medium for expressing guilt and anger - sugar coating that makes the pill of treachery easier to take. You've done it well...Bozzz

Author's Reply:
Thanks Bozzz for commenting and for the good rating much appreciated mate. πŸ™‚


Weasel Words (posted on: 15-07-13)
Sometimes drastic situations require thinking outside the box to provide novel solutions.

''Honestly Granddad I'm at my wits end, they were at it again last night until four this morning. I don't know how much longer I can go on.'' Jenny sniffed and wiped a tear from her eye. "They have rap music blaring night and day and their language is disgusting. Little Billy is terrified of playing in the garden, yesterday they threw a big slab of concrete over the fence, it could have killed him if it had hit him.''          The final straw had been when Jenny came home from her part time job that afternoon to find that an obscenity had been scrawled across her window in human excrement.      Mick looked serious his normally smooth brow was knit in a deep frown he hated to see his granddaughter like this. It was the third time this month she'd come over to ask if she and Billy his three year old grandson could stay the night. Her neighbours, a family called Witzell, known locally as the Weasels were one of the county's worst antisocial problem families. They seemed to revel in antagonizing their neighbours, appearing in court and being the local press.      The 'Weasel' family consisted of Alice Witzell the matriarch her husband Jock a giant of a man who came and went as he pleased between his home and that of his pregnant lover, two sons Keylon and Jago aged sixteen and eighteen respectively their fourteen year old sister Jaynie-Shannon completed the household.      Keylon and Jago rode around the district on a noisy motor cycle or sat on it in the garden revving the engine for what seemed like hours at a time. They partied most nights getting drunk and fighting and on more than one occasion they had urinated through Jenny's letter box. Jaynie-Shannon delighted in screeching obscenities at Jenny every time she saw her in her garden.      True the local authorities had threatened to evict them but that was a long process the threat of which served only to goad the Witzells on to even more outrageous behaviour. Lately they had bought a large fierce looking dog which, with some predictablity, they had named Tyson. The animal spent its time chained in the garden barking when the lads were not parading it around the streets showing it off and intimidating folk. It seemed there was no one who had the courage to stand up to this family from hell, or was there?      If Jenny protested to the Witzells they only sneered at her, if she called the police they threatened her and her son. As a single mother she felt isolated, trapped with no one to turn to. The police had other priorities and were too slow to respond effectively, the other so-called 'Authorities' had had a word with the Witzells on numerous occasions; the Social Services were mostly too scared to call and when the local council people did eventually call to 'gather evidence' as they put it they came at nine thirty in the morning when all was quiet because the Witzell's were still in bed nursing hangovers.          To Jenny and her neighbours it seemed that all they got was the run around ''We're doing our best Ms. Hartnell, it's difficult to find appropriate accommodation for these families Ms. Hartnell blah, blah bloody blah Ms. Hartnell...''      Jenny went upstairs and prepared the spare room for her and Billy. Why she told granddad Mick her woes she didn't know he was an old man for goodness sake well sixty eight was old in her eyes what on earth could he do about it a gentle old soul like him? She couldn't tell her parents as they would simply advise her to forgive them and pray to the lord for a solution. Granddad Mick was a widower and a good listener whom she adored so it was he, poor fellow, who was her shoulder to cry on. She little suspected that this time he would become directly involved with the Witzells.      Mick was as fit and active as a man of his age could be. He went swimming three or four times a week and walked everywhere weather permitting, he also had a very keen intelligence coupled with a readiness to take action when required. Although on the surface he was sweet natured, harmless older gentleman he was also a man who got things done and now as he sat deep in thought an idea was forming in his mind that might just fit the bill.          Jenny finished preparing the room and went downstairs. ''I'm going to pick Billy up from the nursery school now gramps can I make you a brew before I go?''      ''No love I'm fine you get on.''      As soon as she had left the house Mick went out to his garden shed ''Hummnn now let me see'' he mused to himself. Oh yes he thought I'll need to buy some of that and one of those. After rummaging around for ten minutes he'd finally assembled a small, divers collection of articles there was a small wooden stake, a funnel, some fishing line and a roll of gaffer tape which he stuffed into an old haversack he then locked the shed, checked his watch and saw he still had time to do a little research on-line before his granddaughter returned.      That evening with Billy bathed and put to bed Mick poured them both a drink and they settled into comfortable arm chairs but instead of putting the television on Mick said he had something to tell her.      ''Jenny I think I have a solution to your problem it's one I cannot divulge just now 'cos I'm still finalising the details.''      Jenny looked dubious ''What on earth are you talking about gramps? You can't possibly take on the Witzells at your age.''      ''Who said I was going to?'' he queried, a sly look in his eye. ''All I'm going to do is write them a note, a few words of advice you might say.''      Jenny's jaw dropped she stared at him as though he'd taken leave of his senses. ''A note?'' She asked incredulously ''what the hell good do you think note will do Gramps?''      ''Ah well'' Mick said conspiratorially ''This will be a very special note, one that commands attention and will be taken seriously and that's all I'm saying on the subject.''      ''Like hell you are gramps'' Jenny almost shouted ''I want you to promise me you'll not do anything hare brained or put yourself in danger.''      She looked at him through narrowed eyes she knew, gentle creature that he was, he could be as stubborn as a mule and impossible to move once his mind was made up. ''Just promise me you'll take care of yourself will you gramps? I couldn't stand it if anything bad were to happen to you.''      ''I promise darling girl now I'm off to bed for an early night I have a busy day tomorrow.''      Four days later Mick's preparations were complete he got into his car with the small rucksack and drove the three miles to park about a mile from his destination where he left the car in a quiet cul-de-sac, donned a wide brimmed hat to shield his face from street cameras and walked to his granddaughter's house. He didn't stop but walked slowly past on the opposite side of the street glancing at the Witzell's house taking in the details he would need. From the back of the house he could hear Tyson barking at nothing in particular. On what passed for a front garden Keylon and Jago were kicking a football about whilst through the open front door came the blare of gangsta rap.      At five thirty the following morning Mick crept down the side of Jenny's house in the first glimmer of dawn and into her back garden. Over the broken fence Tyson started barking as Mick threw the dog a piece of meat he had prepared for the occasion. It was nothing lethal just enough to put the dog to sleep for a few hours.          Mick waited until the animal had succumbed to the sedative then crept silently to the front door where he lifted the flap on the letterbox and made his delivery. After that swift action he pushed an envelope half though with a surgically gloved hand then moved into the front garden where he crouched down some four yards from the house and busied himself. Less than two minutes later he was making his way home job done.      At seven thirty a.m. Alice Witzell awoke with the feeling that something was not right, she didn't know what it was but something had disturbed her slumber at what was, for her, an ungodly hour. She scratched her tousled head for a minute slowly gaining a higher level of consciousness; something was definitely wrong.      Climbing out of bed she donned a grubby housecoat and a pair of slippers and went to the bedroom door. It was upon opening the door that the smell hit her it was at once familiar but she couldn't quite put a name to it. The rest of the house was quiet save for the snoring coming from the boys' bedroom. She checked her daughter's bedroom, the girl was sound asleep. Feeling uneasy she made her way slowly downstairs her unease growing with every step she took, the smell getting stronger and stronger.      At the bottom she saw the white envelope sticking through the letterbox. As she went to retrieve it she at last recognised the smell, it was paraffin. As it soaked into her slippers wetting her feet Alice let out a strangled squawk and leapt out of the slippers and ran into the living room. Once in there she tore open the envelope and took out the single sheet of neatly typed paper. Her finger followed the words and her lips moved as she slowly read:      Dear problem family,      We who live around here are at the end of our patience with you and will tolerate no more of your vile behaviour. This paraffin could have been lit with devastating results for all your family. It was not lit on this occasion as it was meant to give you fair warning. This is the only warning you will get. You will from now on behave in a civilised manner, get rid of the dog and show consideration for your neighbours or you can move out, the choice is yours.      Alice's hands shook as she realised the full implication of the threat she dropped the letter and ran up stairs screaming for the children to wake up. Dashing into her daughter's room she shook her awake then ran into the boys' room still screaming hysterically. The lads were not best pleased at being disturbed and started cursing her.      When they had calmed their mother down enough to discover what had happened Jago with the stupidity and bravado of immature youth threw on his jeans and ran down stairs shouting about showing these bastards who was boss around here. As he tore open the front door the fishing line Mick had attached to the door knocker pulled taut and detonated the large industrial firework he had tied to a stake in the garden. There was a bright flash and an almighty bang that blew out two windows of the Witzell's house.     The ashen faced youth leapt back into the house and dived behind the sofa screaming for his mother meanwhile the terrified Jaynie-Shannon cowered under her bed trembling and whimpering losing control of her bladder. Keylon had run out of the back door to fetch Tyson for reasons he alone knew only to find the animal was sleeping peacefully and could not be aroused.      The long suffering neighbours, Jenny included, thinking the bang was just another episode of anti-social behaviour on the part of the weasels didn't even bother calling the police but, after looking through their curtains for a moment, went back to their slumbers after all it was Sunday morning.      Later that day Mick's phone rang ''Granddad you'll never guess what's happened?" Jenny sounded overjoyed "Mrs Witzell said good morning to me today and actually smiled. A little while later she came to the door and said they were moving out today and staying with relatives 'til they found somewhere else and would I keep an eye on their house until they could arrange for their stuff to be moved so you see gramps whatever you were planning doesn't matter now; a letter wouldn't have worked anyway.''      ''Oh that's nice for you dear'' said Mick sweetly ''that's very nice indeed.''
Archived comments for Weasel Words
Mikeverdi on 16-07-2013
Weasel Words
Good story, you may be suprized how true it is... Or maybe not. Mike

Author's Reply:
It wouldn't suprise me if it had really had happened after all folks can only take so much!
At least there was no actual violence just an effective threat!
Thanks for the rating and comment.

Andrea on 16-07-2013
Weasel Words
Enjoyed it muchly, Pronto πŸ™‚

Author's Reply:
Thanks for dropping by Andea, I enjoyed writing it too.


Stuff Your Opinion (posted on: 15-07-13)
Animal rights? I'll tell you about animal rights!

I slink around with effortless grace Serenity etched upon my face Oozing confidence from every pore Though you activists may abhor I love the feel of real animal fur The merest touch will make me purr I've always felt a pelt you see I'm just expressing being me I don't give a damn about what you think Or that some species are on the brink I'll wear fur 'til my dying day Ever elegant, work rest or play So rage against wearing fox or ermine And all that other silly vermin I can assure all you critics that Mine's normal behaviour for a cat!
Archived comments for Stuff Your Opinion
karen123 on 15-07-2013
Stuff Your Opinion
Made me laugh at the end - so glad it was a cat

Author's Reply:
Thanks Karen I'm glad it gave you a giggle!

pommer on 15-07-2013
Stuff Your Opinion
Our cat tells me the same every day.Well composed,Pronto.
Be lucky, Pommer.

Author's Reply:
Thanks Pommer cats are like that!

Andrea on 15-07-2013
Stuff Your Opinion
You'd better not try and wear my pussy!

Author's Reply:
Thanks for the comment and great rating.
The worst treatment I would inflict upon your pussy Andea is a good stroking πŸ˜‰

Andrea on 15-07-2013
Stuff Your Opinion
Cheeky git!

Author's Reply:
Ooops! so sorry, I am a cheeky owd sod to be sure! ;-


Relatively Speaking (posted on: 12-07-13)
This, thank god, is not anecdotal however I'm sure you can all 'relate' to it.

Your niece is nice but it seems to me That a girl with an economics degree Wouldn't vote for Labour You'd think she'd have more sense How can such a clever girl be so bloody dense? Then there's your uncle Ernie what a crashing bore Banging on about Baghdad And his part in the war You'd think he'd won it by himself With all his glory tales When it comes to killing parties Uncle Ernie never fails Your sister's clothes are far too young For a woman of her years She should dress more stately Not dolled up to the ears Skirts up round her backside Too much make up on her face Batting eyes at all the men In her forties? A disgrace! Your mother's such a trial Can't we put her in a home? One of god's departure lounges She wouldn't be alone All those other biddies she have for company We could visit her once a year or so Then you'd have more time for me And so it goes on and on It really isn't funny I'd love to shove her off a cliff For the insurance money But then the bitch would haunt me She's an evil sod that way So I must grin and bear it Until my dying day πŸ™
Archived comments for Relatively Speaking
stormwolf on 13-07-2013
Relatively Speaking
hahaha Great! Gave me a right laugh.

Should this not be (to) ?

And so it goes on and on
It really isn’t funny
I'd love (I’ll) shove her off a cliff

Nice bit of humour and I am sure many of us can think of people we know that are mirrored her πŸ˜‰
Alison x

Author's Reply:
Thanks Alison your rating is very generous and your comments always welcome. You are right of course clumsy sod that I am I shall correct it at once if not sooner! πŸ˜‰
Luv & hugz, x

Andrea on 13-07-2013
Relatively Speaking
Hahaha, very funny Pronto πŸ˜‰

Author's Reply:
Thank you Andrea for the good rating and comment I'm glad it gave you a laugh! πŸ™‚


After The Battle (posted on: 12-07-13)
Commentary on the futility of conflict

After the battle all is quiet, all is still Save for the caw and flap of cleansing crows, Men turned carrion lie stark, tumbled upon earth Scorched by war Broken guns point cloudwards like the fingers of the damned Accusing the sky, asking why? The smell of cordite pungent fouls the air, Smoke shroud attempts in vain To veil the sight of this slaughter site from heaven itself Rain starts to fall as nature weeps over the folly filled field Her mournful breeze sighing I gave you a beautiful fecund world to share Is it not enough?
Archived comments for After The Battle
cooky on 12-07-2013
After The Battle
I like this . The epitaph of all battles. Right and wrong lost in the perfume of death.

Author's Reply:
Thank you Cooky for the generous rating and insightful comment that was what I was trying to express not who was right or wrong, won or lost.


Arseless Trousers (posted on: 08-07-13)
I see people everywhere wearing this garment now that I've pointed it out to you they will appear in your life causing you great mirth. If you are an aficionado of this apparel please be aware of the fun you give to others as you wander abroad in sartorial inelegance. Thank you πŸ™‚

Arse-less trousers, is it me? No I don't mean a gap from belt to knee I mean humongous britches that hide the backside Volumous bags built on the slack side Shapeless legs that flap and blow Is there anyone in them? Hard to know They're worn by men of every age In some circles they're all the rage Why do they wear them? Afraid to show Their bodies are flat from head to toe? Is it to hide a defect of birth? For fear of everybody's mirth? What? You were born without a bum? My god that can't be a lot of fun Is it uncomfortable when you sit? What do you do when you need a shit? I'd like to know at which shops they're sold And interview the salesman bold I love these guys with a sense of fun Who love hiding every bugger's bum How it must fill them with great cheer Making arseholes disappear I cannot find out where they're made Is it a secret hidden trade? If you know please kindly share For I would love to buy a pair! πŸ˜‰
Archived comments for Arseless Trousers
Weefatfella on 08-07-2013
Arseless Trousers
 photo 5031cf9b-61d2-4fbf-912f-998c505fb4bc_zpsd7cccd97.jpg
Ha Ha Loved it Pronto.
Brilliant observation.
It really annoys the hell out of me to see all these arseless buggers going about.
Thanks a bundle Pronto.
Weefatfella.

Author's Reply:
You're welcome mate it used to annoy me too until I saw the funny side of arselessness! πŸ™‚

Andrea on 08-07-2013
Arseless Trousers
Hahaha, loved it! So you don't mean those kids who wear their waistbands by their knees, exposing their Bjorn Borg boxers? Not sure I know about this trend - you got a pic?

Author's Reply:
Thanks for the comment and kind rating Alison,
I never thought to photograph a pair in action but I think I'll keep a look out from now on.
The 'Prison look' of the dropped jeans seems to be a trend exclusive to the young impressionable types these arseless trousers are seen in all age groups they're simply completely flat at the back showing no curvature of the carcass at all. Once you spot a pair you'll see them everywhere then you'll either laugh or curse me! ;-)!

Mikeverdi on 09-07-2013
Arseless Trousers
Thanks for the laugh this gave me, it brought sun light to an otherwise dull day (not talking about the weather) just back from a week away and feeling the 'wish I was still there' bit. Mike

Author's Reply:
Thanks for dropping by Mike and the generous rating,
We all know that feeling of being back in reality and 'Oh god that was over far too quickly.' Still at least the weather's good so enjoy it while it lasts. πŸ™‚

Bozzz on 09-07-2013
Arseless Trousers
Hi Pronto - the man who was asked by the tailor fitting bespoke trousers which side he preferred his cojones to hang, replied "Just make them baggy at the knees." Seems the tailor has got the message. Great thought and hilarious poem - good read....David

Author's Reply:
Yeah I bet every tailor has met a few of those guys πŸ˜‰ Thanks for the great rating and for your comments Bozzz

Ionicus on 11-07-2013
Arseless Trousers
A very amusing doggerel, Pronto. Had a good laugh at the thought of people wearing arseless trousers. Thanks.

Author's Reply:
Thanks Ionicus for the great rating and for your comments. Yes sir, now I have made you aware of the situation you'll se 'arselessness' several times a day! πŸ˜‰


Guilt (posted on: 05-07-13)
Sometimes mistakes of the past last

Plunging deeper still Where dark wraiths coil about my heart Where the spirits of darkness hold sway Where my sins are lurking still Ever living unforgiving Never to depart This abode of despair This lair of the ghoul Called conscience
Archived comments for Guilt
deadpoet on 05-07-2013
Guilt
I agree with every word of this.

Author's Reply:
Thanks D/P I appreciate you dropping by and commenting.

stormwolf on 06-07-2013
Guilt
Really intense and hard hitting.
I think this could be much improved by taking out the repitition of 'where' at the start of those lines. Don't get me wrong, I fully understand why you used them.

I did the same with a poem I recently posted. You are narrating the horror and in a way you are emphasing the 'where' of it all. I see that but this is such a short poem that has such a kick in the guts so to speak that the meaning f the poem comes over and may come over better without that repetition.
I have posted ONE interpretation of how I might have put it over but bear in mind, I am using spacing and punctuation where you may choose not to.
It's your poem.
There are several ways that you could put it over and maybe you want to leave it as it is. No probs.

Plunging deeper still
where dark wraiths
coil about my heart
and spirits of darkness
hold sway.
Yes,
my sins are lurking still.
Ever living, unforgiving...

Never to depart
this abode of despair.
This lair of the ghoul
called
conscience.


Alisonx

Author's Reply:

stormwolf on 06-07-2013
Guilt
Or
Here it is keeping your total layout and use of capitals
but changing two of the 'where's'
Plunging deeper still
Where dark wraiths coil about my heart
And the spirits of darkness hold sway
There my sins are lurking still
Ever living unforgiving
Never to depart
This abode of despair
This lair of the ghoul
Called conscience

Author's Reply:

cooky on 07-07-2013
Guilt
The lair of the ghoul called conscience. Now this makes this poem.

Author's Reply:


Hypocrites (posted on: 05-07-13)
Thoughts upon the "Dearly" departed

Dearly departed we are gathered here today In the crematorium To dispatched you with great decorum To where there are no cares and no one dares To speak ill of you because you're dead Smug bastard don't let it go to your head Now you're free to look down on such as we Who must toil on after you've gone. We spoke ill of you when you were around Doddering owd fart, should be under the ground His head's up his arse His brain's on Mars Always making demands That sound like commands Secretly wishing this day would soon come To feast and drink to celebrate, you're done Can't blackmail us any more using our conscience against us Had to trot after granddad and make a great fuss Pretending we were not pissed off with you When really we wanted to say Why don't you die you've had your day? You're boring the arse off everyone Why the hell do you linger on? Be gone! We Laughed at your lame jokes Oh granddad that's funny We who are left to inherit your money And now at last our wish has come true We're all in church to say good things of you. Fuckin' hypocrites! πŸ˜‰
Archived comments for Hypocrites
deadpoet on 05-07-2013
Hypocrites
I had to laugh at this- though it is sad too. The hypocricy-nice rhyme.

Author's Reply:
Thanks D/P I'm glad you enjoyed it in some part anyway! πŸ˜‰

Weefatfella on 05-07-2013
Hypocrites
 photo 5031cf9b-61d2-4fbf-912f-998c505fb4bc_zpsd7cccd97.jpg
Ouch!
But truthful.
Weefatfella.

Author's Reply:
Thanks for your comment mat; yes the truth often hurts!

Andrea on 05-07-2013
Hypocrites
Indeed! They won't be gloating at my funeral, 'cos I ain't having one. No dosh to leave, either πŸ™‚ Made me laugh.

PS. think 'To dispatched you' should be 'dispatch'

Author's Reply:
Thanks Andrea I think that's a good policy. My will will read: I being sound of mind did spend the lot before I went! πŸ˜‰

pommer on 05-07-2013
Hypocrites
had a good laugh.A very true story.

Author's Reply:
Thanks Pommer for your high rating and for comenting, very kind mate.

stormwolf on 06-07-2013
Hypocrites
hahahahaha
fab!
Why is it that people suddenly become saints or paragons of virtue just coz they've snuffed it? I'll never know
but of course, joking apart, we are in a way saying goodbye to their time here where many of us (me anyway) sail through by the skin of our pants lol
Alison x

Author's Reply:
So true Alison,
It'll probably happen to me too in a few years but I won't be leaving any money behind if I can help it!
Thanks for the comment and high rating,

Luv & hugz

cooky on 07-07-2013
Hypocrites
This poem is oh so true. We are all saints when we are dead.
It is only in life were we utter bastards.

Author's Reply:
Thanks Cooky for the very high rating and for your comments.
I was at a funeral recently of a very dear mate who was indeed a thoroughly decent bloke but of course he had his many faults too.(Don't we all?) The bloke they eulogised I thought must be ready for canonisation fer gord's sake. He'd have been the first one to shout bullshit! at some of the guff! πŸ˜‰
Cheers mate


Writers' Woes (posted on: 28-06-13)
This will be familiar territory to those of us who write.

Since I've been here writing Trying to use a wit of lightening I've lived with fear and tension Not to mention The odd sleepless night When, taking fright About an absurd word, A subverting verb How better to excite, disturb? Then I heard a rumour Some folk don't like humour Why does it matter what people think? And, should all my scribbling sink Into the morass of oblivion Should I feel woebegone Or just smile carry on? Why should I fret, why should I care? If the work I freely choose to share Doesn't meet with your approval Or, as transient as gold alluvial, Is washed away gone for all time No one knowing it was mine Is it ego, pride or vanity false? Makes me dance this macabre waltz A writer with his heart unfurled Trampled on by all the world Fandango's danced upon my soul Yet still I strive to reach my goal Why?
Archived comments for Writers' Woes
Mikeverdi on 28-06-2013
Writers Woes
Because you have too! (same as the rest of us) Well said. Mike

Author's Reply:
Thanks for the comment and great rating Mike

Bozzz on 28-06-2013
Writers Woes
Mate, if you write for publication, you are in the entertainment business. Good and bad material, the show must go on! Yes we all get nerves, throw wobblies - par for the course. Fame is the spur. Friend, rest easy tonight - your poem bodes well ...David

Author's Reply:
Thanks David you're very kind and the rating generous. πŸ™‚

ValDohren on 29-06-2013
Writers Woes
Know just what you mean Pronto, I have to just keep telling myself that one man's meat is another man's poison - we can't please all of them all of the time, but we can please some of them some of the time. Your writing definitely pleases me, so keep it coming !
Val

Author's Reply:
Thanks Val for the kind comment and the high rating. Much obliged mate. πŸ™‚

pommer on 03-07-2013
Writers Woes
Don't despair,we can't all like the same.I too get the wobbles occasionally especially when I think nobody will like this. But does it matter, as long as we keep on with our versifying.You write well keep it up.Pommer.

Author's Reply:
Thank you Pommer for the encouragement and the great rating. Much obliged my friend.


A Great New Zealand Cook (posted on: 24-06-13)
Beware The New Zealand chef!

My missus is an expert, a great 'New Zealand' cook, Everything is 'All Black', not quite as it should look, I went into the kitchen to offer some advice, She turned and fixed me with a stare her eyes as cold as Ice, Not a single word she said nor was there any need, I retreated from the kitchen with quite athletic speed, Brushing aside the charcoal, I ate what she had spoiled How can you burn sausages when the sausages were boiled? My steaks are 'el crematorium,' I'm really in despair Oh what I'd give just for once to have it medium rare, But no it's black as coal dust and rather tastes of it, She eats every morsel, doesn't seem to mind a bit. I don't know how she does it, it really puzzles me, Every night is just the same when we sit down to tea, She was taught cooking by her mother a woman I despise, She used to use real shepherds when she makes shepherd's pies, Everything that she prepared was black and hard as teak, Gnawing through her Sunday roast usually took a week, One day my wife's dad left her ma, he couldn't stand it anymore, I'd rather eat raw rat he said as he walked through the door, Oh had I but his courage to tell her to her face, That everything she cooks for me is a terrible disgrace, But she'll then make me family chef so I have to have a care, Because when it comes to cooking friend I'm twice as bad as her!  
Archived comments for A Great New Zealand Cook
Weefatfella on 24-06-2013
A great New Zeaalnd Cook
 photo fd68aa69-bd2a-4057-8056-d78ca32405b1_zps7a968777.jpg
Aye,the land of the long black cloud.
Loved the analogy of the all blacks.
Enjoyed the fun here.
Thanks for sharing
Weefatfella.

Author's Reply:
Thanks mate if it gave you a smile my job is done! πŸ™‚

amman on 24-06-2013
A great New Zeaalnd Cook
I'd say this is very well done but that would a pun too far. How about - very, very funny; really floated my boat. If this comes from the home front, serves you right for marrying a KIWI.
Cheers.


Author's Reply:
Thanks you for the witty comment and very generous rating. As long as it was not 'over done' that's fine. It's good job 'er indoors doesn't read my stuff! amman πŸ˜‰

deadpoet on 24-06-2013
A great New Zeaalnd Cook
very much enjoyed..

Author's Reply:
Thanks DP glad you enjoyed it.

Bozzz on 24-06-2013
A great New Zeaalnd Cook
Great fun - what bravery in writing it, but max wisdom is in the last line - a try for NZ scored in the final minute ! Some polishing of the meter needed in a few places.

Author's Reply:
Cheers Bozzz Thanks for the ace comment! My wife's from Yorkshire but, yes I do the cooking in our house, I plead self self defence;-)

teifii on 24-06-2013
A great New Zeaalnd Cook
I was going to suggest you do it yourself. Good fun. One typo -- Chewing though [through I think]

Author's Reply:
Cheers teifii thanks for your imput I really shouldn't post in the wee small hours! you did help met o find a better word though I changed chewing for gnawing!
I do do the cooking myself in our house as stated earlier I plead self defence! πŸ˜‰

Andrea on 24-06-2013
A great New Zeaalnd Cook
Much enjoyed *titters*. Have to say I ain't much cop in the kitchen either πŸ™‚

(you've got a typo in the title, too:))

Author's Reply:
Thanks for pointing that out Andrea and for the comment and great rating. I'm glad it gave you a titter!
Now get back in the kitchen and practice πŸ˜‰

Savvi on 24-06-2013
A Great New Zeaalnd Cook
Beware the dangers of acrylamide the food standards agency would be most upset after all they will have cancer warnings on barbeques next. Poem has a tight meter with some very funny lines, made me laugh, thanks S

Author's Reply:
Many thanks Savvi I'm glad it gave you a giggle! I know what you mean about FSA they won't be happy until we're all vegans.

ValDohren on 25-06-2013
A Great New Zeaalnd Cook
Well at least you won't get food poisoning Pronto, so that's at least an up side. Very funny write, and very well penned I thought. Well done you.
Val

Author's Reply:
Thank you Val the rating was most generous too. I'm lucky in that my Mrs has a great sense of humour and she's a lot smaller than me too! πŸ˜‰


Bandit Country (posted on: 24-06-13)
A tale of South Armagh

They lie concealed within a ditch They're filthy, they itch and life's a bitch They've been there for three days now Their only company a cow But still they watch, still they wait Knowing he may walk through that gate They can't have a hot meal, wash or shave Their soggy ditch feels like a grave In plastic bags seal piss and shit Lest wildlife come to sniff at it It's hard but hell, this life they chose And anyway goodness knows Thousands would love to take their place Had they the strength to stand the pace Predawn on the fourth day he hears a squeak As the gate swings open with a gentle creak Through the starlight scope sees a man walking Is this the bandit that he's stalking? Nudges his sleeping mate awake Can't afford to make a mistake They don't exchange a single word For fear of being overheard His comrade looks then nods his head Confirmation positive left unsaid Man reaches the arms cache looks about Then pulls a sub machine gun out Man in the ditch takes careful aim In the final move of this deadly game Through his night sights things look much bigger He takes up the first pressure on the trigger Then squeezes gently, rifle's blast The terrorist has breathed his last The bullet goes through the target's head And instantly the man falls dead The operation end's a hard won success For the troopers of the SAS
Archived comments for Bandit Country
Weefatfella on 24-06-2013
Bandit Country
 photo fd68aa69-bd2a-4057-8056-d78ca32405b1_zps7a968777.jpg
Aye it's a hard life.
Not for me thank the Lord.
You write as though from experience.
God bless the soldier who stands on the wall.
Enjoyed this insight into a soldiers life.
Weefatfella.

Author's Reply:
Aye sir I read somewhere: "We only walk in peace and feedom because rough men are willing to do dark deeds on our behalf." Something like that anyway mate.

Thanks for dropping by and commenting WFF.

deadpoet on 24-06-2013
Bandit Country
Very vivid- a hard life and is it worth it?

Author's Reply:
A very vailid point. I loved Spike Milligan's question: "What if they held a war and nobody came?"
Thanks for the comment and generous rating D/P.

Savvi on 24-06-2013
Bandit Country
This paints a vivid picture and the rhymes are so good you don't even notice them, I was lost in the tale as it unfolded very well done, one thing bothered me though and I'm not sure but the scope and the waiting implies a sniper and I'm not sure a sub machine gun fits the image especially when he falls to a head shot. Hope this makes sense. Best S

Author's Reply:
Thank you Savvi for the generous rating and the kind comment. I hope I didn't put it clumsily but the sniper was indeed a rifleman it was the bandit took the SMG from the arms cache being watched.

ValDohren on 25-06-2013
Bandit Country
Excellent Pronto, very well constructed. A soldier's lot is not a happy one, and we all need to appreciate them, as I am sure most people do.
Val

Author's Reply:
Thank you for the high rating and comment Val,
They do appreciate soldiers in war time Val but the "Kiplingesque" attitude seems slip back in once peace has reigned for a while. God save Tommy Atkins! πŸ˜‰


Shakespeare's Lament (posted on: 17-06-13)
Our Will soon to find Anne Hath-a-way!

To yon tavern I'll go ne're again They fed'st me rancid fare I now upon the privy squat My burning arse laid bare My nightgown all a-fouled with puke I knowest the bed I've shit On the morrow will she break my balls For she hath lain in it All this suffered for a draught of ale And company of a whore I nurseth now my spinning head And vow lord never more! (Until the next time) πŸ™‚
Archived comments for Shakespeare's Lament
OldPeculier on 17-06-2013
Shakespeares Lament
Made me hoot.

Thank you.

Author's Reply:
Gadzooks sirrah, Gladdened I am that thou hast gained ye the order of hoot! πŸ˜‰

Weefatfella on 23-06-2013
Shakespeares Lament
 photo fd68aa69-bd2a-4057-8056-d78ca32405b1_zps7a968777.jpg
Ha! Brillianto Pronto.
Love it. πŸ™‚
Weefatfella.

Author's Reply:
Thanks Paul I'm glad it amused you!

Andrea on 23-06-2013
Shakespeares Lament
Hahaha, brilliant! And to think I've dragged poor Jess to AH's cottage numerous times πŸ™‚ Poor old Willy, eh?

Author's Reply:
Forsooth upon the morrow, yeah, will it truely be comuppance time! (It's happened to me more than once) πŸ˜‰
Thanks for the comment and a very generous rating for a piece of daft doggerel!


French Dilemma (posted on: 14-06-13)
There was a recent petition to change the name of one of our British railway stations to something the French would find more acceptable.

Triumphalism you shouldn't do A railway station called Waterloo? Reminding yourselves of a victories past When Britain came first and France came last Please, do change it right away It's inappropriate in this modern day Of course we said we hear your voice And it's only fair you're given a choice To which name d'you reckon should we resort Trafalgar, Crecy or Agincourt?
Archived comments for French Dilemma
JackCrowe on 14-06-2013
French Dilemma
Lovely. Would sound good accompanied by a French Horn. Or is it a Cor Anglais?

Author's Reply:
Thanks for the comment Jack I hink the latter would do nicely. I wrote it piss my French brother-in-law off πŸ˜‰

ValDohren on 15-06-2013
French Dilemma
Wonderful Pronto, very clever.

Val

Author's Reply:
Thanks for the comment and high rating Val I'm glad it gave you a smile!

cocobird on 16-06-2013
French Dilemma
Love it! Why must the Brits always have to pander to other nations?


Author's Reply:
I dunno we're the only idiots in Europe who bend over backwards to stick to all the rules all the time whilst others pick and choose the one's they like.

Thankee kindly for the comment. C/B

OldPeculier on 16-06-2013
French Dilemma
Spot on. Very amusing and just the right length. Thank you.

Author's Reply:
Thank you O/P I'm glad you found it to your liking! πŸ™‚

Weefatfella on 16-06-2013
French Dilemma
 photo fd68aa69-bd2a-4057-8056-d78ca32405b1_zps7a968777.jpg
Whit aboot " voici un allemand La Gare "




Author's Reply:
Sorry for the late reply WFF i've been busy lately with one thing and another. Yhanks for the comment mate.

Yes, well we did lend 'em a bit of a hand with the German shindig but I reckon their noses have been rubbed in it enough on that one.
Vive la France!


The Rifle Butt Diplomats (posted on: 07-06-13)
Recalling a time when I was not a nice person to know.

I was twenty two naive and a little scared For many dangers we had shared Felt pity for souls not spared Dead in the ditch from shotgun wounds Cutlass's hacked the life from others Daughter's mothers lie raped, draped Across bloodied beds some with no heads Their bodies scream silently Justice! Where is justice? Police all of one ethnicity look on without pity No point arresting when no one's attesting To the crimes of these awful times We try to make sense of it all Answer each urgent call Been in a war before but nothing like this Can't sleep can't dismiss The nightmare of my days We become clinical, cynical Administer justice of our own Thump a head, break a bone Rifle butt diplomacy it's called And, if you're appalled, Tough shit! This was the reality of it: We meet a man laughing in the street Waving a cutlass, high on rum Says man I'm glad you've come I 'it me neighbour wit me cutlass An' im 'and fell off Shows us the hand, starts to laugh Damn, 'im only a coolie man If we arrest police release in a couple of hours But for this moment he's ours Big Bill's as mad as hell Steps forward, slams down his rifle butt Upon the man's naked foot I hear the scream, the crack of bone I whack his head, he falls with a groan ''You maim a man then brag and scoff? Let's hear you laugh that fucker off'' Me? I'm a peacekeeper or so it's said With demons living in my head Drink a bottle of rum every day But the demons still won't go away And even after all these years Sometimes, like now, I'm reduced to tears What the hell was it all for? British Guiana '64
Archived comments for The Rifle Butt Diplomats
Savvi on 07-06-2013
The Rifle Butt Diplomats
Wow pronto a very moving piece and how well you tell it, this is hard to do and you make it look easy, I'm sure there's a lot of you in this and it scans very well with only a couple of bumps, they are definitely worth sorting out as this is a great poem.

Author's Reply:
Wow Savvi thank you for the superb rating and kind comment my friend you're most generous.

ValDohren on 09-06-2013
The Rifle Butt Diplomats
Brilliant Pronto - very powerful and punchy. Deserving of a nib IMHO, and definitely a top rating.

Val

Author's Reply:
Wow Val thank you I'm humbled.

Mikeverdi on 10-06-2013
The Rifle Butt Diplomats
I would be interested to know if this is you, it's a great story of what must have been a shocking time in anyone's life. I remember the Mau Mau in Kenya, it was all over the papers at the time. I agree with the others ; an excellent write. Mike

Author's Reply:
Hi mate thanks for the comment and high rating. I'm afraid I was that soldier, not to make excuses but we'd fought in Brunei and Borneo up to the Sept of '63 then they sent us to Guyana in May '64 I think it may have been too much crap too soon. Anyway we got the job done and back home early β€˜65 they gained full independence in '66.
I note that the British government have issued an apology for the atrocities committed on the Mau Mau terrorists and agreed to pay them compensation. I wonder when the Kenyan government will apologise to the relatives of the British civilians killed and compensate our survivors?


Naughty Boy Aged Four (posted on: 07-06-13)
On another site there is a comp to add fifty words or less to "When the door slammed shut" My entry below is about a child struggling to understand corporal punishment.

When the door slammed shut I was locked in the dark Lost to your light ''You stay there all night And tomorrow too Before I'm through You'll learn to be a good boy'' I curl up on the floor by the door Legs sore From your beating Mummy please Why don't you love me anymore?
Archived comments for Naughty Boy Aged Four
Savvi on 07-06-2013
Naughty Boy Aged Four
powerful images and very sad, I like the switch of voice it adds depth to this short piece. Thanks S

Author's Reply:
Thanks Savvi,
Maybe I'll experiment with that once I find my mike after my house move! πŸ™‚


A Knife for a Knife (posted on: 31-05-13)
I tasked myself with writing a story in poem form in fifty words or less I found it quite challenging but a very good exercise in being concise.

Hand over yer wallet Paki git Or your fuckin' throat I'll slit You've recovered well Since I used my knife Well enough to threaten life You takin' the piss or what? Gimme, quick, the fuckin' lot Taking the piss? Certainly not I was your surgeon John When you were shot
Archived comments for A Knife for a Knife
chant_z on 01-06-2013
A Knife for a Knife
Very good. It's a small world πŸ™‚

Author's Reply:
Thank you Chant_z It's nice that you enjoyed the irony of it. πŸ˜‰

Hekkus on 02-06-2013
A Knife for a Knife
A lot said about race relations in very few words. A nice little morality tale.

Author's Reply:
Thank you Hekkus Glad you enjoyed it mate.

ValDohren on 05-06-2013
A Knife for a Knife
Brilliant Pronto, sorry I missed it. So much said in so few words.

Val

Author's Reply:
Thanks Val for the great rating and kind comment. I'm flattered.


One Eyed Monster (posted on: 24-05-13)
Take not thy youth and strength for granted lest pride and arrogance be thine undoing!

Well my cocky friend do you see him now? Him, the old guy, the pensioner He must have a few quid right? And being old he won't fight So grab him and punch him Put him in fear of life and limb Wave your knife, threaten his life You think it's so funny Brag to your junkie mates 'Bout how you stole his money But what you didn't expect Was a man of courage, of intellect Who wouldn't be bowed Who refused to be cowed A man who took a simple ballpoint pen And turned it hard against you when He shoved it deep into your eye Heard you cry Saw your confidence turn to fear He took your shoes and trousers And exposed your skinny rear Made you walk home, your arse laid bare How's that for retribution sir? Much better than the justice court Which you regard as a kind of sport Next time you think of mugging An 'easy' target such as he Remember your eye, Then you'll see The folly of your ways Live with one eye all your days! Up yours!
Archived comments for One Eyed Monster
Andrea on 26-05-2013
One Eyed Monster
Ah yes - comeuppance. Don't you just love it!

Author's Reply:
Hi Andea,
Thanks for the coment and good rating mate. Yup I too love it when a thug get's his instead of the victim!

ValDohren on 26-05-2013
One Eyed Monster
Oh wonderful - love it!! We live in a mamby-pamby society where no-one is 'allowed' to defend themselves, if only we could without fear of reprisals. We need to teach such thugs a lesson - now where's my handbag !!

Val

Author's Reply:
Ah yes Val I call it ABV syndrome where the authorities care about Anyone But the Victim!
Thank you for the comment and great rating.

Andrea on 26-05-2013
One Eyed Monster
Meant to say - congrats on the nib! And don't forget to get your anthology votes in, will you.

Author's Reply:
Thank you Andea I will.

Mikeverdi on 28-05-2013
One Eyed Monster
Excellent! I can remember cheering when Bronson shot the bad guys in the first of his Vigilante series. Mike

Author's Reply:
Thanks Mike for the comment and the great rating.
I too find it satisfying when the bad guy gets his comuppance! I must have watched too many Roy Rogers films when I was a kid! πŸ˜‰


Kindness its Own Reward (posted on: 20-05-13)
To do a kindness should be its own reward.

Pamela Prentice saw the elderly gentleman stagger and fall. He seemed to be stepping up the kerb and somehow missed his footing and toppled over his ankle twisting under him. He landed heavily bumping his head as he sprawled across the pavement. She stopped her car at once and ran over to where he lay dazed and bleeding from the head. ''Lie still'' she ordered in her authoritative nurse's voice. ''I'll be all right, I'll be all right'' he mumbled trying to get up. ''Please let be the judge of that'' she said gently ''I'm a trained nurse I can help you'' and, ignoring his protestations, proceeded to examine him. He sensed from her actions and questions that she knew what she was about and relaxed a little letting her tend to him. A woman came out of her house to offer help ''I've called an ambulance'' she said ''but they said there's a delay.'' Pamela looked resigned there was all too often a delay these days in getting to minor incidents. Ah well she thought I'd better take him myself. Between them the two women got the casualty into her car where he sat on the back seat looking confused and forlorn holding a table napkin to his bleeding head. ''If you just drop me off at home I'll be Ok'' he said weakly ''I don't want to be a bother.'' Pamela looked at him though the rear view mirror ''I believe you've broken your ankle young man'' she said sounding school ma'am-ish ''You'll need professional attention for that.'' And with that she drove him to the Accident and Emergency department of the local hospital. Pamela had asked him his name and established that he lived alone during her examination so there was no one she could call for him. She booked him in then handed him over to a hospital porter who wheeled him away for treatment then she left to go about her belated shopping. Peter Lovage received excellent treatment his broken ankle was put in a cast and, because he'd banged his head, he was kept in hospital overnight for observation. On his release he took a taxi home and with the help of the driver and his new crutches managed to get into his house without too much trouble. The hospital had informed the social services people who said they'd send someone round to assess his needs. Once alone he sank into his favourite armchair propping his injured leg on a cushioned foot stool. He thought of the lady who had helped him and the kindness she had shown and it upset him that he didn't even know her name. He need not have worried for destiny had decreed they would meet again. Pamela told her husband John about what had happened and how she was concerned for the eighty one year old gentleman. When she said she was going to pop around after work next day to see if he was all right John was not surprised. That was his Pamela a heart of gold always looking out for others. He knew better than to argue, she'd take no notice anyway. And so it was Pamela knocked on Peter's door and heard him call ''Come in the door's open.'' He had looked surprised to see her ''Oh it's you I thought it was the social services lady. Well I'm glad you've called m'dear because I wanted to thank you for your help the other day. It was very kind of you.'' He had offered to pay her for the petrol used but she refused him briskly. ''No thanks'' she said ''my mother always taught us that kindness should be its own reward.'' She looked at him deeply concerned ''Are you ok now?'' she queried. He looked so thin and frail with a sort of lost look about him ''When did you last eat?'' He sat rubbing his chin as if trying to think of the answer to a difficult question ''This morning, yes, yes definitely, I made some toast....'' his voice trailed off then he followed with ''I'm fine, really I can manage.'' Pamela looked at him sternly ''Well I'm going to make you a cup of tea while I'm here and see what else I can do'' and without waiting for his approval marched to the kitchen. In the kitchen she found everything clean and well ordered like the rest of the small terraced house appeared to be. On opening the fridge though she found there wasn't much in the way of food but she managed to make him a cheese omelette and opened a tin of peas to go with it taking it through on a tray along with a cup of tea for them both ''Right Peter you eat this now and we'll have a cup of tea my friend.'' Her tone told him it was better to obey than make a fuss. ''You don't seem to have much food in the house.'' ''I was on my way to the shops when I fell'' he said defensively ''I don't eat a great lot anyway.'' There and then Pamela took out a pen and her note book ''Right'' she said ''I'll get you something in what do you normally eat?'' Her tone held a note of bustling efficiency that brooked no argument. He reeled off a short list and Pamela thought no wonder he looks so thin he's not eating properly. After a few suggestions from her the list filled out a little and she went and got what she thought would last him a week. On her return they chatted for a little while and that's when Pamela first noticed the photograph in the solid silver frame on the mantelpiece. It was of a young, very pretty woman with flame red hair smiling broadly. She was standing in a relaxed pose holding the hand of a gorgeous little girl of about three whose angelic face was framed by a mass of strawberry curls. What aroused her curiosity was the narrow band of black ribbon tied around the top. Not wanting to pry she said nothing but Peter had noticed her looking. Pamela called the following morning before her shift Peter was up and about and she could smell the bacon and toast he'd had for breakfast. He seemed much recovered in his spirits and insisted on making her coffee. ''It's proper coffee Pamela not that instant stuff.'' He said as if to reassure her. Pamela was pleased one of her little 'weaknesses' was proper ground coffee and she'd skipped hers that morning in order to spend a bit more time with him ''Oh well in that case certainly, I take it black no sugar please. ''That's the way I drink it too'' he beamed seeming pleased at her revelation. Over the weeks of Peter's recovery he and Pamela became good friends. She discovered he had a dry, wicked sense of humour and a keen wit, he always seemed to look for the good in people too and she liked that about him. He was one of nature's natural gentlemen who shared her love of poetry though their tastes differed widely. She found out that he had been an engineer and had worked all over the world. They both talked fondly of Singapore where Pamela had spent three years as a teenager due to her father's work. Peter could tell some amusing stories too like the time when in a small town called Tampin in Malaysia he had been staying in a guest house and had indulged in rather too much whiskey. On returning to his room he had found a huge snake asleep on his bed. Annoyed he had grabbed the sleeping reptile behind its head and thrown it out of the window and watched as it slithered away into the shrubbery. When he told the hotel manager the next morning man went pale. Peter had thought because of its size it was a non-poisonous python but the manager told him what he had just described was a king cobra the world's largest poisonous snake. The nearest serum he said was in Kuala Lumpur seventy five miles away. Whenever conversation turned to family matters however Peter was reluctant to talk of any relatives he may have had and quickly changed the subject. Pamela was still fascinated by the photo on the mantelpiece but he never mentioned it and she sensed it was a bit of a taboo subject so, although intrigued, good manners prevented her from asking directly. Over that summer Peter came to Pamela and John's house for a barbeque and to Sunday lunch a few times, he met their ten year old daughter Molly. He and Molly had hit it off straight away ''It's like having another granddad'' she told her mother ''and he's so funny too always telling me silly jokes.'' One day whilst having tea at Peter's house they had been talking of Molly who had been excited about a forthcoming sleep over at her cousin's house. She noticed him glancing with sad eyes to the photo. Pamela finally broached the subject of his family; did he have anyone at all like a distant cousin for instance? Had he ever been married? Peter went quiet for a moment then got out of his chair and handed her the photo from the mantelpiece. ''We were married'' he stated flatly ''She died.'' ''Oh I'm sorry Peter and the little girl?'' He paused and taking the picture from her he looked at it wistfully stroking it gently with the tips of his fingers as if caressing them both ''She was my daughter.'' He said his voice quiet, his eyes filled with sadness. ''Was?'' ''She died too.'' Pamela wished now she hadn't asked she could see he was hurting. ''Sorry Peter....I didn't mean to intrude... was it an accident?'' ''In a way'' he paused ''She was an Irish girl you see, from Londonderry. She went to visit her sister whilst I was away on a job, 1972 it was I asked her not to go as she was nearly eight months pregnant but she was a headstrong girl my Colleen. He paused again as if struggling to find the right words finally he said simply ''They were out shopping looking for a present for me.'' Again he hesitated briefly shrugging his shoulders ''There was a bomb.'' The words hit Pamela like a ton of bricks she felt sick in the pit of her stomach. He had stated 'there was a bomb' with no trace of self pity, no hatred of the people who had planted the device no hint of any emotion. ''Oh Peter I'm so sorry, Oh my god that's awful and the little girl too...'' Peter placed his hand on her shoulder ''It was all such a long time ago now my dear don't upset yourself.'' Pamela wiped a tear from her eye ''Your daughter, she looks so beautiful, what was she called?'' ''Molly'' he said quietly replacing the picture ''She was called Molly too just like your little girl.'' Peter spared her the details of those terrible times. There had been a warning but they got the street name wrong and the bomb had gone off twenty minutes early as people were still being evacuated past the empty shop were the device lay hidden. Heavily pregnant and hampered with shopping and a small child Colleen had been the last person struggling to clear the area. She was blown through a shop window and she and her unborn child died instantly her body had partially shielded Molly from the blast and she was found among the rubble alive but unconscious her left foot severed completely with blood seeping from her nose and ears looking like a beautiful broken doll. They had tried so hard to save her Peter had sat by her bed for three days and nights in the intensive care ward praying for her holding her tiny hand desperate for her to live. On the morning the fourth day she had opened her bright blue eyes and recognised her daddy. She couldn't smile for the tube in her throat but her eyes smiled her joy at seeing him. He had told her that he loved her and that he was asking god to make her better. Shortly afterwards she had slipped into a coma and two hours later her brave spirit gave up the impossible struggle to stay in her shattered little body. She let out a last short sighing breath and passed away. Peter never prayed again. It was winter time and Pamela was concerned for Peter he had had a bad cold since Christmas which had turned into a nasty chest infection. He had taken the medicine she had brought for him and the doctor had visited and had prescribed antibiotics. He had seemed to be rallying well but, as always, he looked so terribly frail. Three days after the doctor had been she had found him dead in bed his heart had failed under the strain. He looked so at peace like a man who had finally got home to his loved ones after a long tiring journey. Pamela and John had arranged his funeral and had been the only people to attend. Pamela had cried tears of genuine grief at his passing for she had grown to love the beautiful person he was. Molly was too distraught to attend and had stayed with her grandparents. Two weeks later they received a call from a solicitor would they please come to the office for the reading of the will. Pamela had been surprised as she hadn't known he even had will, they had never discussed anything to do with financial matters. She knew he owned his house but had assumed that the proceeds of the sale would go to the state seeing as he had no living relatives. They came away from the lawyers feeling totally stunned and walked in silence to their car where Pamela opened the letter the letter they had been given it read: Dear Pamela and John, Thank you so much for making my last days on this earth so pleasant. You gave of yourselves with no thought of gain indeed you often put yourselves to great inconvenience simply to be kind to an old man. You allowed me into your family treating me with such kindness and little Molly brought great joy to my heart. You once told me that 'kindness should be its own reward' and I agree to a point but I think I can do a little better than that as you'll know by now. Thank you so much my dear friends blessings upon you. Peter Pamela folded the letter and put it in her handbag ''Good grief John'' she had said at last, still unable to believe what the solicitor had told them. ''I had no idea. I mean seven other houses and three hundred and forty eight thousand pounds in cash?
Archived comments for Kindness its Own Reward
Chew on 20-05-2013
Kindness its Own Reward
I really enjoyed the story. I found the old man to be believable.
I gained a sense of depth of the character which is believable for me, and also reminds me of people I myself know.
Parts of it evoked an emotional response in me.

Some grammar and sentence structure errors, but overall a very pleasant read. Thank you for having written it.

Author's Reply:
Thank you for the rating and comment much appreciated.

Weefatfella on 21-05-2013
Kindness its Own Reward
 photo c8985de3-44fa-4972-8452-209c5b038bed_zps41f8f0a0.jpgAye a great story Pronto, and emotively written.
I could believe the old guy.
You do characters well.
I enjoyed the whole piece.
A nicely delivered tale.
Weefatfella.

Author's Reply:
Thanks mate I'm pleased that you enjoyed it.
P

Savvi on 22-05-2013
Kindness its Own Reward
Brought a tear to my eye, well penned totally believable tidy ending. S

Author's Reply:
Aw thanks Savvi for the comment I'm glad you enjoyed it.


Glutton For Mutton (posted on: 17-05-13)
Only the pure of heart should read this poem!

He offered his mutton Stew Said a large portion's the thing for You It will fill your mouth with Ease The quality's guaranteed to Please So she took up his Offer A truly large portion did he Proffer     She chewed on his mutton with a happy Grin As his mutton juice ran down her Chin Eagerly she filled her Face With his mutton not a Trace Of remorse for the first Course She said that was great can't Wait To offer my banana Split The second course to Savour The boy licked her banana Split And said he loved it's Flavour Eagerly he ate 'til Satisfied So delicious her banana split The young man almost Cried Oh he said I love your Split Just can't get enough of It, Well my boy that gives me joy 'Cos I'm a Glutton for your Mutton
Archived comments for Glutton For Mutton
Weefatfella on 18-05-2013
Glutton For Mutton
 photo c8985de3-44fa-4972-8452-209c5b038bed_zps41f8f0a0.jpg
Oh My!Be still, my beating heart!
Ha! I knew a wumman who wiz daft for the shaft.
Whether it wiz crank or pit.
she cared not a whit.
when she did get the shaft she just laffed. Boom Boom! Thanks Pronto enjoyed, had a giggle.
Weefatfella.

Author's Reply:
Thanks WFF much appreciate the comment.
ta, as they say in Lancashire.

Andrea on 18-05-2013
Glutton For Mutton
Ooooh I say, how rude! But I like it πŸ™‚



Author's Reply:
Andrea I'm truly shocked! (Almost) I write a little ditty about a young man inviting a girl to Sunday lunch, she is considerate enough to provide the sweet, and you manage to see smut into it? Tut tut me dear, tut tut!

Thanks for the visit and the rating mate! πŸ˜‰

ValDohren on 19-05-2013
Glutton For Mutton
Not a lover of mutton myself, prefer beef sausage !! What a naughty boy you are Pronto ! Ha ha.

Val

Author's Reply:
What? Me naughty? Perish the thought! πŸ˜‰
Glad you enjoyed my bit of daftness!

stormwolf on 19-05-2013
Glutton For Mutton
Well when I saw that only the pure of heart should read...I knew I would have to as nothing pleases me more than breaking the rules;-)

gave me a right laugh it did ...
nearly (banana) split my sides.
Alison x

Author's Reply:
Thank you Alison for the generous rating. I'm made up if you had a giggle! πŸ™‚

Savvi on 20-05-2013
Glutton For Mutton
Banana split *childish te he* very good you filthy fool, made me laugh and for that I thank you. S

Author's Reply:
Hi mate when you called me a 'filthy fool' you left out the "Old" πŸ™‚

Thanks for dropping by and the great rating too, much appreciate it.
P


Dear Bob... (posted on: 03-05-13)
A letter most servicemen will have received one time or other most have different endings though

He reads her letter again Feels the same pang of pain Can't take the pressure she says I love you in so many ways But can't live with you being over there Me being over here I'm only human my dear I hope you'll see it's for the best And for our little boy the joy Of knowing the man he calls daddy Comes home at night Doesn't fight Months and months you staying away Whilst we can only watch and pray It's just too much the TV news Wondering when it's your turn to lose Can't do it any more The flag draped caskets Returning See the widows' tears burning Coursing down their pain lined faces Just another guy ran out of aces You know I'm not a whore But I've met a man, It wasn't planned It just happened One of those things He talks of a future Wedding rings He's got a great job Bob And little Jimmy loves him too Hell what could I do? I know you'll be angry But screw you! It was your choice To go away for paltry pay Sorry, sorry, didn't mean to get mad Must be the guilt I'm not the type to jilt At the drop of a hat, stuff like that Anyway I gotta go Just thought I'd let you know You'll always be in my heart Be lucky, Lucy He drops the letter to the wind Watches it blow Then pulls the trigger with his toe
Archived comments for Dear Bob...
Savvi on 03-05-2013
Dear Bob...
wow didn't see that end coming, nice piece really captured the old age dilema, really liked the voice and pace of this. S

Author's Reply:
Thanks Savvi
I used to be a soldier and the reactions to a 'Dear John' letter are many and varied. Only a very tiny percentage end like this thank god.
Thanks for the very generous rating mate. πŸ™‚

OldPeculier on 03-05-2013
Dear Bob...
I like this alot. You got your serious head on for this one!

My eldest boy is RAF. He has just got engaged.....

Author's Reply:
Hi O/P I'm only 95% jokes. Most military relationships are fine, stronger than civilian one's actually, as mine was it's only a tiny percentage that go seriously wrong mate.

Good luck to your eldest boy and bless him for his service.
P

Ionicus on 05-05-2013
Dear Bob...
Hello Pronto. A sad and poignant poem reflecting the tough decision that some military wife might have to make regarding a husband's prolonged absence and the extreme reaction that a 'dear John' letter could provoke.
A well thought composition.

Author's Reply:
Hi Ionicus,
Sorry for the late answer to your comment and rating mate and thank you. I managed to get myself locked out of the site. I've also been publishing a book of poetry on Kindle.
Best regards,
P

ValDohren on 05-05-2013
Dear Bob...
Very sad Pronto, very sad indeed. Beautifully written.

Val

Author's Reply:
Thanks Val for your comment and great rating. sorry I've taken so long to reply I got locked out.
P


OOPS! (posted on: 03-05-13)
Out of the mouths of babes and innocents....

Seven o'clock Sunday morning Mum and daddy's plight Little menace three years old Kept them up half the night At last says Mummy he's asleep Now time for some respite She's bouncing up and down on him And really in full throe The little bugger marches in And he wants to know What are you doing to daddy mummy? Why are you jumping on his tummy? Well says mummy daddy's fat So I am bouncing to make sure That his tummy stays real flat And bouncing is the cure The little boy laughs with joy You'll never do it Mummy He laughs 'til he's hysterical She asks him why it's funny Well every time you go to work Daddy plays a game He lets the lady from next door Blow him up again!
Archived comments for OOPS!
Savvi on 03-05-2013
OOPS!
Very funny, made me laugh out loud and I'm in an open plan office :(, nice job. S

Author's Reply:
Glad you enjoyed it Savvi it was an old joke refurbished into doggerel! Still it's funto do these things now and then πŸ˜‰

OldPeculier on 03-05-2013
OOPS!
A good re-telling of a very,very old joke.

Very funny.

Author's Reply:
Hi O/P yup, I heard it a while back and thought it would make a good comic verse. A lot of jokes will be reborn with a little playing around with.
Thanks for the comment mate!

ValDohren on 03-05-2013
OOPS!
We all know what's been on your mind lately Pronto!! LOL. What a hoot.

Val



Author's Reply:
Glad you enjoyed it Val and thanks for the rating; sure 'twas just a bit o' blarney! πŸ˜‰

amman on 04-05-2013
OOPS!
Ha ha. Very good. Out of the mouths of babes...
Cheers.

Author's Reply:
Thanks for the comment and generous rating Sorry it's taken a while to respond I managed to switch on my numpty head and get locked out of the site!

Texasgreg on 04-05-2013
OOPS!
Yikes! Don't ever take him with ya to trade your car in...

Good job...

Greg πŸ™‚

Photobucket.

Author's Reply:
Thanks pal I'm glad you liked it. πŸ™‚

Bozzz on 04-05-2013
OOPS!
I have never been able to pick the right neighbours - ours are always from Hell. Enjoyed the rumpy bumpy ...Bozzz

Author's Reply:
Glad you enjoyed it Bozzz
A kid will trip you up every time πŸ˜‰

Miel on 05-05-2013
OOPS!
Nicely told... You have me smiling!

Author's Reply:
Glad you smiled my job is done, my reward received! πŸ˜‰

Andrea on 05-05-2013
OOPS!
Bounces merrily along...ahem πŸ™‚

Author's Reply:
Thanks for the comment and high rating Andrea I'm glad you got to bounce along with it πŸ˜‰


The Crusader's Return (posted on: 29-04-13)
The story of a right good knight!

Oh my knight thy lance looks, at a glance The only thing a maiden could desire Of her squire and sets my poor heart afire Come, unto my chamber, let us repair And, once there, Discuss at length its great strength and, I hope, With peels of mirth thy lance's girth This night my knight shall we put a-right That which we both hath sorely missed To be kissed and, accur'sed be thy worthless pelt, Unlock ye this fuckin' chastity belt! Oh shit quoth he I've lost the key! πŸ˜‰
Archived comments for The Crusader's Return
OldPeculier on 29-04-2013
The Crusaders Return
Naughty, but nice.

Author's Reply:
Thanks O/P I guess I'm just a wicked old sod! πŸ˜‰

ValDohren on 02-05-2013
The Crusaders Return
Oh put your lance away Pronto and behave !!! Hahahah very funny.

Val :-0

Author's Reply:
Lol Thanks for dropping by Val its a good job I didn't publish my Naughty Nursery Rhymes they might have made you blush πŸ˜‰


Aged Love (posted on: 29-04-13)
As we grow older our values and perceptions may change but we are stiil as passionate as we once were.

And you my love, now that age and infirmity Has put us beyond physical expression of our love Still show your truth in small gentle ways Filling my days With the warmth of your devotion ''No you sit there, stay in your chair I'll do it'' It's against my wishes but I let you Because you want to Bringing my morning tea you stroke my head Planting on its balding crown a kiss, Token unspoken of your deep affection Setting the mirrors of my memory to reflection In restaurants I hold your chair whilst you sit Help you on and off with your coat Pour your wine, watch you dine We chat we laugh we jest Taking the time to express Our old fashioned passion The years of toil and strife borne together uncomplainingly Deepened my love for you Your light shines into my soul Causing it to know of things beyond this life Our lives run together like twin rivers Inseparable since their confluence Have flowed over rocks through turbulent rapids of life Over cataracts of despair and have emerged unscathed And now sweep slow through deep pools of tranquillity Across sunset plains towards the far dark sea Of eternity Had I but one day I would share it with you If an hour I would hold you If but one breath I would surrender it to you gladly In a joyous kiss Of purest bliss
Archived comments for Aged Love
ValDohren on 29-04-2013
Aged Love
Lovely Pronto, very sweet and romantic. 'Bourn' should be spelt 'borne', just a small error in an otherwise very good write.

Val

Author's Reply:
Thanks Val for your kind comment generous rating and for picking up the error I suppose we rely too much on spell checkers!
Big hugz,
B

Witchysmyth on 29-04-2013
Aged Love
The most lovely thing I've read in ages. Sentiment so beautifully epressed here:

β€œNo you sit there, stay in your chair I’ll do it”
It’s against my wishes but I let you
Because you want to
Bringing my morning tea you stroke my head
Planting on its balding crown a kiss,
Token unspoken of your deep affection
Setting the mirrors of my memory to reflection


I've chosen this as a fav.

Author's Reply:
Thank you Wytchysmyth for your kind comment and superb rating I'm truly touched and flattered that you have chosen this as a favourite. I was just trying to express how I feel about my lovely wife and our life together.

Again I thank you.
B

Mikeverdi on 30-04-2013
Aged Love
Beautiful writing, it expresses so much. Mike

Author's Reply:
Thank you Mike for your kind comment and generous rating. Much appreciated mate.


Disaster Is Yours (posted on: 26-04-13)
Have you ever started a simple DIY job only for things to go drastically wrong?

The joys of DIY are for some folk greatest fun But I have made a cock-up of everything I've done Take today for instance to replace an outside tap Simple, easy, quickly done or a bloody great mishap? Well I gathered up the pieces the instructions carefully read, Made a note of tools I need and brought them from the shed Pulled out the washing machine to expose the water pipe Didn't have to cut it I'd bought the self cutting type Removed the old outside tap it only took a mo I clamped the cutter on the pipe ready now to go It went on very easily but much to my chagrin I'd fixed it to the gas pipe which put me in a spin I was in a panic and shouted to our lass Hurry to the meter girl turn off the bloody gas! You may laugh call me a foolish but folks it wasn't funny I had to call the gas man out and he took all my money! Oh what a silly thing to do and only me to blame I couldn't make excuses just hung my head in shame What should have been a simple job caused me naught but grief Now I'm banned from doing DIY much to my relief! And I used to be one of B&Q's part time grandads too! πŸ™
Archived comments for Disaster Is Yours
ValDohren on 26-04-2013
Disaster Is Yours
Oh dear Pronto, glad you're not fixing my taps !! Couple of typos - 4th verse 3rd line, there's an 'a' that shouldn't be there, and penultimate line, 'cause' should read 'caused.' Great write, made me smile πŸ™‚

Val

Author's Reply:
Thanks Val,
It's small, persistent mistakes like this that caused me to give up diving a month ago and DIY this week.
Thank you mate.

Savvi on 26-04-2013
Disaster Is Yours
very witty Pronto and all with your signature voice, loved it. S

Author's Reply:
Thank you Savvi for the rating and comment mate much appreciated. πŸ™‚

Weefatfella on 27-04-2013
Disaster Is Yours
 photo 6e64c949-25e7-4412-a2c5-8b9996ad7cba_zps5037a281.jpg
Ha right up my street. Well done Pronto. I'm rubbish at DIY,
I prefer GAMI (Get A Man In) Good Laugh Pronto.
Thanks for sharing.
Weefatfella.

Author's Reply:
Thanks for the support WFF I think I'll join GAMI with immediate effect πŸ™‚

amman on 27-04-2013
Disaster Is Yours
Nice one. Made me chuckle. There but for the grace...
Cheers.

Author's Reply:
Thanks Amman for your comment and rating I'm normally so careful too! Still I suppose we all get those days! πŸ˜‰

Andrea on 27-04-2013
Disaster Is Yours
Oh dear, I'm not much good at DIY either. Made me laugh πŸ™‚

Author's Reply:
Thanks Andrea for dropping by and the rating,
Even when there isn't a wrong way to do a job I can invent one! I'm very creative like that πŸ˜‰


My Treasure (posted on: 22-04-13)
Just a daft ditty which was not aimed at my wife (really) that's why I'm still alive!

I call my missus ''treasure,'' I love her with all my heart, We've been wed these thirty years and never been apart, My son asked 'Do you her treasure 'cos they ask where you dug her up?' I clipped round his ear hole and said 'No you cheeky pup,' 'I call her my treasure' I said only half in jest, 'Not because I dug her up but because of her sunken chest!'
Archived comments for My Treasure
ValDohren on 23-04-2013
My Treasure
Hahaha - good job your wife has a sense of humour Pronto !!

Val

Author's Reply:
Yes she's a great soul and a god job for me too! πŸ˜‰


The Two Pole Pratt (posted on: 22-04-13)
This was inspired by a 'serious' walker we met last autumn whilst strolling in a country park. He was striding manfully along with two of these telescopic walking poles and I greeted him with a cheery hello. He took one look at us poor poleless peasants gave a gruff 'harrump' and departed, his face like a freshly smacked arse! With apologies to any serious walkers πŸ˜‰

Gaiters, big boots and a bobble hat, And lots of pricey stuff like that, And just to prove I am a serious walker I sometimes wear a deer stalker, As walking is my one true passion, I have to dress in the latest fashion, My gear's the best and to let you know I make sure designer labels show But the thing that sets me apart from you, And the ordinary walking that you do, Are the walking poles I really need, So I progress with grace and speed, I get: ''You look like a skier who's lost his skis," And smart-arsed comments just like these, As I prod ineffectually at the ground, The biggest prat for miles around, I tramp for hours over hill and dale, Nothing stops me snow, fog or hail, For I must be seen by others keen, And judge them upon where they've been. ''Oh yes, I did that walk last year, Not challenging enough for me now my dear, I need a much longer, steeper hill, To thrash my poles with the utmost skill." I'm oft seen posing in a country pub, With a pint and some expensive grub, Sandwiches and flask would never do, That would make me ordinary just like you. The wife donned her gear on the other day, I asked ''Over the hills and far away?'' ''No'' she said ''but I have to pop, Around the corner to the local shop.'' ''You see I feel the urge to pose, To make sure everybody knows, That underneath this silly hat, Lives a dedicated two pole prat"
Archived comments for The Two Pole Pratt
Rupe on 22-04-2013
The Two Pole Pratt
Most amusing and fluently written. It's called 'Nordic walking' I believe.

I've lived in Finland for the past decade, and reckon you hit the nail on the head when you say that 'you look like a skier who's lost his skis' - it's all the rage here & the local docs spin a line about the amazing health benefits it has as compared to normal walking. But the bottom line is that the locals are never happier than when they've got skis on their feet & sticks in their hands, so when the snow melts away at least they can keep the sticks...

Rupe

Author's Reply:
Thanks Rupe for your comment.
I had no idea it was called that. I hope no one translates it into Finnish or I'll be finnished! πŸ˜‰

amman on 24-04-2013
The Two Pole Pratt
Very amusing Pronto. I actually use one pole meself; quite useful when descending 30 degree, slippery slopes. Most of our group dress like refugees tho'. Enjoyed.
Cheers.

Author's Reply:
Hi mate thanks for reading my work. Yup satire is cruel and mostly unjust but hell it's fun to write!
Please don't give up your pole and hurt yourself! πŸ˜‰
Blessing

cooky on 24-04-2013
The Two Pole Pratt
Very good. Lovely flow which tells a story about people we all know. I like this

Author's Reply:
Thanks Cooky for your comment and generous rating I'm glad you enjoyed it. They dwell amongst us you know! πŸ˜‰

ValDohren on 25-04-2013
The Two Pole Pratt
Great write Pronto, we've all seen them. Bet you've got a Barbour coat and Hunter wellies (I have!!). LOL.

Val

Author's Reply:
Hi Va,
Thank you for the great rating. I used to have a Barbour back in the day when I had more brass than brains. Never found it all that warm though. (Yes I took the ostentatious badge off it) Never got around to liking wellies though.

If you've got it Val flaunt it baby πŸ˜‰

OldPeculier on 25-04-2013
The Two Pole Pratt
Very good and as always, it made me smile.

Author's Reply:
Thank you O/P my aim was to make you smile so you made my day.
Thank you.

Andrea on 25-04-2013
The Two Pole Pratt
Ha! Love it πŸ™‚

Author's Reply:
Thanks for the rating Andrea glad my little ditty amused you.


Heart's Gold (posted on: 19-04-13)
Just a try at a different style than I'm used to. And let this be a lesson to all gold diggers πŸ˜‰

Six shires have I crossed for thee To speak my love so great But thou, churlish with abuse Doth send me from thy gate My garments mired, rent on gorse When in Oxfordshire lost I my horse The next shire of my gold was robbed But still without remorse I turned myself a beggar And cleaved unto my course With haughty looks and cruel words My sworn love thou deride Thou cause but pain within my heart And leave no room for pride Thou wouldst for love not marry me But seek ye only gold 'Tis time ye know the truth my dear Of which thou must be told Thou wouldst have gold a-plenty Hadst thou trothed to me this day And held thy scornful spiteful tongue Not send me shamed away For know ye not my father To whom I am sole heir Hath many ships upon the sea In which I hold my share Full twenty on the billows fare Three anchored in the bay Two more lie at Liverpool Their spices sold away With lightened heart I take my leave True love to pursue And thank the lord for mercies great Thou reject me mistress shrew
Archived comments for Heart's Gold

No comments archives found!
The Art Critic (posted on: 19-04-13)
This never happened, it's just a figment of my "Imagineering" however there is, I believe, a germ of reality and truth in it. Enjoy!

The colour's wrong the sky's too big What's it supposed to be? I'll never be accepted Far too vague you see And ships don't ever look like that And what's that there? A tree? The sun's too bold the sea's too pale It don't look right to me If you're ever to succeed my boy I feel I ought to mention You've got to paint more like the rest By sticking to convention No, I'm afraid it just won't do You're obviously still a learner Do you have a name young man? Who? JMW Turner?
Archived comments for The Art Critic
Bandersnatch on 19-04-2013
The Art Critic
This was really good! It made me smile which is something I feel I don't do enough! Thank you, it was a pleasure to read.

Author's Reply:
Thank you kindly for your comment and generous rating Bandersnatch.
A smile can be worth a million dollars yet costs nothing to give away so, should you see some poor soul without one, well why not give them one of yours? πŸ™‚

Rupe on 19-04-2013
The Art Critic
Very entertaining and plenty of truth in it - there's many a talented and successful artist who has initially met with rejection (I read somewhere that the Beatles were turned down by Decca on the grounds that 'groups with guitars are on the way out', for instance).

Rupe

Author's Reply:
Hi Rupe,
Thankee kindly for the comment mate.
I believe you're right about the Beatles sirrah but I was out of the country in those days and not many phones then in the Far East. I know JK Rowling's Harry Potter was rejected bless her soul. God save us from 'experts.'
It just shows we have to plough our own furrow! πŸ™‚

teifii on 19-04-2013
The Art Critic
Very good. All too true very often. Love the twist at the end.

Author's Reply:
Thanks teifii (How do you pronounce that please?)
I'm glad you enjoyed it pal and when it comes to ends there's few more twisted than I πŸ˜‰

OldPeculier on 20-04-2013
The Art Critic
Very good. Same goes for budding writers too I believe!

Author's Reply:
Even more so for writers I feel however Kindle is beginning to change that and the'established' publishers are starting to feel the heat. About time too I say! πŸ˜‰

Andrea on 20-04-2013
The Art Critic
Ooooh, I love Turner, he's one of my faves! Jolly good pome, too πŸ™‚



Author's Reply:
Hi Andrea,
I'm glad you enjoyed my little ditty I too love Turner's work I think it's stunning.

Many thanks for reading it and commenting.
P

Ionicus on 20-04-2013
The Art Critic
A good one, Pronto, and a clever ending.

Author's Reply:
Thanks Ionicus,
I'm so glad you enjoyed this. To give folk cause to smile is my main reason for being on here!
Cheers mate,
P

ValDohren on 20-04-2013
The Art Critic
Really like this one Pronto, and so true - many talented people have experienced rejection - even the fantastic stage show Les Miserables had its critics. Very well written.

Val

Author's Reply:
I know what you mean Val even the great genius Vincent Van Gogh never sold a painting during his lifetime except one to his grocer to buy food allegedly hard to believe but there we have it. I wonder just what greatness we're rejecting today?

Savvi on 21-04-2013
The Art Critic
Very much enjoyed pronto especially the reveal in the last line, very clever. S

Author's Reply:
Thanks Savvi for the kind comment and rating. I'm gald you enjoyed it!
Smiles, πŸ™‚


Judge Ye Not (posted on: 15-04-13)
People watching is a great pastime and I for one love to indulge in it as often as possible but sometime the folk we are watching may not be quite what they seem.....

She sat with her friend in the lounge of her local pub her eyes constantly flicking to the fellow at the bar talking quietly and earnestly to his male companion. People watching was Becky's favourite pastime and here was a fascinating study if ever she'd seen one. She nudged her friend. "Look at him at the bar Sam what do you think?'' ''What? The geezer in the biker's leathers talking to that scruffy bloke?'' ''Yes'' ''Dunno really, don't fink I'd shag him though'' she giggled. Becky flushed slightly ''Sam!'' she exclaimed, feigning shock ''you can be such tart at times.'' ''Wocha mean?'' said Sam sounding hurt ''Nuffink wrong wiv a good shag mate but he's not my type, you 'ave a go if yer fancies 'im.'' ''I wasn't talking about sex girl" Becky gave an exasperated sigh "for god's sake get your mind above your middle for a bit will yer?'' Sam looked perplexed ''Wotcha on abhaat yer dozy cow?'' ''Well look at his eyes I never saw pale green eyes like that before he looks real creepy like he could be a murderer or something, you know, a hit man or a rapist even.'' They studied their man in silence for a moment regarding his tall lean frame. His long pale face and the broken nose above a disreputable looking moustache and stubbly chin gave him a brigand-like appearance. He looked to be in his mid forties and they both thought he could never have been regarded as good looking even in his youth. Sam spoke first ''He's bloody 'ard work to look at that's for sure, I mean that 'ead of 'e's belongs on the end of a witch doctor's bleedin' rattle or a totem pole or sumfin.'' ''Oh for god's sake Sam! He's not that bad mate, a bit bashed about I suppose but not that bad.'' Becky paused ''His eyes look sad even when he's smiling they still look sad. Do you reckon he's killed people?'' Sam choked into her drink hurriedly replacing it on the table ''Ow the fuck would I know yer silly bitch? Go an' arsk 'im why doncha?'' Becky sighed ''Those leather trousers suit him though and that bulge, wow! He looks really well hung.'' Sam sat bolt upright outraged ''A right cheeky cow you are Becky Judge, oo's bloody mind iz below 'er middle nah then eh?'' she asked peevishly. Becky blushed ''well he looks such a hard bugger I mean if he got me alone and ordered me to drop 'em I'd be too scared to argue.'' ''Becky mate oo's talkin' like a tart nah then eh? You just like it rough you kinky little bitch, you got the 'ot's fer 'im I can tell.'' ''No really'' protested Becky ''he looks a right cold evil sod, it gives me the shivers just looking at him.'' ''Hot flushes you mean yer dirty little....Oh gawd Becky! He's coming over, what do we do now?" The tall man had finished his pint, said goodnight to his companion and was heading for the door when he appeared to have second thoughts and approached the girls' table. He gazed down at them for a moment as they sat terrified, totally mesmerised by the pale green 'killer' eyes. He smiled broadly showing a row of uneven tombstone teeth. ''Good evening ladies'' he said his educated well modulated voice didn't seem to belong to him ''I hope you'll excuse my approaching you like this but I couldn't help noticing you looking at me just now and having what seemed like a very animated conversation. Is there anything I can help you with?'' The girls continued to stare into the pale green eyes they found it impossible to form a reply and merely shook their heads whilst continuing to gawp like fish on a river bank. The man looked somewhat disconcerted ''Really?'' he queried then glancing at the table noticed their drinks were somewhat depleted ''Look can I get you another drink and I'll explain a bit about myself, fair enough?'' The girls tore their eyes away from his and looked at each other still slightly dazed. Sam found her voice first ''Wot d'yer reckon Becky, shall we?'' Becky was recovering her wits now and decided what the hell, why not? They were in the pub weren't they? He'd hardly try anything here and besides her curiosity was piqued. ''Oh er.. yes, yes fine. I'll have a Bacardi and coke please and Sam will have a pint of lager.'' Whilst their mystery benefactor was away at the bar the girls went into conference ''Look Sam" said Becky earnestly ''we'll have one drink with him yeah? Then call a taxi, right? That way we can lose him if he tries to get fresh or anything and if he asks for your number give him a wrong one.'' Sam tried to sound convincing as she said ''I'll kick iz bollocks over iz shoulder if 'e tries anyfink on wiv either of us mate.'' But inside she felt nowhere near as confident as she was trying to sound. He returned with the drinks and drew up a chair. ''Now" he said "where to start?'' He seemed to puzzle for a moment then said ''You're bound to have some questions about me so ask away anything you like ok?" Becky spoke first ''you ride a motor bike do you?" she said then immediately wonderied why the hell she'd asked such a bloody stupid question, the guy was in full leathers for god's sake! ''Yes it's a Yamaha it's in the car park.'' ''Not seen ya rhawnd 'ere before mate we woz wonderin' where yer from like?" asked Sam. ''Oh I see, well, I used to be with the Parachute Regiment until quite recently and..'' Sam jumped in ''Ah, we phort you was an' 'ard lookin' geezer, you bin in any wars then?'' He glanced down scratching his ear ''Well, er, yes, one or two I suppose. It's what soldiers do..'' his voice trailed off. He looked bemused but before he could resume speaking Becky asked ''Where you in Afghanistan mate?'' ''Yes, yes I was, I did three tours altogether...'' Becky's curiosity coupled with the alcohol made her forget her manners and she interrupted excitedly with ''And how many of the Taliban did you kill? I bet you got loads right?'' He looked down at the table and appeared somewhat embarrassed ''Er, actually no I didn't kill anyone you see...'' This time Sam broke in ''Wot? You woz a Para, done three tours an' yer didn't kill any of the barstids? I don't believe it!'' He shifted uncomfortably in his chair ''Well why would I? That wasn't my department you see..." ''Well what woz your bleedin' department then?'' asked Sam somewhat irked. ''I was the Padre, the regimental chaplain that's why I'm here tonight to introduce myself to the locals. Didn't you see the notice in the doorway? I'm Paul Nott the new vicar." He slid down the zip on his jacket to reveal his dog collar.
Archived comments for Judge Ye Not
OldPeculier on 15-04-2013
Judge Ye Not
Very good.

And, as a habitual people watcher, I've been there and done that many times.

Author's Reply:
Why thanks for the kind comment OP πŸ™‚
Many's the time I've watched and wondered. I once saw an elderly gentleman in a restaurant who looked like he'd dressed in the dark in the reject room of an Oxfam shop. Half an hour later his chauffer collected him!

Rupe on 15-04-2013
Judge Ye Not
I like the set-up and the idea here - I can picture the scene very well, and the voices come across strongly. I wanted it to continue, though & have the vicar sitting down and spinning a bit of a yarn before revealing himself as a man of the cloth. I found his one line a bit too stilted - I can see it's intended to be highly formal by way of contrast, but I'd prefer the information to come out slowly because there might be more juice to get out of this set-up. Purely a personal opinion of course.

Rupe

Author's Reply:
Hi Rupe,
Thanks for taking the trouble to write mate I appreciate your comments and you do make a valid point. I did consider extending the tale however the point was to demonstrate in, I hope, an entertaining way just how wrong we can be when judging others. That having been accomplished I felt the story was over. I wanted to avoid the trap of making a short story anything but as I’ve done before and seen others do as well. Besides how does an ugly middle age man approach two pretty teenage girls in a pub without arousing suspicion? Hmmn that’s a challenge maybe I’ll give it a go!
Cheers Rupe,
P


Maggie (posted on: 15-04-13)
Dedicated to a leader who, though far from perfect, still had the vision and courage to soldier on in the face of great adversity and bring her country to prosperity. In the end she was brought down by the treachery of cowards and political pygmies unfit to clean her shoes.

You can't do this you can't do that it simply isn't done We Union men rule this land and will to kingdom come Why she said should this be so you'll ruin our country's life The whole land is stagnating with all these strikes and strife You've got two men for every job and other stupid rules The rest of Europe laughs at us a bunch of British fools Everything that we produce to export's too expensive All because you want to spread your power so extensive The rubbish piled upon the streets rotting uncollected The dead are left unburied their relatives disrespected And all because some union men want a bit more power Their leaders live in luxury and expect us to all cower Well they said it's us in charge unchallenged by any man You may have noticed I'm a woman with quite another plan And so she took the unions on and broke them in a year She curtailed their arrogance and taught them how to fear And when a dictator far away some small islands invaded Gutlessness and cowardice by some was then paraded ''Oh let us give it up them we must grovel and appease I think they won't be nasty if we get down on our knees'' But she was having none of it though some said she was barmy She gathered up her forces bold and sent her little army And though they suffered losses they took the heavy blows And sent the enemy home again with a very bloody nose Not everything she did was right this much I will admit But undeniable was her strength of character and grit Our country was the better for a leader just like she With steely determination she kept our peoples free The Thatcher's and the Churchill's always have great fault But they stride on with purpose great and never call a halt To bury them with dignity is the least we should expect And let the world see how we treat those who deserve respect R.I.P Maggie Thatcher
Archived comments for Maggie
Ionicus on 15-04-2013
Maggie
I notice that you haven't received any comments yet and I fear that you may not receive a lot as many people are determined to dance on her grave and won't allow her the dignity of dying in peace. I am sceptical of politicians of whatever hue they happen to be but I am of the opinion that she truly believed that she was working for the betterment of this country.

Author's Reply:
Thank you kindly Ionicus,

I don't expect many positive comments that's for sure, maybe even a few negative one's but hey-Ho.
To attack a woman who was clearly a great achiever before her body is even cold strikes me as cowardly and displays a gracelessness not normally associated with us Brits.

She's a bit of a Churcillian figure I think in that she'll have to wait 50-100 years for history to judge her. I too have a healthy scepticism of politicians (See my 10 Laws of Politics)
Cheers P

ruadh on 15-04-2013
Maggie
I avoid politics like the plague but have been appalled by what's been going on. The woman is dead and her family are grieving, show them some respect at least. Maggie had more backbone than anyone who has been in power since, and look at the mess of our country now.

Brave piece πŸ™‚

Author's Reply:
Thank you kindly, I usually avoid politics too except to satirise occasionally but I feel incensed by the nastiness of the treatment and disrespect shown by the "Trial-by-Twitter" tribe of people who have not a tenth of her guts.
Right or wrong she was a genuine person who always tried her best.

P

Weefatfella on 15-04-2013
Maggie
 photo UKABueeyedhush.gif
As a former shop steward and convener.
I must admit I'm appalled by the attitude of people to the death of somebodies Mother and Grandmother.
The unions were becoming too powerful and there were too many closed shops. Thatcher and Tebbit killed the unions.
By relaxing the credit laws, she controlled the working classes.
She destroyed the steel industry and the mining industry.
She,In effect destroyed the working classes.
I will not applaud her, but I will maintain respect for a family in time of bereavement. Requiscant in pace. Mrs Thatcher.
I also enjoyed your pome.
A well constructed, though controversial piece.
Thank You For Sharing.
Weefatfella.

Author's Reply:
Thanks for that WFF I respect your views and your right to air them mate. Maggie was far from perfect I know and sometimes had a deeply disturbing, dictatorial air of 'Mother-knows-best' about her. However when the unions left the dead unburied they seriously misjudged the tolerance of the British public who demanded they were reined in.

She was far from perfect but, at the time, who was better?

Cheers mate let's have a few more of your wonderful stories please πŸ™‚
P

Andrea on 15-04-2013
Maggie
I agree with (most) of the above. The steel and mining industries were heavily subsidised and collapsed without the government input. The unions had a strangle-hold on the country, as I understand it. The fact of the matter is, UK was sinking before MT, and rose during her 'reign'. I haven't got a lot to say, as I'd left the UK before she came to power, but did find this docu very interesting: Margaret: Death of a Revolutionary

Author's Reply:

Thank you Andrea including that URL was a very kind gesture. Although my poem may seem to contradict me when I say I'm not really a political person at all that is however true.

I did admire the lady greatly because of her vision and determination. If anyone else had been in power in 1982 for instance the Falkland Islands would certainly now be Las Malvinas, it's people forced to speak Spanish.

Great people such as The Duke of Wellington, John F Kennedy, Winston Churchill and Margaret Thatcher all had serious flaws of character that made them hated by some. I suppose greatness is like a magnifying glass not only does it magnify the great deeds is does so for the flaws as well.
I agreed with her policies and the need for change but the actual execution of it was too ruthlessly executed perhaps but you can’t make an omelette without breaking eggs.
Keep well,
P

Mikeverdi on 16-04-2013
Maggie
I loved her spirit, she brought this country off it's knees and made it and me proud again; thanks for writing this. Mike

Author's Reply:
Thank you Mike I was very unsure how it would be received so to get nice comments is a relief!
Cheers,
P

Savvi on 16-04-2013
Maggie
I enjoyed the way this bounces along and you tell the story very well nice tight rhymes. S

Author's Reply:
Thanks Savvi,
I was simply thinking about her achievements and shortcomings and it sort of wrote itself.
P

stormwolf on 16-04-2013
Maggie
Hi Pronto

Everyone has said it all before me. She was indeed hated by many but she was also a very strong woman with more balls than the rest put together so I guess I am a bit ambivalent.

Alison x

Author's Reply:
Thank you Alison,
She sure was contraversial but she got things done that needed to be done.
I must admit to being pleasantly surprised at the comments received though.

ValDohren on 18-04-2013
Maggie
Not being a political creature, I remain on the fence on this one. She was indeed loved by some and hated by others. The phrase "You can please some of the people some of the time, but not all of the people all of the time" springs to mind. I guess this applies to whoever may be in power.
Fifth stanza, third line, I find a little clumsy - perhaps 'them" should read 'as', or maybe there should be a comma in there somewhere. Otherwise, an excellent write, with great rhythm and rhyming. A story well told. Well done.


Author's Reply:
Thanks Val for your generous rating and for pointing out my error. Would you believe I'm not particularly political either except to take a rise out of their silly behaviour sometimes but with Maggie I felt diffent, I admired her for her guts I guess!

Bozzz on 18-04-2013
Maggie
Very good poem - but for me she acted too often in ignorance of the consequences what she was doing - the worst of which turned out to be the original cause of the present financial collapse and world depression. Sadly her ill-considered mission to encourage the poor to buy their own homes by selling off our council's stock cheaply triggered the housing build and bust sequence in many industrial countries that followed suit, most notably America. Hard to forgive that one - but may she rest in whatever peace is available for the kind of person she was... Bozzz.

Author's Reply:
Thank you for being so generous even in opposition to my views Bozzz.

I admired her mainly for curbing the arrogance of rampant trade union bosses and for defending democracy in the Falklands. I do admit she had her faults too.
I guess it'll be another 50 years before history judges her analyitically without the heat of living memory to cloud the issues.
Cheers mate
P


Shed Your Woes (posted on: 12-04-13)
On the underrated joys of shed ownership!

Every man should have a shed In which to hide and clear his head For when the world turns in on him And everything is looking grim He can sit there in his chair Breathing in sweet garden air Bailiffs may pound upon his door His wife and he may be at war But in his shed he feels at ease There's nothing there that will displease It's filled with things he'll one day fix Like fishing rods and walking sticks He's safe ensconced avoiding stress And even though it looks a mess It's his world and his alone Far away from telephone Among the plant pots he's at peace All his troubles fade and cease So if you suffer from overload Have a boss who likes to goad Or kids forever wanting money Go where life feels light and sunny Read a book, have a quiet smoke Once more be a contented bloke It should be part of god's great plan To provide a shed for everyman Then peace would reign and end to war All men happy as ne're before So please don't bury me when I'm dead Just lock me in my garden shed!
Archived comments for Shed Your Woes
Fox-Cragg on 12-04-2013
Shed Your Woes
Brilliant! My father had what he called his sulking shed, only when he was in it he never stopped whistling.
Hurrah for the sheds of the world.
Great read, Paul

Author's Reply:
Hi Paul,
Thanks for your kind comment.
What a co-incidence! I’m often to be found shed bound and skulking, (or non-working lurking) but never sulking and I’m an inveterate whistler too!

Maybe it’s the creosote fumes addling the brain! πŸ˜‰
Warm regards,
P

cooky on 12-04-2013
Shed Your Woes
Love it. You cannot beat the garden shed. I put a lock on mine so the wife can't get in.

Author's Reply:
Thanks for reading Cooky and for the generous rating. Just be careful she doesn't sneak up and lock you in it! πŸ˜‰

Mikeverdi on 13-04-2013
Shed Your Woes
Never had one, I have to content myself with the 'Man Draw' everything I need is in there LOL Great writing and a good laugh. Mike

Author's Reply:
Thanks Mike,
Glad it amused you but you've never really lived until you've owned a shed! πŸ™‚

karen123 on 13-04-2013
Shed Your Woes
Woman need sheds too!!
I have a shed - though I share it with rabbits, guinea-pigs and chickens. They are no bother to share with though - and they keep my husband away who hates them.
A great poem

Author's Reply:
Hi Karen,
Of course women need sheds too and, like yours, they should be full of cuddly things we men prefer to eat or like your hens produce food.
Mens' sheds on the other hand are filled with 'useful' stuff like broken bikes, bent trowels and motor mowers that we'll fix one day ('appen) The most important item though is an old but comfortable buttock prop! πŸ™‚

ValDohren on 13-04-2013
Shed Your Woes
A shed load of fun here - agree with Karen, women need space of their own too, other than the kitchen !!! A posh conservatory perhaps (haven't got one), with plenty of wine. Great poem Pronto.

Val

Author's Reply:
You know Val I hadn't thought of a conservatory in those terms before but you are quite right. My sister often sits like a queen in hers holding court with her friends. They gradually get louder and louder as the white wine flows and peels of laughter issue therefrom!

You deserve a conservatory Val go to it girl! πŸ˜‰

Rupe on 13-04-2013
Shed Your Woes
Superb! The rhyme and metre work a treat & you've picked a great subject. I was introduced to the joy of sheds at an early age, my grandpa being a keen shedsman - he had all sorts in there, including a steam train on a block & I spent many a happy hour there. Unfortunately, although I am a shed-owner myself, it's so full of rubbish there isn't room to sit down anywhere...

Rupe

Author's Reply:
Hi Rupe thanks for commenting mate much appreciated!
Your grandpa sounded like he was a proper bloke and knew the importance of bringing up grandsons in the finest traditions of shedmanship.
May I suggest you either get a bigger shed or get the missus off her arse to do some clearing for you so you can sit comfortably. πŸ˜‰

stormwolf on 14-04-2013
Shed Your Woes
Made me smile. I wish I had a shed but when I had a stable for my horse, it did everything you speak of.
Beneficial to the soul did not even begin to describe it.

Alison x

Author's Reply:
Thanks a lot Alison,
My sister kept a horse and I'm sure she'd agree with you 100%. Personally I'm afraid of horses as they are many times stronger than me, have half a brain and no hand brake πŸ˜‰


Foreplay (posted on: 12-04-13)
A celebration of physical love

She moans, I move We flow in unison Entwined Caressing her spine Awakening her soul To passion sublime Legs wrapped around my thighs And before my eyes Her sweet mysteries Unfolding I'm beholding Her eyes, smokey, glazed with lust We writhe, caress and gently thrust As eagerly we delve, explore Each wanting the other more We soar She's touching, lightly softly teasing My tingling nerves crave her easing Her parting slender thighs arise I gaze into her fecund prize Joyous cries As tongue tip starts lightly tracing Hearts throbbing pulses racing Up, up to the height Of mutual desire and delight Her urgent mouth nibbling, pleasing Full moist lips softly squeezing Then sounding neither lewd nor crude She whispers please.. Oh Please Now!
Archived comments for Foreplay
stormwolf on 13-04-2013
Foreplay
Hi Pronto
Well I thought this was very erotic πŸ˜‰
To be pedantic you need some extra commas here and there.

She moans, I move

Her eyes, smokey, glazed with lust
We writhe, caress and gently thrust etc

but overall it worked for me (so to speak) πŸ˜‰

Alison x



Author's Reply:
Thank you Alison for your great rating and feedback. I pondered the comma's and decided, perhaps wrongly, to allow the reader to 'insert their own' so to speak.

The crude Anglo-Saxon ending I did for contrast and to shock a little, wasn't sure about that either so I thought I'd let the 'jury' decide!

Big hugz,
P πŸ™‚

stormwolf on 13-04-2013
Foreplay
The "The crude Anglo-Saxon ending " was absolutely perfect as was the whole crotch..oops crux of the poem!!!
Don't want to go into things too much πŸ˜‰ but really feel folk are far too reticent to comment on erotica for some reason ;-(((

As for me...I enjoy erotica well done. It IS a difficult genre...some feel that all it needs is a lots of crude words and many times poor attention to the images portrayed

( for example one occasion when someone was saying a lot with their mouth full! πŸ˜‰ ) but there IS a place for erotica and even if only in the private writings of a couple's little box of tricks

Alison x

Author's Reply:
Thank you Alison your feedback is valued and appreciated Ut is a genre I occasionally indulge in whenthe spirit moves me; either that or I'm just a dirty old man! πŸ˜‰

Bozzz on 13-04-2013
Foreplay
It is not clear whether she is your wife or your secretary or. The nameless conquest brings the greatest intensity but the least afterglow.. Some good intense writing here with a build up worthy of the orgasm itself.

Author's Reply:
My first wife was a sweet nineteen year old girl Sunday school bred and a face of pure innocence when I married her in 1968. However once in the throes so to speak she had a mouth like a street whore. It 'helped' her enormously and it sure helped me! πŸ˜‰

Thanks for your support mate much appreciated. πŸ™‚

Kipper on 13-09-2013
Foreplay
Most of us will identify with this theme, but few can find the right way to describe the act of love without falling between the two stools of coyness and crudity. You however managed to avoid that trap.
Nevertheless I do feel that the final words lessened somewhat the delicate ambiance of your poem; that you were describing love, and not sex.
Very nice though, Michael



Author's Reply:
Thank you for your comments. I thought of that but I did it anyway for contrast and a bit of a kick in the tail. Anyway maybe I'll look at it again.
Thank you.

Kipper on 16-09-2013
Foreplay
Hi Pronto
Clearly some others will not agree with me, but I think your poem is much improved without the shock ending; which it did not need.
(If on the other hand you were describing a casual one night stand? but I didn't see it like that.)
Perhaps I'm old fashioned but imo you have regained what had been lost. A sense of loving!

Regards Michael
PS Sorry, I forgot to 'rate' your poem last time, 9 this time.



Author's Reply:

Andrea on 16-09-2013
Foreplay
Ooooh, I say! I've come over all 'ot and bothered!!

Author's Reply:
Thanks Andrea if I've done that I'm all chufficated! πŸ™‚


God Bless The NHS (posted on: 08-04-13)
A rant brought about by the stupidity of the the NHS administration.

So let me get this straight mate I'm drawing my pension Not to mention A free bus pass For me and my lass And we're living in 'Freebee' heaven? Even though I've paid for it since 1957? And that makes me a scrounger? Yes? A lazy social lounger more or less? And the foreigner who comes here for his health Even though he's rolling in wealth Takes my investment by stealth Then flies away no intention to pay He's welcome with open arms If I protest all sorts of alarms Are sounded and I'm rounded Upon for being cross At watching my investment lost Bring diphtheria From Nigeria Take a bed and nothing said Wife comes to have a child Met with action free and mild Oh land of milk and honey How freely you do spend my money My sister-in-law died of cancer NICE can't afford drugs because some chancer Flies in from oversees Quotes his 'rights' sir if you please! Well my friend not being hard But have you got a credit card? If you've not please go way And arrange another way to pay. But no that would be far too easy Treatment for the old and wheezy Must be provided totally free At the expense of you and me Though I love charity and I'm a giver Methinks we're being sold down the river God bless The NHS!
Archived comments for God Bless The NHS
ValDohren on 08-04-2013
God Bless The NHS
Think most of us feel this way Pronto - a great write, very well put together.

Val

Author's Reply:
Thanks Val for the comment and great rating. What a pity we have politicians who can't/won't see it or have not the guts to do anything to alter it.

Do I hear an echo from the grave? A ladies voice saying No No No! perhaps?

No alas, just 'whistful' thinking.
Luv & hugz,
P

cooky on 09-04-2013
God Bless The NHS
You have hit the nail on the head with this one and the whole country agrees with you. Mind you we are servants to Europe and it is the servant who takes the beating.

Author's Reply:
Thank you Cooky for the great rating an accurate comment. All must kneel facing Brussels and worship the god of 'Uman rites!
Sorry mate didn't mean to make you puke! πŸ˜‰


I Pray They Prey (posted on: 05-04-13)
Last New Year was an awful time with some probs and the temptation to look for an easy solution in spite of reason and experience the thought that 'maybe this is different?' was difficult to cast aside. God help the vulnerable souls I say

Sitting here five in the morning Can't sleep want to weep Feeling six feet lower than shark shit What have I done to deserve this? Is fate simply taking the piss? Income slashed in half Are the gods having a laugh? Tennant left unpaid rent In anticipation already spent Must stop whining and start shining Need action for some pocket lining New Year new idea says the clichι Well seduce my ancient footwear! (Fuck my old boots!) Con men write their crap so trite Make a million overnight Only two hundred pounds to pay You'll be in clover, worries over Only three copies left! (Bollocks!) Send for it like yesterday! Yeah? The horse racing system that just can't fail Where before have I heard that tale? Based on ''inside information'' (Oh Per-leese!) Causes me naught but con-sternation Don't think so Joe Up yer kilt and away ye go Why is it when best efforts fail And you just want to sit and wail These bastards write or send email Making you feel worse want to curse 30 day money back guarantee If I agree Will you return the stake money lost? Plus the cost? No way Jose They don't care if I starve to death There are plenty of other suckers left Ensconced safely behind electronic gates Of their triple glazed mansions Planning the next operative expansions Thiese conmen couldn't care less About waifs left in the wilderness
Archived comments for I Pray They Prey
stormwolf on 06-04-2013
I Pray They Prey
Hi Pronto
I know the uncaring and the crooked have always been with us....but I feel we are being thrust into a whole new scenario where the 'have's' and the 'have nots' will be separated by a huge chasm. This will have little to do with how hard we have worked or saved....
They are busy obliterating the middle classes and nobody's money is now safe unless you are in the elite.
We must all learn our own way to deal with it but inaction will allow it to flourish all the quicker.

My answer is to fight for truth while there is breath in my body. It's going to be nazi Germany all over again. The shortages are all manufactured as pension pots are robbed and the NHS dismantled...

Alison x



Author's Reply:
Hi Alison,
Thank you for your comment and great rating. I fear you are right my friend I for one are one of the disenfranchised middle classes. Worked hard from 1957 to 2012 paid my dues did 12 years in the army fought 2 wars and other troubles, now I'm made to feel like a scrounger because I have a "Free" bus pass. Can't get any help 'cos I was stupid enough to invest for my old age.

As for the NHS I've written about that too it's on the next upload.

Nil illigitimi carborundum I say! πŸ™‚

stormwolf on 06-04-2013
I Pray They Prey
I really understand and empathize. My family on both sides served the NHS all our lives, doctors, nurses, medical photographers and medical technicians...and now we cannot even feel secure that if we take ill we shall get any proper care or be left to some half assed / half trained phone operator......... reading from a set of tick-off boxes that are costing lives daily.

Sickening does not even begin to describe it.
Angry? yes. You bet I am. x

Author's Reply:
Indeed Alison my youngest daughter was one of the last batch of nurses to be trained 'hands on' for three years on the wards. She now has two degrees and it expected to tick boxes on 'working practices', 'target driven enhancements' and other admin bullshit rather than heal the sick.

My sister-in-law, a senior radiographer, couldn't wait to retire to get out of the managment culture poitically correct jargon speak and box ticking that seemd more important than doing her job.

What the hell happened to caring?
I'm just a bemused bonehead! πŸ™


The Ten Laws of Politics (posted on: 05-04-13)
I watch politicians in parliament and criminals in court and I'm finding it harder and harder to tell the difference.

Please feel free to inbox me with more laws lets see if we can make 100! 1st Law of Politics: When there's nothing left to be said a good politician will take an hour to say it. 2nd Law of Politics: Only when there is absolutely no other option should you revert to the truth. 3rd Law of Politics: Never use plain simple words when there are longer more complex alternatives. 4th Law of Politics: The formula for calculating political expenses is your telephone number multiplied by the date. 5th law of Politics: Election promises are only valid on the day they were made. 6th Law of Politics: No matter what the problem is and whosoever caused it the opposition is always to blame. 7th law of Politics: Never ever apologise unless it's for something that happened at least 30 years before you were born. 8th law of Politics: The only above inflation pay claim that can possibly be justified is your own. 9th Law of Politics: After an election the electorate must be ignored at all costs. 10th Law of Politics: Say yes and you're promoted say no and you go.  
Archived comments for The Ten Laws of Politics
shadow on 05-04-2013
The Ten Laws of Politics
Very good!
How about: Never answer the question you were asked, only the one you wanted to be asked.

Author's Reply:
Yup, that was a favourite tactic of MaggieThatcher until she got on the shit side of Sir Robin Day! What an interview that was!
Thanks for the comment mate.

amman on 06-04-2013
The Ten Laws of Politics
Good stuff. Another favourite, when caught out in a lie, is 'I can't remember or don't recall'.
Cheers.

Author's Reply:
You got it in one mate it goes something like: "Ah, yes, but... what we meant was blah blah blah!"
and: "I/we were quoted out of context...etc Blah blah"
You could end up believing it if you weren't careful! πŸ˜‰

Ionicus on 06-04-2013
The Ten Laws of Politics
Can't argue with any of those ten 'laws' and there could be many more to add.
All politicians, regardless of their policies, are equally to blame.

Author's Reply:
Thanks for the comment Ionicus, How right you are!

stormwolf on 07-04-2013
The Ten Laws of Politics
Another law of politics...say "lessons will have to be learned"" and don't give a shit. gggrrrrrrrrrrrr

Author's Reply:
Oh yes when backed into a corner and proven wrong
Say: "lesson have been learnt and we'll move on"
Once the TV and the and the press have gone
Breathe a sigh of relief and Just carry on!

How I agree with you.


An Army of One (posted on: 29-03-13)
Sometimes honest citizens are driven to drastic measures by the plague of crime they are forced to endure. Politically correct policing and short jail sentences only encourage more crime. One man did something about it by using the skills he had acquired whilst defending the realm. He was a quiet retiring person who lived what seemd to live a mundane life. He was the last person you'd suspect of being an army of one.

Looking around the overcrowded carriage for a mark Freddy spotted an easy touch standing near the doors. She was a frail looking elderly woman with a careworn face swaying with the Underground train's motion facing side on to him her handbag over her arm. She looked yonderly, lost in her own thoughts. Freddy felt the train decelerate and he moved in as if preparing to exit at the rapidly approaching stop. He covered the bag from view with his body his hand expertly slipped the bag's catch and he quickly located and liberated her purse pushing it into the special pocket inside his overcoat so that it dropped all the way down to the bottom of the lining he closed her bag again to delay discovery of his theft. The whole operation had taken just six seconds and was so slick that he was extremely surprised when he glanced to his left and saw the older man sat in the end seat glaring at him with cold fury. The older guy looked about sixty with washed out grey eyes and a large hooked nose that gave him a hawk-like appearance. Freddy was annoyed he hated being spotted working a mark. The man got up and approached him just as the train drew to a halt. The doors hissed open he ducked the outstretched hand and darted off the train. Running swiftly to the escalator he half expected a shout to go up. None did. Freddy ''Fingers'' Fenton was a prolific thief, an expert professional pickpocket. A totally amoral character he would steal from anyone young or old rich or poor without compunction. He never gave a moment's thought for his many victims and the untold misery he caused them. To him they were just marks, mugs, idiots who worked for a living. Even his own father, no saint himself, had once described Freddy as: 'An evil little bastard who was nine months too old on the day he was born.' Leaping off the escalator Freddy looked around the older guy was nowhere to be seen so he dodged into the men's toilet and into a cubicle. Opening the purse he quickly pulled out the contents. There was two hundred and twenty pounds cash, a bus pass, a bingo membership card and some old black and white family photographs but nothing else of value. ''Ah nice one'' he muttered to himself gloatingly. This was the moment he loved, discovering just how much he'd stolen. Throughout his childhood Freddy had been nothing but trouble he stole from school friends he stole from his parents he even stole from his widowed pensioner grandmother. At the age of fourteen he'd been caught burglarising his headmaster's house. With a juvenile record as long as his arm he was finally sent into secure care as uncontrollable. After a year of psychological profiling, counselling and coddling he absconded shortly after his fifteenth birthday. This was to be a pivotal move in his life. Freddy had drifted to a fairground desperately short of money, trying his hand at picking pockets when he made the mistake of trying it on with The O'Flynn one of the best pickpockets in the country. The older man had caught him at it of course but, to Freddy's surprise, made no fuss at all. He had simply laughed at him and said he was the worst bloody dip he'd ever come across and bought the starving youngster a burger and chips. He even got Freddy's to talk about himself. The O'Flynn, as he was known, recognised a kindred spirit in Freddy and saw potential for profit in the lad so took him under his wing telling him ''If you're going to be a dip son then be a good dip. Be the best. '' He had then given Freddy a demonstration by relieving a fat man of his wallet with the ease of long practice. Freddy hadn't seen how it was done even though he was watching carefully but from that moment on he knew what he wanted to be. The O'Flynn, a tiny wizened Irishman who was about fifty five at the time, claimed to have been a jockey in his youth but otherwise was sparing with his personal history. He loved to frequent horse racing events, fairgrounds and other busy leisure venues where he used his considerable expertise to make a substantial living. He nurtured Freddy and schooled him well in the dark arts of the fingersmith. "You can use the spare room" The O'Flynn had told homeless youngster on that first day ''but steal anything from me, anything at all, and yer out for good no second chances understood?'' Freddy had merely muttered ''understood'' and for the first time in his life he kept his promise. To the fifteen year old The O'Flynn was a demi–god and the only man he had ever looked up to. He never knew whether O'Flynn had a first name or not as his friends referred to him simply as 'The O'Flynn' or O'Flynn to his face. The pair worked well as a team. They worked the busy places never over working any one venue. The O'Flynn had taught him how to wear dull clothes blend into the background and to never go back to the same place too frequently no matter how good the pickings. Freddy was a good pupil and a fast learner. Two years later the Irishman died of cancer and Freddy was on his own. Now, fifteen years later, he was an accomplished thief. Pocketing the cash Freddy stuffed the purse behind the toilet. Emerging from the station he had a quick look round, put on his sunglasses, lit a cigarette then strolled casually down the street until he came to a McDonalds where he thought he'd take his morning coffee. Twenty minutes break he thought then back to work. Taking his drink the thief slid into a bench seat in the far corner of the shop. This was his cautious habit; he liked to be where he could see the door and who was doing what in the place. Freddy didn't see the toilet door opening, he didn't see the older man from the train until he slid along the bench trapping Freddy in the corner and startling him. The man looked at Freddy balefully. ''I saw you just now robbing that poor old woman.'' The man said in an even voice. Freddy looked into the cold pale grey eyes and felt something akin to fear but he was a quick witted man and a bold one too. ''Sorry mate, yer must 'ave mistook me for summon else innit'' he said forcing a smile ''I dunno whotcha on abhaat.'' What worried Freddy was that he, an expert at spotting people who might be following him, a man who had thrived for years on his wits alone and who had been arrested only once in all that time, had seen neither hide nor hair of this bloke since the train now his killer grey eyes and icy calm manner was beginning to freaking him out. The man stared at Freddy for a moment before saying ''Look I know you're an expert in your field but I was an expert in mine too I still am for that matter so why don't you cut the bullshit eh?'' Freddy slipped his right hand into his pocket and felt the knife that was his last resort in a crisis though he'd never actually used it before. Undecided on his next move he asked ''Wot d'ya want mista?'' The man gazed back ''I want you to stop picking pockets'' he said evenly ''retire or you'll be retired, that plain enough?'' Freddy's jaw dropped he gawped in astonishment. He couldn't have been more surprised if the man had asked him to fly arse first round the moon. He looked at the man as if he had not heard him correctly, iz 'e 'aving a laff or wot? he thought to himself. At the same time he was curious to know just what or who he was dealing with. ''Wot are yer then mate ex filth?'' he asked belligerently. The man stared back calmly ''Oh much worse than police mate, much worse. I was in Military Intelligence.'' Freddy gave a nervous laugh then sneered ''you got no proof an' no power of arrest arse'ole an' yer an old git too so why doncha piss orf 'an polish yer medals before yer gets 'urt?'' The man never batted an eyelid. He placed both his hands on the table his fingers tapping lightly. ''That knife you're holding won't do you any good sonshine'' he said evenly ''Firstly even if you got lucky, which you won't, the cameras in here are state of the art high definition full colour excellent for ID purposes. They'd nail your arse in a day and you know it. Secondly if you try it on I'll break your arm.'' These last words shook Freddy to his core, there was no anger in the man's voice, no threat in his body language it sounded like a plain statement of fact and how the hell could this bloke tell he had a knife let alone that he was holding it? He let the knife slip from his nervous grasp and brought his hand out onto the table. ''Wot d'ya want mate? Fer Chris' sake wha' d' fuck der yer want?'' Freddy was badly rattled. ''What's your name?'' the man asked ''Fred, that is Freddy, surname don't matter'' then he added defiantly ''OO der fuck are ya man''? ''The name's Jack, surname don't matter'' the man parodied, ''I told you just now Freddy, you're retired mate.'' The old man paused then leaned toward Freddy and spat ''or else!'' With that the man was gone leaving Freddy so shook up he took the rest of the day off. Mrs Hart got to the bus stop and reached in her bag for her purse. It was gone. She searched the bag frantically for a couple of minutes, her bus came and went. She sat down in the bus shelter totally bemused tears streaming down her face. It wasn't the pension money, though god alone knew how she'd manage without it, it was the shock of losing the precious black and white photos of her dead daughter taken on holiday in Clacton forty years previously; it was as irreplaceable as her wedding snap with her late husband Stan looking so debonair in his RAF uniform. The shock was too much for the eighty six year old. Heartbroken, totally devastated, she lost control of her bladder as she keeled over. Sixty five year old Jack Ellis lived alone in a semi which he and his late wife Betty had shared since he retired from the military. His children, a boy aged thirty eight and a daughter of forty had long ago flown the nest the son to Australia the daughter to Canada. Finding himself fit, healthy and at a loose end and seeing how much wrongdoing was going on about him he went back to work, his old work. Jack had been a member of 14th Detachment of the Army Intelligence Corps known simply as 'The Det' aka 'The Green Slime' a highly secretive unit that most other soldiers never knew existed. That was back the early seventies at the height of the IRA troubles. If asked by other soldiers what they did for a living they would simply smile and say ''Oh, just the usual stuff: thuggery, buggery and general skulduggery.'' But behind the joke lay deadly purpose as many a Provo had found to their cost. Jack's home area, a once peaceful leafy suburb, was now suffering from encroachment by drug dealers. The dealers weren't having it all their own way though and recently one in particular had gotten very unlucky. He had been found in an alley with a split head and two broken legs. The man couldn't say what had happened all he remembered was parking his car and walking up the narrow alley on his way to make a buy from his wholesaler. There was no one about but he thought he heard a gate open behind him. before he could reach for the gun he was carrying there was a searing pain in his head and he woke up in hospital with a policeman waiting to interview him about the gun. Next morning a local charity shop manageress arrived to find a large envelope stuffed through the shop letterbox with a mystery donation of four thousand pounds. A note with the cash read: Please accept this donation from a retired drug dealer. On the streets no one knew a thing; the usual sources were clueless. The local press picked up the story and speculated that the money was from some reformed character. The local dealers were feeling more paranoid than ever and had started to go around in pairs keeping a low profile and watching each the other with great suspicion. Jack Ellis took a heavy brass Zippo lighter from a drawer it was one he's found on the streets of Belfast years ago. It was an attractive piece and obviously of very good quality. He didn't smoke but, being a natural hoarder, he'd kept it and now he'd found a use for it. Jack took the lighter to a trophy stall on the market and told them what he required. An hour later he picked it up paid cash and went home. In his garage he worked on the lighter for about an hour until he was satisfied then polished it until it gleamed like new. He spent a moment admiring the deep diamond pattern the engraver had cut in the front and sides of the case and the inscription on the back he thought was most appropriate. It was Wimbledon fortnight and Jack had a good idea which stations Freddy would be working even so it took a week of trawling the area before he finally spotted him and even using all his skills it was damned hard work following him home unseen, the guy was a slick as snot. On the last Saturday of Wimbledon Ellis watched as Freddy left home his chance had come at last and he moved in carefully to trap his man. Freddy looked about the carriage with his usual care but there was nothing he saw that was immediately available to him. Then at the next station as he changed trains a bent old man leaning heavily on his stick got on before him. The man was wearing a wide brimmed black hat and had a long grey beard. He climbed slowly aboard and shuffled to a seat. After two stops the man got up and made his way, head bowed, to the door. One glance told Freddy he had found a mark for protruding ever so slightly from the man's jacket pocket was a registered envelope. This was too good an opportunity to miss and he closed in. Stepping off the train with the man Freddy deliberately bumped into the old fellow. ''Sorry mate'' he mumbled and quickly made off. The envelope felt heavy and he wondered what could it be? The old guy had looked like a Jew so gold perhaps? Diamonds even? Freddy dived eagerly into his 'private office' as he called public lavatories and entered a cubicle; he tore open the envelope a tipped out the contents. Out came a small heavy gift wrapped object. Unwrapping it he saw it was a brass Zippo lighter. Wha' da fuck? he thought as he turned the lighter in his hand and read the inscription: 'To Freddy Happy retirement.' Freddy felt a pang of fear rush through him, what the hell was this? Even at a distance of three weeks he still had an uncomfortable feeling when he thought of the old man. He calmed himself down Christ, he thought, fahsands of people are called Freddy, yer lettin' some daft old fart scare yer mate. He flicked the lid open it looked a perfectly normal lighter, brand new too. He sniffed the wick it smelled of lighter fuel. Could it be a bug? He shook it, nothing, he stuck a cigarette in his mouth. Bending to the lighter he flicked the wheel to see if it worked and the sparks flew bright. They were the last things he ever saw. There was a brief vicious hiss and the Zippo exploded blowing off the fingers of his right hand; the diamond pattern shrapnel flew into his face blinding him. The bent old man at the urinal finish his business and, ignoring the screams coming from the cubicle, walked out a grim smile playing about his lips.
Archived comments for An Army of One
chardonnay on 29-03-2013
An Army of One
Nice one.

Author's Reply:
Thank you for the comment ans great rating Chardonnay πŸ™‚


Man Flu (posted on: 29-03-13)
The good gentlemen poets on this site will recognise this god-awful ailmant straight away. They will also know the lady poets are never sympathetic. πŸ™

Pyjamas, house coat, lots of clothes, Coughing madly, running nose, I may get better but don't know when, Got the man flu once again! Women's flu? Cough twice then sneeze, She shakes the virus off with ease, Poor men laid low at least a week, With weeping eye and fevered cheek, Temperature soaring way on high, Oh Lord! I think I'm going to die, I'm sure my time is getting short, I'll sit here with a beer and watch some sport! ''Darling please make me a bacon butty, And change the channel, I'll watch the footie, Oh and whilst you're up love fetch me cigs, They've scored against us! Rotten pigs!'' I leap in the air my arms spread wide, ''Come on ref, he was well off-side,'' Oh dear I've given the game away, Now I fear she'll make me pay, Lit cig shoved down the front of me shirt, She says ''What's up darlin'? Does it hurt?'' Never mind I'll save you dear'', Then she douses me with a can of beer. So if you ever get Man flu , Be careful of the things you do, For if you push your luck too far, Like me you'll be sleeping in the car! πŸ™
Archived comments for Man Flu
Griffonner on 29-03-2013
Man Flu
Milk it? Me? Never! πŸ˜‰

But your wise advice will be heeded, nonethelessn ... should the opportunity occur.

A pleasant romp through your humour, Pronto. Thanks for the smiles it gave.

Author's Reply:
Thanks Griff for the great rating and comment.

Weefatfella on 29-03-2013
Man Flu
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Ha! Brilliant!
Nuff said.
Weefatfella.

Author's Reply:
Thnaks WFF glad it gave you a laugh!

Fox-Cragg on 29-03-2013
Man Flu
Got it in one.
Great read, thanks.
Paul

Author's Reply:
Thanks for the rating and comment mate, kind of you.

Bozzz on 31-03-2013
Man Flu
Good fun. "iacs" of the world unite. Include me as one of your fellow hypochonders. Enjoyed ...Bozzz

Author's Reply:
Wow Bozz thanks mate for the ace comment and rating.

ChairmanWow on 01-04-2013
Man Flu
Pretty funny. We are babies when we get sick and then prefer to get treated that way.

Author's Reply:
Well I know that I feel awful when I get flu but 'er-indoors seems to have it a couple of days and she's ok!
Life just ain't fair sometimes (Whinge whinge!)
πŸ˜‰


The Spreading of Military Manure (posted on: 25-03-13)
Sometime we resort to desperate measure in order to deal with dire situations.

''You there stand still'' screamed a voice two feet behind me. I stopped in my tracks and turned to look into the face of the soldier who was glaring at me like I'd seduced his sister. Having just jumped down from the truck that had brought us from the station I wondered what sort of hideous offence I could possibly have committed in the fifteen seconds I'd been under military control. He was about to enlighten me. He walked across and picked up one of my bags from near the truck. He held it in front of my face suspended on two fingers like it was contaminated with some god-awful disease. ''Didn't I see you get off that fuckin' truck with this?'' he asked his voice deceptively quiet. ''Oh yes thanks corporal'' I smiled reaching for the bag I'd forgotten, ''thank you.'' He snatched it out of my reach his face going a deep crimson ''Corporal? Fuckin' corporal?'' he screamed. You're in the Royal Artillery now lad you address me as bombardier'' he paused then leaned into my face yelling, ''Bom-bar-fuckin'-dier'' ''You understand?'' ''Yes bombardier'' I blurted feeling foolish. Jaysus preserve us I thought, I've been in the bloody place less than a minute and I'm getting bollocked already. ''What's yer fuckin' name?'' he shouted a few decibels lower. ''Gilhooley bombardier, Jonathon Gilhooley I stammered.'' He consulted a list attached to his clipboard.. ''Oh shit you're one of mine'' he groaned then raising his eyes to the heavens in mock prayer he asked ''What have I done to deserve him Lord? What the fuck have I done?'' I thought his reaction was a bit over the top for the tiny error of forgetting a bag as I fell in with the rest of the new recruits for the march to our accommodation. When we arrived to my surprise Bdr Grant, aka Grant-the-Rant, my tormentor of a few minutes ago, came up to me and spoke in an almost normal tone saying he'd been watching me on the march to the barracks and it was obvious I'd marched before. How on earth he could tell that when I'd been carrying so much luggage I couldn't fathom but I confirmed I'd been in the Territorial Army as an infantryman for the last year or so and before that I was an army cadet. ''Ah so that's why you called me corporal eh?'' he almost smiled then spat ''Well keep your fuckin' nose clean an' do as you're fuckin' well told an' we'll get along just fuckin' fine ok?''   I joined the British Army in 1960 as an eighteen year old regular soldier to escape a violent drunkard of a father; it was a different world back then although conscription, known as National Service, had been discontinued a couple of year's earlier conscripts were still being called up. These were the men whose service had been deferred so that they could finish apprenticeships or degree courses at university. They were from every layer of the social strata. For a lad fresh from the suburbs of Manchester I was in for a few surprises. For instance one of the NS men was a pimp who ran girls on the streets of Birmingham and had put off serving as long as possible on one pretext or another. At the other end of the scale was a vicar's son who knelt on his bed every night and said his prayers we also had an Oxbridge type with a plumy voice who's protest at being conscripted had been to refuse to become a commissioned officer. You name it we had it! After a awful night's sleep on a lumpy mattress I was rudely awakened by the duty junior non commissioned officer (JNCO) walking down the length of the barrack room banging our bed ends with his stick shouting ''hands off cocks and on with socks, breakfast in five minutes.'' I crawled out of bed bleary eyed got dressed and joined the parade outside to be marched to the cook house. The rest of the day was a blur of visiting stores to draw kit then being shown how to wear it then it was off for a haircut on to the medical centre for a battery of injections against diseases I'd never heard of. By the time the day was over I crawled into bed and slept like a log lumps or no lumps. In those first days my fellow recruits and I sized each other up and we started to bond. We fell into two categories National Servicemen and regulars. A few of the NS men resented being in the Army but the vast majority were resigned to making the most of it since they had no choice anyway. One exception to this was a Welshman called Menmure. Menmure told us ''my father is Scottish, my mother Irish and I was born and bred in Wales so why should I join the English fuckin' army?'' The fact that it was the British "fuckin" Army seemed to have escaped him entirely. We were on parade waiting to be marched to a lecture on personal hygiene to be given by the medical officer. The roll was called and Menmure was absent. After Bdr. Grant had dispatched two men with the instruction ''Find the bastard an' get his fuckin' arse here sharpish'' he spent the next five minutes looking at his watch and pacing nervously. At last the men returned to report ''He's in the shithouse Bom; says he's can't come.'' Grant couldn't have looked more astonished if you'd thrown a bucket of cold water over him. ''Can't come?'' his scream sounded almost hysterical ''we'll soon fuckin' see about that'' and he shot into the hut complex. A minute later he was back pushing Menmure, who was hurriedly donning his belt and beret, before him. We were made to run or double march as the army calls it about half a mile to the other side of the camp. Grant was frantically calling ''lef' ri' lef' ri' lef' ri' lef'' as if his life depended on urging us on with the greatest speed possible. When we got there our troop sergeant, Harry Joseph (Grumpy) Graham, was walking up and down looking at his watch. ''You're late bombardier'' he bellowed ''Yes Sergeant.'' ''See me after this parade Bom.'' Grumpy sounded ominous. In the army shit always travels downward in strict order of rank gatherng both volume and velocity on its way. The medical officer who was giving the lecture had told Sgt. Graham of his displeasure at our lack of punctuality he in turn had taken action by privately but severely bollocking Grant-the-Rant; the bombardier in his turn would make all our lives hell to impress upon us the need for punctuality. This was a lesson we wouldn't forget in a hurry. After the lecture we were told by Grant that we were the 'idlest bunch of wankers it had ever been his misfortune to clap eyes on.' We were ordered to change into our physical training kit and fall in on the road. Given just two minutes to complete this task we were taken for a five mile run by Grant who was a cross country runner of no mean talent. On our return exhausted and filthy he ordered us down on our faces to perform fifty push-ups. No half hearted efforts were accepted he wanted, and got, fifty of the best. All this extra activity took time and we missed our evening meal. Manure needed to have his attitude adjusted. Before he allowed us into the showers Grant told us that we had to parade again in the same kit washed and ironed at 0600hrs the next morning. This of course meant that as well as the normal barrack room and kit cleaning we had to stay up late washing, ironing and scrubbing mud off plimsolls. By way of excuse Menmure said he'd been caught short and simply had to go to the toilet he didn't apologise but retreated into a defensive sulk. This was the first of many excuses and evasions we were to get from this character and the first of many punishments we had to suffer as a result of his reluctance to soldier. Things had to change. Next morning we had to drag Menmure out of bed, he was given a couple of swift body punches with the promise of more should he dropped us in it again that day. We duly paraded present and correct five minutes before the appointed hour. Grant then inspected us. He stopped before me and felt my sleeve. ''Your kit's still wet Gilhooley'' he said with a questioning look in his eye. ''Yes Bombardier'' I shouted to my front. ''Why?'' ''You said washed and ironed Bombardier nothing about it being dry.'' His response surprised me ''Good man'' he said ''I've got at least one fucker who listens to what he's told.'' Most of the others had stayed up very late drying their kit by repeatedly ironing it taking it in turns with the two irons we shared between the eighteen of us. Well I figured it would be wet with sweat very soon after putting it on anyway and I needed my sleep. Grant-the-Rant bawled "Right we'll do another five miler." and we all groaned. As it turned out he relented after three miles and we cut across some fields back to camp in time for breakfast. The next time Manure dropped us in the shit was on barrack room inspection by our troop commander a lieutenant with piggy eyes, a broken nose and a missing tooth; Lt. Pallmore had been an Oxford boxing Blue but judging by the state of his face he hadn't been all that good at it. Pallmore had an uncanny knack of finding shit. We stood beside our beds straining at attention as Pallmore walk casually among our bed spaces. Of course the one he singled out for close attention was Manure's. Walking to the bed head he brushed his hand along the rail that ran underneath which, of course, manure had neglected to clean. The officer's face remained impassive as he showed his white gloved hand to Manure. ''What's this?'' he inquired his voice deadly quiet. ''It's dust sir'' replied Manure. ''It's shit man, shit!'' Pallmore hissed. He showed the stained glove to Grumpy. ''This room S'han't Graham is in shit order from top to bottom. I'll inspect it again on Wednesday afternoon four o'clock sharp.'' Grumpy slammed up to attention and saluted bawling ''Sah!'' at the departing officer. The shit then hit the fan in huge volumes and was liberally spread amongst us. 2 The only semi leisure day during basic training in the army of those days was a Wednesday afternoon which was dedicated to sport. My favourite sport was cross country running because I could run a whole half mile to the local transport cafe, buy a bacon roll and a large steaming mug of tea then, along with half a dozen other 'keen' runners, spend the afternoon reading the paper or trying vainly to chat up the girl behind the counter. Grumpy Graham's favourite punishment was to cancel sports afternoon and have barrack room cleaning instead. He'd tell us who or what had caused his displeasure and the offender, if we judged him guilty, then got 'disciplined' by the rest of us. Menmure was usually the cause of such punishments and as a result was detested. A spoilt brat whose father ran a successful business, he made it plain that he was above such menial tasks as cleaning his kit. This of course led to punishments galore and after several beatings and a cold bath Manure failed to change his ways for more than a day or so before he slipped back into his customary sloth so an action plan to rid ourselves of him was desperately needed. The only practical way to be shot of this pariah, Bdr Grant informed us, was to have him back squadded to one of the later intakes. Not an easy task this and we puzzled upon many a weird plan until my friend 'Tommo' Thompson came up with a bright idea. Tommo, Gorgdie, Bruce and me were sitting in the NAAFI* drinking a beer one pay night discussing the problem of Menmure when Tommo said ''We'll have to break the bastard's leg that'll do the trick.'' ''Ow the fuck wi goin' t' manage that?'' Bruce enquired in his broad Yorkshire accent. Tommo grinned and produced a box of matches. ''We draw lots to do the twat.'' he replied with an evil glint in his eye. The more beer we consumed the better we liked Tommo's plan. I of course drew the short match. Bloody hell I thought why me? Before I could think of an excuse I found myself bundled out of the NAAFI where a pickaxe handle was thrust into my sweating palm and I was given a piece of hessian sacking to wrap around my face then I was propelled toward our barrack hut wherein Manure was alone reading a book on his bed. I hesitated by the door for a moment and Menmure looked up and saw me. ''Right cunt'' I said advancing on him, swinging the pick helve and trying to sound hard. Manure he gave a startled yelp, dropped his book and ran for the fire exit at the bottom end of the room. Before my beer fuddled brain could instruct me to run after him I heard him scream. On reaching the fire door I saw him lying spread-eagled and groaning half way in a manhole from which someone had removed the cover. Guess what? Oh joy! The bastard had broken his leg! Post script: I got to know Tommo very well in his two years service he had a keen intelligence and was always working on some nefarious plot or ploy to get out of doing cookhouse fatigues or guard duty; the bugger was often successful too. It occurred to me that, as the pick helve and hessian sacking had been very conveniently to hand that night, and that the manhole cover had been mysteriously removed for no apparent reason, that Tommo had planned the whole thing well in advance although when challenged he vehemently denied it. After that I was known as the bloke who ''fixed'' Menmure even after several years of service when being introduced to soldiers newly posted from other units some would say things like ''Oh yeah I've heard of you, you're the bloke who broke some cunt's leg with a pick helve ain't you?'' Talk about give a dog a bad name! *NAAFI stands for Navy Army and Air Force Institutes. Or as the National Servicemen said it stood for: No Ambition And Fuck-all Interest!
Archived comments for The Spreading of Military Manure
RoyBateman on 25-03-2013
The Spreading of Military Manure
Yes, "There's always one" as the old phrase goes! though I've not been through the military mill myself (The wise men at Warminster cleverly stopped me getting my hands on The Queen's Commission, and I'm sure the army was better for it...) this sounds horribly authentic - even after all this time the memory lingers, eh? Enjoyed it!

Author's Reply:
Thanks mate your comments are gratefully received.
Yes there is always one and Menmure was certainly a pain in the arse. I became a Troop Sergeant myself in the fullness of time so have a lot of sympathy with old Grumpy Graham. Looking after fifty-odd soldiers can be like herding cats at times. πŸ˜‰
Regards,
P

Weefatfella on 26-03-2013
The Spreading of Military Manure
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Yip, they are called Gimps in the R.N.
I spent a horrible Ten months as a Royal Navy Rating.
We had a similar Gimp.
Believe it or not the guys name was Horsecock. (Swings and Roundabouts)
The times we had to clean the mess?
Thank you for sharing this well written and interesting piece.
Weefatfella.

Author's Reply:
Thanks WFF your encouragement means a lot to me. I reckon they still walk among us too mate.
Your gimp wasn't from Bambury Cross by any chance? πŸ˜‰


The Gentle Art of Grenade Lobbing (posted on: 22-03-13)
A tale of the last days of National Service conscription.

The Gentle Art of Grenade Lobbing The drill was over we all had been shown how to clean and fuse a hand grenade now, at last, we were going to have some fun throwing live ones. We were, however, about to have much more fun than we had bargained for. The British Army prides itself in the quality of its training methods so we soldiers first had to train on dummy grenades with dummy fuses. The art of delivering a grenade to the enemy we were told was to lob it high thus allowing time for the fuse to burn down and denying the enemy the chance to pick it up and throw it back. After many practice throws with the dummies the training sergeant, one Harry Joseph(Grumpy)Graham, declared himself satisfied with the highly appreciative remark: ''Well I suppose you bunch of feckless tossers's are as good as you're ever going to be.'' This is what passed for high praise from Grumpy Graham however at this point of the proceedings this world war two veteran, whose face and natural demeanour made a bloodhound look deliriously happy by comparison, didn't know just how disappointing his day was going to become. We collected two live grenades and fuses each and moved off to the throwing point, a wide brick lined slit trench with an inbuilt shelf. The throwers were called forward one at a time into the trench with the sergeant and put one grenade on the shelf in front of him. On the command prepare to throw the soldier withdrew the grenade's pin and stretched his throwing arm back. On the command throw he brought his arm sweeping in an overhead arc aiming the device at a pile of old ammunition boxes some twenty five yards away. It fell to me to be first up. Trembling slightly I assumed the position facing Sergeant Graham. ''Don't be nervous lad'' he barked at me in a voice that would have made a statue nervous ''There's bugger-all to it.'' It wasn't the grenade I was nervous of it was Grumpy Graham he was a man you upset at your peril. I threw my first grenade stood and watched it fall near the boxes as we'd been instructed. ''Watch, Watch'' Bawled Graham then the word I was longing to hear ''Down!'' We ducked down below the lip of the trench and after what seemed an age the grenade went off with a loud crack rather than the big bang I'd expected. The fuses were only four seconds but that four seconds seemed to take an eternity. I repeated the drill with the second one and stood there after it had gone off waiting to be dismissed. ''Well'' said Graham ''What did you think of that?'' ''Not much of a bang sarge'' I remarked. ''What the hell did you expect lad?'' he shouted ''its four ounces of TNT not a bloody atom bomb. You've been watching too many American war movies'' He shook his head looking even more morose than usual. ''Send the next man down and look sharp.'' I scurried out of the trench with an enthusiastic ''Yes Sergeant'' and back up the hill for thirty yards to where the rest of the squad was waiting sitting on a long bench in front of a low dry stone wall. ''Next man and he said to look sharp'' I panted. Gunner Menmure, or 'Manure' to the rest of us was next to throw, he was one of those reluctant National Servicemen who were called up in one of the last batches to have to do compulsory service. That was in September 1960 we were known as intake 60/18. Although conscription had officially ended the lads being called up were the ones who had been deferred until they were aged twenty one to allow them time to finish apprenticeships. These chaps were, on the whole, more mature than the eighteen year olds more commonly called up and supposedly brighter too that's why we'd been selected for the Royal Artillery. Our group were to be trained as surveyors, radio operators and technical assistants. Menmure ambled off down the hill casually flicking away his cigarette butt as he went. ''Move yer arse'' yelled Graham annoyed at Manure's slow progress. Menmure didn't increase his pace one jot. They rest of us groaned inwardly, oh god he was going to get Grumpy into a foul mood then all of us would pay. And boy was that mood about to get foul. Arriving at the throwing point Manure adopted his usual sullen I-don't-give-a-shit slouch which prompted some extremely fierce 'words of wisdom' from Grumpy, causing Manure to assume more soldier-like stance and prepare to throw. Off went Manure's first grenade sailing towards the target He tried to duck immediately but Grumpy held him up ''Watch yer barstid watch.'' Bawled Grumpy directly into his ear then they ducked. Nothing, no bang the unexploded grenade rolled to an anticlimactic halt next to the ammunition boxes. Up they popped Grumpy looked puzzled ''Not often we get a dud'' he said ''prepare to throw yer second.'' After the second grenade was thrown with the same negative result the penny dropped with Grumpy. ''Where's yer dummy fuses lad?'' he asked aggressively. ''They're here sarge'' Said the hapless gunner pulling two fuses out of his pocket. ''Those are yer live ones yer thick bugger'' Roared the sergeant ''bloody hell! Why should Britain tremble when we've got idiots like you defending us?'' His bloodhound face was puce with rage. "Get the hell out of my sight you sorry waste of rations, bugger off before I wedge my boot up yer arse!'' Manure scrambled out of the trench with an urgency he rarely displayed and scrambled back up the hill red faced as the next man went down for his turn. All went well for the next five throwers and then it was the turn of another National Serviceman a lad from the Outer Hebrides called Rabbie. Rabbie was a sweet natured, gentle soul but the only army he was fit for was the Salvation Army. He was the guy we all looked after, we made sure his bed was made correctly and his kit was as it should be for, try as he might, this kind decent lad simply could not cope with soldiering. The mere sound of Grumpy's voice turned him into a quivering jelly. Now Rabbie stood, grenade in hand, facing Grumpy. ''Throw'' bawled grumpy with quite unnecessary volume. Poor Rabbie let out a terrified squawk, threw the pin down the range then dropped the grenade in the bottom of the trench. Rabbie continued to panick and tried to climb over Grumpy Graham in an effort to vacate the trench. This seriously impeded the sergeant's efforts to retrieve the grenade; he cursed Rabbie for a bastard and, with a great effort, slammed the lad out of the way. He retrieved the grenade and threw it over the side of the trench. He then grabbed Rabbie who was scrabbling half out of the trench and managed to drag him back in and get his head below the parapet just as the damn thing went off.   Graham stood up his face pale with shock and anger his words were deliberately spaced, his voice deadly. ''Six long fookin' years Adolf tried to kill me'' he hissed ''then the Chinese had a go in Korea and now a great useless streak o' piss like you damn near succeeds where those bastards failed.'' Graham brought a vicious right fist into Rabbie's solar plexus sending him gasping to the bottom of the trench. ''I'm three months away from my pension you thick Jock clown" Grumpy spat vemonously and with that he climbed out of the trench and made his way to where we were gathered lighting a cigarette with trembling hands. ''You two'' snapped Grumpy pointing to the nearest men to him ''get down there and help him out of that trench and be careful he doesn't fall again, the clumsy bugger.'' The vehicle arrived with our midday meal and Graham gave us five minutes to get served and five minutes to bolt the food down. The rest of the lunch hour was spent practicing with the dummy grenades all over again. When he was satisfied that the rest of the throwers were more terrified of making a mistake than of sitting on a live grenade he resumed the practice at the end of which he called Menmure over. ''Right you bloody dozy git sod off and retrieve those two grenades.'' Menmure came back with three! ''I found another one sarge'' he quipped holding them out in his cupped hands. The third device was obviously old and in a badly corroded state. Now a hand grenade is a very simple device it's a steel container of high explosive with a hollow tube running down its centre. Pushed up this tube is a plunger with a coiled spring around it. Where the plunger comes through the grenade at the top there is a slot in it into which the lever is put. This lever is held in place by the pin. Pull the pin and hold the lever all day and nothing will happen let go and the spring sends the lever flying and the plunger shooting down the tube to strike a cap which lights the fuse. Four seconds later this reaches a detonator which sets off the charge. Simple. The grenades of the day were the Mills Bomb they came in boxes of twelve all covered in thick preserving grease which, if not properly cleaned off before use, could cause the plunger to stick in the tube. Disturbing it can cause the said plunger to continue its interrupted journey towards the cap. Sergeant Graham was still opening his mouth to bawl at Manure when the squad, who had realised this danger for themselves in a nanosecond, immediately departed left and right with the speed and agility of Olympic athletes. With this urgent departure it dawned on Menmure that retrieving the third device was perhaps not the brightest idea he'd ever had. ''What shall I do Sarge'' he wailed through pallid lips. Graham, who had dived smartly over the low dry stone wall straight into a bed of nettles, raised his badly stung head a fraction and called ''gently put them down and step away. Can you see any smoke?'' ''N.. No sarge'' Menmure stammered. ''Well if you see any or hear a click drop them, run like hell and jump over this wall.'' The sergeant instructed.   All went well the grenade didn't go off and Graham retrieved the two good ones. He should have marked the dud with a stick and red tape and told the range people to come and dispose of it. This was too much trouble for Grumpy as it entailed filling in paperwork a task the semi literate man hated so he picked up the dud and, telling us never ever to follow his example, heaved it as far as he could down the hill. We watched as it hit the ground, bounced, rolled a few feet then dropped into the throwing trench; seconds later it went off! Graham's face was a sight to behold ''Oh shit'' he said in a voice about a hundred decibels quieter than normal. ''I left my small pack in that trench with my issue binoculars and compass.'' In spite of our fear of the man we couldn't help laughing until we ached. Grumpy raged and cursed but we just couldn't stop. He sent me and Manure to retrieve the shattered small pack and what was left of his binoculars and compass then he formed us up in three ranks and made us double march back to camp whilst he rode in the truck behind. On arriving at camp almost an hour later sweating and breathless we complained that we had missed our evening meal. ''Oh dear'' said Grumpy, his voice dripping with mock sympathy, holding up his shattered compass he continued ''my watch seems to have stopped lads, so sorry. Oh well never mind you'll be pleased to know that all is not lost my nice hot meal will still be waiting for me in the sergeants' mess.'' He then glowered at us, his usual persona restored. ''Well now yer pack o' barstids, let's hear you laugh that one off.''
Archived comments for The Gentle Art of Grenade Lobbing
chardonnay on 23-03-2013
The Gentle Art of Grenade Lobbing
I have three sons; one is in the R.A.F. Regiment Training for The Paras: The Second: in The R.E.M.E. Training for Afghan and poss Syria: the third: a complete computer Boff: NONE of them speak like this: and I would suspect they didn't then either: poss needs punctuating with Essex speak, and less B.B.C.! Just an observation xxx

Author's Reply:
Hi Chardonay,
Thank you for taking the trouble of posting your comments, much appreciated.

I wrote the piece from memory and the limited intake of eighteen men most of whom were from middle class backgrounds and two were even Oxbridge men who, in protest at being called up, refused to be commissioned. My intake was selected for jobs such as metrology surveying and such and, dare I say it, were slightly better educated that the norm. It took us a good three months to learn the military skill of inserting the eff word at least three times into any sentence of five words or more. You’re right I did leave it out on purpose as I personally find it tedious. Grumpy actually said β€œLet’s hear you laugh that fucker off” Mae culpa.

There is a danger too I find in trying to portray unfamiliar accents accurately. My father was a Scot and I found myself being interpreter for the poor Londoner’s. Example: β€˜Yon boos wiz gai foo the nicht β€˜ (The bus was very full tonight) or: an’ fer by thot (As well as ) would be totally baffling to most readers unless detailed (And boring) explanations were given. As Nomenklatura pointed out in his kind defence of me I doubt that many readers would understand what Blanco or a bed block was or the exclamation β€œFuckin’ strap back!” which was all normal parlance in 60’s soldier speak. We’d never heard of β€œinnit.”

May I wish your sons every good fortune in their careers and a safe return home.
Luv & hugz,
Pronto

chardonnay on 23-03-2013
The Gentle Art of Grenade Lobbing
I have three sons; one is in the R.A.F. Regiment Training for The Paras: The Second: in The R.E.M.E. Training for Afghan and poss Syria: the third: a complete computer Boff: NONE of them speak like this: and I would suspect they didn't then either: poss needs punctuating with Essex speak, and less B.B.C.! Just an observation xxx

Author's Reply:

Nomenklatura on 24-03-2013
The Gentle Art of Grenade Lobbing
In Pronto's defence, the third person narrator's language can be however he wants it, provided it's fixed in the vernacular of pre-1960 when National Service ended. National Servicemen came from all strata of society.


With respect to you Chardonnay, I doubt whether your boys speak exactly the same as I did in 23 years service, which ended 10 years ago. I know my vernacular was very different to my father's; he served 31 years. Yes, there are words still used in the military today from many, many years ago. Yomp, for example, is probably still current: it means a long forced march; that word dates back to the Falklands. However, no-one knows what blanco is I should think.



My dad wouldn't know what a BFOT is, I should think your sons might. (clue: the first word is Big and the last is Tent).



Lastly, perhaps Pronto didn't care to put in the full extent swearing that still goes on, especially on the weapons range.

Author's Reply:

Weefatfella on 24-03-2013
The Gentle Art of Grenade Lobbing
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Aye, Well told Pronto.
Nice wee read over my cornflakes.
Much enjoyed Both.
Weefatfella.

Author's Reply:
Thanks WFF you're positive comments are very encouraging. So glad you enjoyed the piece. P

chardonnay on 24-03-2013
The Gentle Art of Grenade Lobbing
Did not mean to cause offence: nor need to rise in defence: my son's are well educated: they simply chose to defend their country. Shall not comment again.

Author's Reply:
Dear Chardonnay,
I am not in the least offended my friend and am truely grateful for your response. I've PM'd you.
Warm regards
P

Andrea on 24-03-2013
The Gentle Art of Grenade Lobbing
Ah Pronto, I enjoyed it. My pater was a tail-gunner in the RAF during WW11. Tough times. A bit of humour never goes amiss πŸ™‚

Author's Reply:
Hi Andrea,
Thanks for your rating and kind words.
Your pater has my deep respect, my wars were tiny skirmishes by comparison to WW2 and they were scary enough at ground level without being zillions of feet in the air. Awesome.
Luv & hugz,
P


Ode to a Donkey (posted on: 15-03-13)
Next time you see a donkey standing in a field braying mindlessly don't automatically think of your local MP the creature just might have somethingto bray about!

The trouble with being a Ned, Is not much goes on in your head, You eat tons of grass, Brush flies from your ass, Work thirty-odd years then you're dead! As relief from this tedious state, One day I jumped over the gate, And found a young Jen alone in her pen, And screwed her, oh boy was that great! At the sound of her orgasmic screams, The farmer awoke from his dreams, He took a big stick, And thrashed me on the dick, 'Til the tears filled my eyes in great streams, Then it's back to my field double quick, With the farmer still using the stick, Tho' my cock's black and blue, I've had a good screw, And I'd do it again in a tick!
Archived comments for Ode to a Donkey
Savvi on 17-03-2013
Ode to a Donkey
Poor old Ned, nuff said. Made me chuckle alot and damn that farmer with his stick...beating your ... anyway great read, S

Author's Reply:
Thanks Savvi for you're comments and kind rating. I'm glad this bit of nonesense amused you. πŸ™‚

Andrea on 17-03-2013
Ode to a Donkey
Haha, loved it πŸ™‚

Hope you don't mind if I make a suggestion. The second line here:

He took a big stick,
And thrashed me on the dick,
'Til the tears filled my eyes in great streams,


doesn't quite scan properly. If I may make so bold, how about :

He took a big stick,
And thrashed my stiff dick,
'Til the tears filled my eyes in great streams,


πŸ™‚

Author's Reply:
Hi Andrea,
Thanks for your kind comments my friend, I certainly don't mind suggestions that are made with the honest wish of improving a work. Thank you for taking the trouble to write I'll look at it again when I've had a bit less wine! πŸ˜‰

Weefatfella on 17-03-2013
Ode to a Donkey
 photo 390a8c45-a359-4a79-8c64-82ba272f2b94_zps941dd6b6.jpg
Ha! Minteeed.
Thanks for the the laugh Pronto.
Weefatfella.

Author's Reply:
Thanks mate I'm glad you found it worth dropping by!


Borrow Tomorrow (posted on: 15-03-13)
As we run pell mell towards the brink, will we even stop to think? We've built a machine to tear up the deep ocean floor mining minerals stirring up deep silt that has taken million of years to settle. If we kill the plankton we kill ourselves too.

Questions form About the world, challenge the norm The Jihad on reason, confusion reigns We need a saviour not more gains Politicos spout verbal diarrhoea As doomsday draws ever nearer Who will hear the voices of the lost? The sighs of the oceans dying The wails of the woebegone trying To be heard by the herd Prophets of destruction hold sway And nature is left to defray The cost of verminous multitudes Soothed by disingenuous platitudes Taking ever taking Look away, look away It didn't happen yesterday It hasn't happened today The prophets say We can always borrow tomorrow As long as your childern pay Don't look now It will all go away Yeah?
Archived comments for Borrow Tomorrow
Savvi on 17-03-2013
Borrow Tomorrow
This is the end of the world as we know it, and I feel fine. πŸ™‚ Some very clever lines here that really makes one think, great stuff, well penned.

Author's Reply:
Wow thanks Savvi for your comment and very high rating. I too feel fine at the mo.
As a SCUBA diver I'm one of the less that 1% of the world's population who have had the enormous privilege to have been under the oceans. Sadly I've seen firsthand the destruction caused by over fishing and scallop dredgers that rip the seabed to fragments as well as lunatics that use dynamite to catch a few fish. This plankton fishing poses a potentially greater threat than any of us can know until it's too late.
Warm regards


The Cougar (posted on: 11-03-13)
She is an older woman who preys on young men and is deadly effective in her plots and ploys! God help young boys!

Red head huntress interested in undress, Boys eighteen to twenty five, god they made her come alive, At forty two this woman knew just how much and what to do, Lusting over six packs, tight buttock buns, boys near as young as her teenage sons, She trapped one in her house that day, just eighteen she would make him play, Her way. Slides scarlet nails down his inner thigh watching his increasing bulge,fantasies she must indulge, He's scared, but can't help to arise to the occasion the boy lacks experience, imagination. She nibbles a lobe undoes his shirt, long legs slide from beneath her skirt. Rapier tongue into his ear ''Let me do this for you dear,'' The boy is lost! To the bedroom strips him bare, fingers caressing his pubic hair, Kneels before him, sucks him in and so begins the night of sin. His juices pouring down her chin. He's in despair he's come to soon makes as if to leave the room, She holds him back they take a shower he'll be ready again in half an hour, She knows this well. Stretched on the bed she takes his head pushing down between her legs, Huge clitoris hard like a little dick, he opens his mouth and takes a lick, ''Not so rough now if you please, flick it lightly softly tease,'' Strokes his buttocks, light of touch straying playing round his crotch, She's moaning now and in full throe, loves his efforts down below. She's ready now. Expertly she draws him to her, makes ready for his manly skewer, Yoga trained her pelvic floor more expert she than any whore, Muscles powerfully contracting every ounce of pleasure extracting, Orgasms wrack her again and again legs wrapped tight round his youthful frame, Just when he's about to come she pushes her finger up his bum. He shouts her name. Finds his prostate applies light pressure increasing tenfold orgasmic pleasure, So intense his moment's bliss never has it been like this, Finished now he feels aglow, she won't release him, let him go, Keeping his young cock locked inside sits up and slowly starts to ride, Skilfully deftly teasing pleasing vagina tight his cock is squeezing, ''I'm going to fuck you boy.'' Sweet surrender she's got him now, she wipes the moisture from his brow, Licks it from her finger tips makes lewd suggestions with her lips, They're moaning groaning lost in pleasure she takes him slowly at her leisure, Eager now she quickens pace pure ecstasy upon her face, Though he's spent she keeps on going female liquid gushing, flowing, At last she's satisfied.
Archived comments for The Cougar
Weefatfella on 12-03-2013
The Cougar
Weefat sh. photo f444513d-ee51-4e3a-901d-53b87f952c49_zps521058b0.jpg
Oh MMYYYY.
Be still my beating heart.
Aye they're worth the watching...........They wuman.
Git them in the taxi all the time.
Costs me a fortune oan Kleenex.
Thank you for the memories.
Weefatfella.

Author's Reply:
Thanks WFF I met one when I was young, been looking for her ever since! πŸ˜‰

Hekkus on 29-03-2013
The Cougar
A well written piece, explicit but not tacky. Technically the rhyming is good, and clever. A compelling portrait of a predatory but sensuous woman.

Author's Reply:


What's in a Name? (posted on: 08-03-13)
Wouldn't it be nice if your friends told you what they really thought?

William Wrigglesworth was a very pleasant but rather unworldly man. He'd inherited a maggot farm from his father which he now ran with great enthusiasm. Wrigglesworth and Wrigglesworth supplied fishing tackle shops throughout the land with every conceivable sort of bait fresh and frozen. He supplied rag and lugworm, sand eels, maggots fat and thin and of every colour and type. William kept in touch with others of the same calling and built up a great reputation in the trade. One day he had the bright idea of starting a trade association to ensure that standards in the industry were not only maintained but improved upon. He had plans for the social side and charity work too. Fuelled by his great passion he had impressive and very expensive stationary printed on which he wrote to his fellow bait suppliers explaining his plans and inviting them to join his association. Not one single reply did he receive. He waited for a couple of weeks then checked with the Post Office but not one person had taken the trouble to respond. William felt so despondent about the situation that he went out one day and got severely drunk. Sadly it was in this inebriated state that he fell into the road and was killed by a bus. At the funeral all his fellow bait suppliers came from far and wide to pay their last respects. They said such wonderful things about him and his business that his widow was left totally bemused. She couldn't understand why these kind, polite folks had not even bothered to answer when her husband had cordially invited them to join The Most Worshipful Guild of Master Baiters.
Archived comments for What's in a Name?
TheBigBadG on 08-03-2013
Whats in a Name?
Oddly, the working title for my sub today was What's in a name too, although I changed it at the last minute. Not sure that means anything, but tis true! One quick typo, you're missing the most final of periods.

Very droll though, I was waiting for something to do with wriggling so you got me. There's a modern Dickensian story hiding in this, the bumbling everyman with a name to suit his trade, dying in frustration all due to his own lack of imagination...

Author's Reply:
Thanks BBG for the kind comments and keen observations.

shadow on 08-03-2013
Whats in a Name?
How sad - some people do have dirty minds, don't they? Reminds me of when they were setting up our local radio station, they were thinking of calling it Radio Anker until someone pointed out the problem . . .

Author's Reply:
Ah well there's always one who'll spoil the fun. I did like the racehorse though that was called Shy Talk! That one did get past the politically correct so and so's ;-!

Thank you for the comment.

cooky on 08-03-2013
Whats in a Name?
The ending was a classic. Being a fisherman the maggots he bred come into the following categories
Squats which are the smallest and come from the house fly
Pinkies which are very active slightly larger maggots
then we have normal maggots which come dyed into colours of bronze and red.
Finally we have casters which are brown shelled as this is the stage before coming a fly. Not many people know this!

Author's Reply:
And I was one of 'em Cooky! As a diver I'm used to going right up to the fish. I never take anything except photos and leave nothing behind except bubbles!
Thanks for the kind coment mate.


Bang on Time (posted on: 04-03-13)
Ahmed worked as a maintenance fitter in an Aero-engineering factory no one could possibly have guessed that this quiet unassuming man was secretly a deadly jihadist with a mission.

For over a year now Ahmed had been working as a maintenance engineer at Aircol and Max Ltd a small but important aero engine research firm. He was good at his job and never gave anyone cause for complaint or suspicion. He attended his mosque regularly and seemed a very serious and devout young man. No one outside his small radical group had the slightest inkling of his deadly plan to strike a blow for jihad. His group had been looking for a suitable target for months and now it seemed Allah had sent a target straight to them. Ahmed worked with old John and, at first, disliked him intensely he was in his view a typical old fashioned Christian of little worth. Yet he tolerated him, put up with his slightly eccentric ways and the fact that he always seemed to be on the look out to do him little kindnesses like staying behind to finish a job so he could get away on time. Ahmed never went to the canteen for lunch or breaks but sat on his toolbox in a corner of the workshop eating sparingly of the food he brought from home. After he'd finished his meal Ahmed read some verses from the Koran ignoring all around him until it was time to restart work. John brought him a small cushion from home for the toolbox. Why did he do it Ahmed wondered?, He had not been particularly friendly towards him ok he'd been civil but that was part of the job and that wouldn't be for much longer and then all would be avenged. Above all he must not raise the suspicions of the people he worked with at this late stage in the operation so Ahmed had thanked John and always used the cushion from then on. A&M Ltd had recently made a breakthrough in the fuel systems of jet engines making them run cleaner by almost 10% and for a minimal cost too. Such was the potential that the new extension built to accommodate this development was being opened by none other than the government's environmental minister herself; this was the chance Ahmed and his friends had been waiting for. The opportunity to kill a government minister as well as up to two hundred highly skilled engineers was one they could not pass up; it was perfect in almost every way. The company supplied mostly the civil aviation industry it had no political affiliations and was not a major employer. This would be just another routine job for the minister who did almost a hundred of this type of ceremony a year nothing controversial, no particular security threat and no grounds for anyone in high places to worry, just simple bread and butter ministerial work. Old John was a man approaching retirement. At sixty-four and a widower he had spent all his working life as an engineer, for the last three years he had been in charge of maintaining the lathes drills and assorted machinery in the A&M workshops. It was the kind of hands-on work he loved as no two problems were ever the same. Just over a year previously he had been called into the office to be told he was getting an assistant to train up so the firm would have continuity when he retired. When Ahmed had turned up that first Monday morning John had had some misgivings not because of Ahmed's Asian origins but because the fellow hardly spoke. John soon discovered however that Ahmed was a skilled engineer who picked things up quickly and was not afraid of hard work or of getting his hands dirty. John, a gregarious man, had tried to befriend Ahmed but it had been a slow process. Ahmed had his ways and rituals which he kept to rigidly like always eating on his own perched atop his toolbox. Every evening he put his toolbox into the boot of his car always taking it home. John had told him the workshop was secure and that there was no need to carry his heavy box home every night. Ahmed had insisted he must and John let the matter drop. He supposed it was because Ahmed had grown up in a very different society where, if one were to lose one's tools then the means of earning a living was lost with them. On one occasion when Ahmed's ancient car had been in for service John had given him a lift home. He lived with two other single men in an end terraced house in a modest street not too far from where he himself lived so dropping him off was no problem. Little did he know that the two other men were co-conspirators in a deadly plot in which he himself would unwittingly play a significant part. The minister of the Environment, one Ms Sally Goldsworthy, had insisted that the minimum of fuss be made for her official visit. She would simply turn up at eleven forty five, meet the directors and senior staff then proceed to the new department, make a short speech then uncover the wall plaque and declare the new wing open. After a light lunch with the directors in the board room, she would depart no later than twelve thirty. Her aides had called the week before to discuss such things as security, lunch menus even toilet facilities and a lot of other nitty-gritty details that always accompany such a visit. Everything had been thrashed out to the satisfaction of her team and so all was set. At home Ahmed watched the bomb maker going about his work. Ibrahim had been trained by the best Al Qaeda bomb makers and he worked with a cool efficiency. Five kilos of PE 808 a military plastic explosive that wasn't the latest or most powerful explosive but, because of that, was somewhat easier to obtain. The toolbox had been lined with ball bearings filched from the firm itself over many months so as not to attract attention. The whole device was designed to cause the greatest carnage possible and in the foyer of the new extension that would surely be achieved. No one would have reason to suspect the maintenance engineer going about his business. He would leave the toolbox under the plinth at the last minute, the minister would be standing right above it to conduct the ceremony and make her speech. He and John had of course been involved with installing new machinery in the extension and had free access to come and go as they pleased. Ahmed watched with satisfaction as Ibrahim finished, instructed him on arming the device and the put the tray of tools neatly on top. Once more it took on the appearance of an engineer's toolbox. Ahmed received his instructions he was to plant the bomb then phone when this had been achieved before leaving the factory. Once he had confirmed to Azziz that the device was in position he would then leave and go to the rendezvous. Things had not been left to chance by Ahmed he knew John was a very conscientious worker and would stay with him throughout the installation of the public address system. He had arranged for a machine to break down in the main workshop by cleverly doctoring a bearing. He knew it was a machine John loved to work on and had been nursing for some weeks so Ahmed would be left alone in the new foyer for at least a few minutes and that's all he needed. May Allah bless conscientious John he thought sarcastically. Abdul Azziz was the third man involved in the bomb plot he was the quartermaster, the fixer the man who supplied the false passports they would use to leave the country that very afternoon. The flights had been booked the cases packed and all was ready. Ahmed had informed the company that he has a dental appointment that afternoon and would, unfortunately, have to miss the grand opening. Ahmed was in the habit of parking his old Ford as near to the works door as he could get then take the keys from the car and just leave it to walk in carrying his toolbox. John asked once why he never locked it. ''Because it's an old car and this is a secure car park, if anyone were silly enough to break into it they would do more damage than the car is worth.'' He explained that he never left anything of value in it anyway and locking it necessitated pushing the key in the lock and turning. ''No posh key fobs like yours John'' he had smiled. John was a little puzzled as to why the man had such an old car anyway as he was earning good money and could have afforded much better however he considered it none of his business so never mentioned it. The truth was the car had been bought for him for cash and it was registered at a false address. Now it was the day of the minister's visit John and Ahmed set up the microphone and rigged it to the speakers, tested it and did one or two other jobs like putting a curtain around the front and sides of the temporary plinth to give it a neat appearance and making sure all was ready. After that a security man had come around checked the room he looked under the plinth flashing a torch for a couple of seconds. He then went through the door of the new wing and did some more checks. Seemingly satisfied he wandered off leaving the two engineers tidying up the wires. John couldn't help but notice that Ahmed was rather nervous and asked what the matter was. ''Oh I've a dental appointment this afternoon John'' Ahmed had said ''I really hate going to the dentist, always have done.'' John had been sympathetic and made a few kind remarks. As the time for the visit got nearer they gave the microphone system one last test then Ahmed told John he needed to go to the toilet and then he really must get off to the dentist as otherwise he would be late. His nervousness seemed to be increasing by the minute surely that bearing would have burnt out by now? John was quite worried he'd never seem Ahmed so on edge before but just then his mobile phone rang and John answered it. ''Yes? Oh I see I'll be right along, see you in a minute.'' And with that he turned to Ahmed ''I have to go mate the big milling machine's gone funny again'' and with that he walked briskly off. Once in the toilet Ahmed looked around and made sure he was quite alone then phoned his co-conspirators. ''All set'' he told them ''I'll give it a couple of minutes in here to make the visit look genuine then I'll come and meet you.'' "Ok" Azziz said "you made sure you switched on the telephone yeah?'' ''Of course I switched the phone on my brother what do you take me for?'' Ahmed was annoyed ok so it was his first operation did they take him for a damn fool? He was nervous but not that nervous. Ahmed held his nerve, checked his watch then flushed the toilet washed his hands and left as casually as he could. To his annoyance he bumped into the workshop foreman who needed answers to some routine questions. The man was another like John who tried to engage him in social talk as well as deal with the matters in hand. Ahmed, after supplying the answers to the man's questions, looked at his watch and cut the foreman short ''I'm awfully sorry but I have a dental appointment and they'll get upset if I'm late.'' And with that he walked off cursing in his mind at the delay. In the car park his car started first time and he drove to the hill about half a mile away that over looked the factory. The lane was deserted at this time of day because it led nowhere, the farmhouse it once served had long been demolished. It was one of those places used only by flt tippers and streetwalkers brought their clients to after dark, a lost and lonely place. He was first there despite his delay and checking his watch saw that he was still half a minute early. Better than being late he told himself. Bang on time the others arrived and drove up tight behind him. Ahmed got out of the car and went to sit in the back of the old BMW driven by Abdul Azziz. ''All set?'' Abdul asked and Ahmed just nodded in reply and turned to look at the factory below. Abdul Azziz lit a cigarette and sat silently holding a mobile phone in his left hand he closed his eyes and drew on the cigarette deeply then slowly exhaled. ''To you Ahmed must go the ultimate honour of detonating the device'' he said with great solemnity ''this is your first operation and you have done well my friend.'' Azziz was looking through powerful binoculars ''OK'' he hissed talking as much to himself as the other two the official cars are going in now. He took a sheet of paper from his pocket and read it for the tenth time. ''Seven minutes to meet and greet ''he said, his voice cold and steady then two minutes to walk to the new building followed by a seven minute speech so that's twelve minutes to detonation right in the middle of her speech.'' He smirked and drew on the cigarette again. He was enjoying himself. In the back of the car Ahmed was deep in thought it was right he believed that the infidel should be taught a lesson in blood but he secretly hoped old John stayed mending his beloved machine and did not attend the speech. In spite of himself Ahmed had grown to have a grudging respect for the older man. For a start he was a first class engineer and a good worker. If the need was to get down under a machine he would do so unhesitatingly never once did he plead age and send Ahmed down into the awkward corners. Always John was friendly, helpful and Ahmed had learned a lot of practical stuff working with him. May Allah protect you John he thought but the job must be done. ''One minute'' the voice of Azziz cut through his thoughts he was handed the phone. ''Bring up contacts'' Azziz ordered ''Select Allah Akbar and await my command.'' Ahmed took the phone his hands trembling slightly and did as he was told. ''Wait..wait..'' said Azziz looking at his watch. Time seemed to stand still for Ahmed. In the front passenger seat Ibrahim the bomb maker sat rocking back and forth a fixed stare on his face. He was softly chanting over and over Allah Akbar, Allah Akbar.... ''Now!'' Barked Azziz and Ahmed brought his thumb down on the dialling button. He heard the phone beep beeping out the number a slight pause then the phone made its connection and the bomb detonated with devastating effect. John finished mending the machine and remembered he had to ring Ahmed. He rang the number and Ahmed's phone went straight to voice mail John thought he must still be at the dentists so he left a message. ''Hi Ahmed it's John here. Listen mate I left my glasses on the plinth and when I went back for them I saw some tape had come loose on those microphone wires we laid. When I bent down to replace it I noticed you'd left your toolbox under the plinth mate so I took it to the car park and when I couldn't find you I put it in your car boot old son so don't fret when you remember it ok? That dentist must really have got to you rattled pal I've never know you forget our toolbox before! ,  
Archived comments for Bang on Time
OldPeculier on 04-03-2013
Bang on Time
Nice twist! Thank you.

Author's Reply:
Thank you I'm glad you enjoyed it.

Mikeverdi on 04-03-2013
Bang on Time
I enjoyed this very much, the twist at the end was inspired! Mike

Author's Reply:
Thanks Mike for the kind comment and for the great rating. Much appreciated.

Weefatfella on 04-03-2013
Bang on Time
 photo 93fe0fca-ac2d-451b-b74e-dd1b917176f4_zps1e26e487.jpg
Absolutely wonderful.
I really enjoyed this. Fantastic, loved the twist.
Even after cheating, and reading previous comments,
I still didn't get the twist till the end.
Thank you for sharing this.
Weefatfella.

Author's Reply:
Why thank you very much dear sir much appreciated just another product of my twisted mind.

geordietaf on 07-03-2013
Bang on Time
Boom! As well as a really clever and well-written piece, with a great sting in the tail, this would make a great TV drama.

Author's Reply:
Wow! Thank you for that kind comment and the great rating. It would need fleshing out a bit for TV and a better writer than me doing the screenplay though. Maybe I'll submit it, thanks for the idea!

JackCrowe on 27-05-2013
Bang on Time
Loved it, very good.

Author's Reply:
Thanks for the comment Jack I'm glad you liked it.


Our Glorious Dead (posted on: 04-03-13)
If the tone of this poem is angry and sarcastic don't worry it's only because the writer is angry and sarcastic!

To Our Glorious Dead the monument said What fuckin' bullshit thought, aye You who sent me off to die What's so glorious about being dead? A bayonet up the arse or a bullet in the head Would you change places then? If so when? Reams of rancid rubbish written Jingoistic shite you spout Land of hope and fuckin' glory? Oh please! tell another fairy story The other guys are evil wrong God's on our side he'll hear our song Of patriotic puke But better far than the nuke Is it? Why? With Nukes we all get to die All are then The Glorious Dead Fairer shares We'll get ours and they'll get theirs! Will you be satisfied then? Political prick you make me sick Forward you men have no fear Whilst I stay safely over here Far, far away from the pointless war I'm calling for. Looking for ways to compromise Telling lies thin disguise Of deep concern, double talk Weasel words Same value they as putrid turds Our brave young women and men Blah blah! (Cut to the truth) Died screaming in a field afar Legs blow off body in tatters (Back to the bullshit) But it's the principal that matters Said the most unprincipled bastard in the land We'll put their names on a monument grand Oh great, can't wait! Cheaper by far for the nation Than paying proper compensation That's just the chance you take in war And now your son can fight no more We'll screw you for every cent we can Whilst telling you He was a brave and noble man And for the disabled soldier's family? Oh dear, well, it's like this you see We can't afford so very much And so we'll kick you in the crotch But we'll be smiling while we do it And the nation is ever grateful Ex-Sergeant and Mrs Pruitt Inspired by the great Tony Blair, ex P.M.of Britian and multi millionaire, he sure got his share!
Archived comments for Our Glorious Dead
cooky on 04-03-2013
Our Glorious Dead
Glorious in its anger. First four verses controlled which is good. Then it gets away with the anger which needs reigning back a bit. Has the potential to be a top poem in the vein of John Cooper Clarke.

Author's Reply:
Hi Cooky Thanks mate high praise indeed I know what you mean about the anger and reining in a bit maybe I'll look again when I'm less angry!
Thanks for the rating too.

Bozzz on 06-03-2013
Our Glorious Dead
Hi Pronto, as a man awarded an ill-fitting demob suit as a reward for three years in the line of fire in the RAF during WW2, I share your anger - most of the public do too, but that is no help to us. My only quibble is with your choice of target - Blair was a mere politician - the real warmongers are behind the scenes- they are in the international armaments industry and every now and then must try out their little games and products - it does not take much to find a suitable arena. (If it was not Blair it would have been someone else and if none, then Bush and his oil gang alone and those poor buggers that suffered from the decision.)
Keep working Pronto. Bozzz.



Author's Reply:
Thanks for your thoughts Bozzz.
You're right of course but Blair was the most visible target and the biggest user of weasel words this side of the Black Stump.
My little wars were Brunei and Borneo (1963) and a "police action" in what was then British Guiana (1964) a few 'strange moments' in what was then El Adam RAF base in Libya in 1969 in case Gadaffi needed 'seeing too.' Apart from that and the Northern Ireland bullshit I got away scot free. I never had to face anything like the battles of WW2 thank god.

Great rating mate many thanks
P



The land of Helibore (posted on: 01-03-13)
This came about as the result of a daydream would you believe?

In Helibore's heaven Satan screamed In that paradise fair I lay and dreamed Of a time when earth joined in the birth Of ages new What price then life torn with strife Of men who lust for others' blood Who think by murder they do good Even the work of some odd god Strange this god who creates some For others to murder in his name What's her bloody game? Or could it be that in some alternative reality All this suffering makes sense? Delusion and confusion reign In the land of Helibore Home of the insane
Archived comments for The land of Helibore
Weefatfella on 03-03-2013
The land of Helibore
 photo 93fe0fca-ac2d-451b-b74e-dd1b917176f4_zps1e26e487.jpg

God's message is true.

It's the interpretation that's causing all the problems.
Thanks again for sharing this.

Another pertinent and current problem.

Thankfully I'm Agnostic.

Weefatfella.

Author's Reply:
As the man said "When I read stuff like this I thank god I'm an athiest!" πŸ˜‰
Thanks for dropping by mate I'm trying a lighter write for my next effort.


Worthless (posted on: 01-03-13)
A cultural catastrophy

Worthless now Blank eyes stare at the moon Your unseen sin wins You'll know it was you Who made me do it May the guilt live within you Burn your soul as mine burns With pain and shame And possess you 'til the end of days As you possessed me illicitly I went to the mosque and prayed May Allah in his mercy forgive you May you have a daughter one day May she be protected, respected always Then you will know The magnitude of your deeds Live in fear and repentance of them A mile away lights blaze In my eyes sorrow haze The seed of your misdeed In my body Mute evidence of the cause Half a mile to eternity Thunderous roar Squeal of tortured steel Shocked drivers face I spread my arms in acceptance Smile my forgiveness And step onto the line
Archived comments for Worthless
ValDohren on 01-03-2013
Worthless
Very moving Pronto, well penned.

Val

Author's Reply:
Thanks Val I much appreciate your comment and rating.

chant_z on 02-03-2013
Worthless
Poignant and well written. Thanks.

Author's Reply:
Thanks Chant_z for your kind comment.

Weefatfella on 03-03-2013
Worthless
 photo 93fe0fca-ac2d-451b-b74e-dd1b917176f4_zps1e26e487.jpg
Oh, No! The very sad, thing is, this still goes on.
A very poignant issue.
Thank you for sharing this and highlighting the problem. Weefatfella.

Author's Reply:
Thanks WFF Yes I'm afraid it does go on in some cultures the victims are blamed for being raped. Sad.

Hekkus on 29-03-2013
Worthless
A powerful and disturbing poem, underwritten in parts and all the more stark in its message for that. It isn't a comfortable topic to think about, but one purpose of poetry is to make us face facts, and you did that.

Author's Reply:
Thank you Hekkus your comments are much appreciated.


Spring in The Air (posted on: 25-02-13)
The other day I took a nasty tumble in the garden and cracked a couple of ribs! It only hurts when I laugh!

Spring in the Air Preparing a meal the other night I hadn't got a care I looked out at me garden Ah spring was in the air I wonder how me daffs are doing was my casual thought? So I wandered out to look about and that's how I got caught In smooth soled slippers out I trod full of zip and pep Until that is I reached the place where we have got a step For it had grown a layer of moss which was wet with dew And when I stepped upon it away my old legs flew To see one's feet against the sky isn't very nice I flailed about and gave a shout then landed in a trice ''Oh dear'' I said and ''goodness me'' (yes I'm telling fibs) I swore like a trooper, the step smashed in me ribs Off up to the 'orse piddle to get myself checked out The place full of junkies, and drunks that scream and shout Three long hours I sat there to be told what I already knew Take these paracetomol for there's nowt else we can do Now I sit at home a-whinging and folk just think I'm skiving Can't hardly move my arse about and for weeks I can't go diving It hurts me when I burpington and it kills me when I cough And it cripples me from head to toe if a fart I should let off So my friend take this advice if my boldness you will pardon Make sure you're wearing proper shoes when entering your garden And should you slip, fall or trip on your way to the garden shed To ensure you make a landing soft try landing on your head! πŸ™‚
Archived comments for Spring in The Air
ValDohren on 26-02-2013
Spring in The Air
Really enjoyed reading this one Pronto, very amusing.
Just a couple of points:
2nd verse, first line should read: soled and not soles.
4th verse, second line should read: the place was full of junkies, and a comma after junkies would aid the flow for the reader.

Val πŸ™‚

Author's Reply:
Thanks Val I guess i was still suffering when I wrote it; I still am but the pain's a lot better now! I'll put it right at once if not sooner πŸ˜‰
Thank you for the kind comment and rating.
Luv & hugz
P

ValDohren on 26-02-2013
Spring in The Air
Pleased to learn you are feeling better now Pronto, hope you continue to improve.

Val x

Author's Reply:
Thanks Val I appriciate your kind wishes. I can put my own socks and shoes on now so things are looking up! πŸ™‚

Texasgreg on 27-02-2013
Spring in The Air
Hehe, you've not injured the ole funny bone thankfully enough. While your time off from diving is an insult to your dignity, we benefit from your boredom...

Greg πŸ™‚

Photobucket.

Author's Reply:
Thanks Greg I much appreciate your kind comments.
Be lucky,
P

purplespirit on 27-02-2013
Spring in The Air
Great write, despite the aches you tell the story with wonderful homour, though also with the touch of advice in serious case. A very fine read leaving a smile on my face all day. Good and speedy recovery to you! Purple

Author's Reply:
Thank you Purple for the cool assessment, you are very kind. I'm feeling quite a lot better now although not yet out of the woods.
Stay cool
B


Romping Richard Head (posted on: 25-02-13)
Richard Head, Dick for short, is an adventurous sort of fellow whose lusty antic get him into all sorts of scrapes!

Richard Head a working lad, Had a job for which he's glad Cleaning windows to earn a pound, He'd several girlfriends on his round. One day whilst cleaning up on high, A gorgeous housewife he did spy, Reclining in a sexy pose, She wasn't wearing any clothes, In her window he did climb, Then they both had a torrid time, And whilst with pleasure she did weep, Richard simply went to sleep, With a nasty start our lad awoke , For kicking the bed was one huge bloke, You been a-bonking of my wife? Your numbers up I'll take your life. Richard though the window flew, Not wanting killed just for a screw, And now the tale gets a little sadder, This bastard had removed his ladder! Clutching his nuts and screaming loud, His antics attracted a local crowd, In desperation he grabbed a frond, Then swung into the garden pond, To the crowd's applause he ran away, And to his god began to pray, For heavy footsteps followed him, The situation looking grim! Into a convent he did run, Pleading with a fit young nun, Oh sister of mercy I need help, She grabbed him with excited yelp, She pulled the pondweed from his crotch, With lingering hand and gentle touch, Then she took him in his balls to rinse, Poor lad, we haven't seen him since!
Archived comments for Romping Richard Head
Texasgreg on 27-02-2013
Romping Richard Head
Lol, super!

Hope ya get more reads and comments soon as this 'un is a must to start the day with a grin, IMO.



Greg πŸ™‚
Oh! We had a deputy sheriff in my home town by the name of Mike Hunt. Dunno why he didn't command respect that the position held...

Author's Reply:
Sure would have sounded bad when a lady asked "have you seen Mike Hunt?"
Just wrote a small limerick in praise of my my best friend this morning:

Jules, my pal, has a battle
With people who will tittle-tattle
On the state of his beard
And how he looks weird
'Cos his head's like a witch doctor’s rattle

Keep smilin'
P


A Small Forgotten War (posted on: 22-02-13)
Recalling My soldiering days in Brunei & Borneo and a first taste of war rushing across the South China Sea from Singapore in HMS Albion.

Sitting in the huge steel warship, Collect your pay book write your will On the page provided you will be guided Write my will? I feel a chill maybe I'll be killed? Of course I've seen the page before Never really thought about what it was for Sitting in the mess hall all are quiet lost in thought Writing letters hoping they'll never be posted Dear mum and dad if you're reading this I'll not be coming home... Every man of us now alone What have I got to leave anybody except my body? The dubious legacy of briefly knowing me? Sergeant Major comes around inspecting, correcting Bawls across to the officer: Can Johnson 'ave Dr Barnardo's 'as iz next of kin sah? Johnson blushes to his roots I feel sorry for the poor bugger Didn't know he was an orphan At least my old man will piss any benefits of this testament Against a wall whilst weaving his way home from pub or club Who knows maybe a few crocodile tears thrown in for luck? Fuck! Job done up on deck sun bright hot, eye the hostile shore Is this what it's like to go to war? God what a bore No one shooting at us no sign of life what next? Feeling the tension sweat run down my neck Weapons check Bloody Brunei where is it anyway? Why today? Why any day? Who's the enemy? Just a bunch of jerks Dissatisfied with how things work Want the oil without the toil And we might yet be buried in foreign soil Sergeant Major's bawling again, bloody pain Why do these bastards always bawl? Can't they talk? Or simply call? Kit on cock yer weapons safety catch on move to the nets Shit I'm first over the side it's a bloody long way down Feeling daft landing craft? I'm not John Bloody Wayne. I grasp the scramble net swaying, sagging underfoot It feels salty coarse in my hands Scratch my face on the looser strands Tightening feeling in my gut This time it's not playing Reality thrust upon me Sailor says stop wait 'til the boat swings back If you go in you'll sink like a stone with all that gear I wait until the sea surge returns them near Then step easy breathing relief I'm in, now to begin Boat's soon full all crouched tightly in the hull Motors blast we're off fast for that hazy shore Stand in the door! the sailor roars What fuckin' door? It's not there anymore Just a bright white beach between two grey steel walls Then the urgent shout OUT!OUT! Into the sea the lads and me Up the beach scooting shouting shooting Like banshees screaming More in fear than anger Bushes move I shoot a dog Johnson blasts a fuckin' log! Hell there's no one here! Adrenalin has nowhere to go I feel cheated Not like the movies then? Deflated He's bawling again: Move through move through Don't stand around secure this bloody compound Speak to an old man in my best Malay (and that's crap anyway) All rebels tuan go away, didn't like big warship Think airstrike come. Are you barmy? This is the bloody British Army Every expense has been spared And the extra danger equally shared! Fuckin' airstrike? We ain't even got a motorbike! Marines land further up the beach lose four men Light Machine Gun stayed behind they ran into it blind That is just the luck of the draw Welcome to our shitty little war! Post script: We occupied a town called Kuala Belait and I told the Sergeant Major the locals have bestowed upon him the title 'Jambang Tikus.' I tell him it means mighty warrior and he's chuffed to bits. Jambang tikus translates as Shithouse rat! He never did find out! πŸ™‚ "What if they held a war and nobody came?" Spike Milligan "
Archived comments for A Small Forgotten War
cooky on 22-02-2013
A Small Forgotten War
I like this. No frills truth of experience. well written account

Author's Reply:
Thanks Cooky a very generous comment and rating mate!


One Night Stand (posted on: 18-02-13)
Explict adult content (Not crude) Please don't read if this sort of thing offends you

I enter the bar and there you are it's clear that you don't wear a bra, I gaze in awe at your sexy bits where did you get those lovely tits? You stare right back not coy or shy like I was just your type of guy, Slowly you look me up and down smiling at my nervous frown, ''Buy you a drink?'' I speculate, ''Thanks I'll have a vodka mate,'' Idle chatter we don't do we've the same desires me and you, Music here is far too loud we have to lose this noisy crowd, Into the taxi to her place I feel my pulse begin to race, Up the staircase second floor kiss as she unlocks the door, Kiss more passionately nothing said stumble over to the bed, Cunnilingus god that's nice then I slip into paradise, Passion spent we fall asleep satisfaction ocean deep, We wake before the glowing dawn, make love again ere the day is born, Coffee then a brief respite Oh god that was a lovely night, Her hand then wanders to my crotch I feel her gentle rhymic touch, Her graceful leg rises over my hips she moans though parted honey lips, She takes me in her hand so deft and guides to her soft moist cleft. She rides me nimbly, slow at first and then with fast athletic burst, Great orgasm wracks her once and then, another wracks her once again, At last she falls into my chest and strokes it gently with her breast, Fingers caress my sweat wet hair I do not speak, I do not dare, To spoil this moment so sublime and then we do it one last time, After a shower we're clean and then I ask if we can meet somewhen? ''No'' she says ''I have a man, but he's fighting in Afghanistan, Please let's leave it, no strings or blame. Oh by the way mate, what's your name?''
Archived comments for One Night Stand
Jabberwocky on 06-04-2014
One Night Stand
I'm surprised nobody has commented on this. I wasn't going to but I felt something had to be said. The end...the end was perfect. The shock came at exactly at the right time. Very well done...
Jabber

Author's Reply:
Thanks jabber your kind comment is much appreciated. When no one commented before I thought maybe I'd caused offence or it was shit and folk were too polite to say so. I must admit to being a little confused as I did think the end had some impact at least.

Cheers mate.


Punch Line (posted on: 18-02-13)
This is a 'story poem' not really meant to be perfect Just be careful who you disrespect

He sits in the pub, quiet pint on his way home, Minding his own business, sitting alone Young women sitting at the next table drinking Winking, no violets here for shrinking Out for a laugh, an evening with the girls Glance across at him what are they thinking? What do they see? Just an old guy quietly drinking? Or the man who's really he? Whispered conspiracy, then she wobbles over Unsteady gait ''Mind if I asks yer a question mate?'' ''We woz wondering'' she says full of girlish wiles "Wot's sex like wiv an older man?" (Giggles gushing from the girls) she smiles Deliberately he misunderstands ''Dunno'' he grins ''I've never had sex with an older man'' His joke better than any she'd intended Her mates have a belly laugh, she looks offended Thwarted: Whatever her punch line it's redundant now She doesn't have the grace to simply bow And leave well alone, let him go home ''Fuck you'' she glares. Is she's seeing him now? A person? Not just some ''old geezer?'' Silly drunken little teaser. He's fifty five very much alive, A proper bloke, not some spent joke She weaves her way back 'Yes please' he thinks Lovely arse. Wouldn't mind a stroke He's a man who's always enjoyed winning Amused by this small victory he's grinning She's on her phone phoning home, sullen pout He returns to his drink, takes his newspaper out Pint expired thinking of leaving now, he's tired The young guy stands confronting him, looking grim, jutting chin, "You bin takin' the piss outta my bird?" The man thinks the young bloke looks absurd But, staring back, says not a word Mistaking silence for fear The lad draws very near, Smashes his fist onto the table ''Better piss off mate while you're able'' The man doesn't move. The lad grips the man by the front of his shirt ''Fuck off old fart or you'll get hurt!'' The man moves. Lightening right to the young guy's jaw, Swift kick in the balls and he's on the floor. The girls stare at the man shocked disbelief As the bully pukes out broken teeth He turns to the girl: ''You happy now Silly cow?'' Sardonic smile, totally calm No suggestion of alarm They see him now! Gimlet eye and chiselled face Hard as nails but keeps his place, An old soldier broad of shoulder Keeps in trim Works out hard at the boxing gym He turns, unhurried, wanders through the door Leaving them to wonder How the hell did they make that blunder? And the 'old chap' the cause of their distress? Anonymous mate, ex SAS
Archived comments for Punch Line
Weefatfella on 18-02-2013
Punch Line
 photo 615f3747-f93a-4017-925a-493d3a9cd963_zps9cdcaec0.jpg
Excellent.
I have a mate like that.
58 years old and runs up a slag heap three times a week with a 50lb pack on.
When I ask why?
He smiles and says I have to live inside this body.
I keep it as fit as I can.
He was never in the services though.
Thank you for sharing.
Weefatfella.

Author's Reply:
Thanks Weefatfella Although I agree with your mate we only have one body and if I bugger mine up then where will I live? I just do gentle exercise swimming these days but today I've managed two 40 minute dives in water 4 degs c.

This poem was inspired by a chap I knew called Jimmy Ladner who's been on TV talking of his exploits so I'm giving away no secrets πŸ˜‰
keep well mate
The cat

Savvi on 18-02-2013
Punch Line
Nothing so sweet as reading about someone biting off more than they can chew, very well penned and definitely a keeper.

Author's Reply:
Thank you Savvi forthe great rating, the fact that you enjoyed it gives me pleasure.

Mikeverdi on 19-02-2013
Punch Line
This is bloody brilliant in my opinion, as an old guy who has a past I can tell you this sort of thing does happen a lot. The body may not be quite as fit, even with the gym work; but the training is always there. Mike

Author's Reply:
Thanks Mikeverdi It's always nice when someone appreciates one's work.
I suppose experience counts for a lot in these situations. All the fitness in the world won't help if yer balls have just been kick over your left shoulder! πŸ˜‰

Personally I prefer the quiet life though!

Ionicus on 19-02-2013
Punch Line
Life can be full of surprises. Never judge a book...etc, etc.
Good read.

Author's Reply:
Glad you enjoyed it Ionicus thanks for the rating and for dropping by.

ValDohren on 19-02-2013
Punch Line
Superb Pronto, a great story - there is so little respect for the older generation these days.

Val

Author's Reply:
Thanks Val for the high rating and kind comment you're right of course.

roger303 on 20-02-2013
Punch Line
I'm 58 and still do a 5 miler every morning. Old habits die hard.
An excellent piece.

Author's Reply:
More power to you Roger! I used to do a lot of running too I'm 71 now and the knees won't take it anymore but I still swim and I scuba dive.

"Go not gently into that dark night but rage, rage against the dying of the light" Dylan Thomas

Thanks for your comment mate glad you enjoyed it.

Kat on 20-02-2013
Punch Line
Enjoyed this!

Kat

Author's Reply:
Thanks for your comment Kat I'm glad you enjoyed this. πŸ™‚

Nancyyo on 18-08-2013
Punch Line
This is inspirational story written in poem format which is delivering the message that we should not disrespect anyone either someone has not values for us. It is not easy to write such story in this format. This required custom essay skills and these custom essays why not find out more are very helpful to build strong writing skills in you. No doubt there are some bad words used in this story but these are very inspirational.

Author's Reply:
Hi I'm sorry I seemed to have missed this comment earlier. Thank you so much for taking the time and leaving the link (Which will look at) The only thing that puzzles me is why, after leaving such a positive response, you then rate the poem at a rather surprising 1?
Oh well, πŸ™‚

Nancyyo on 01-09-2013
Punch Line
There are very few people who have complete command over English writing and can write any story in the shape of poem. One thing which is very important for such writing is that by writing stories in poem format it become more inspirational. Learn such writing from http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=In7vpsSfRRI this video which is really helping you in excellent manner.

Author's Reply:
Wow thanks for that and the very generous rating. I wrote that story a while ago and have written a couple of others more of the same ilk recently, it is a format I enjoy writing in that's for sure.

I agree that English is a complicated language to deal with even for native speakers like myself. As a self educated person I know I have quite a few flaws so writing helps me address them.

I shall certainly look at the website and I'm very grateful to you for pointing me towards it.

Now I have had a chance to look at the links you sent me I can only say that I do not appreciate being sent spam for a commercial site. Whereas your intentions may well be good I don't think my essay skills have yet sunk to a point where I need someone else to write them for me. Please desist from this practice in future.
Thank you.

Skytrucker on 26-06-2014
Punch Line
Totally superb! I loved it>

Author's Reply:


Lost (posted on: 15-02-13)
Warnng: extreme explict content!

We loll casually entirely comfortable Glass in hand talking, familiar subjects "Did you fuck him?" "No, did you?" We laugh no way I ain't gay And you know it minx Anyway she says what about that dance? You teachin' me or what? We move We sway Why learn the waltz anyway? She draws near her breath wine sweet in my ear My arm around her waist so slender so tender She avoids my gaze Nuzzles my neck Familiar stirrings long denied Before they're fully thought they've died Killed by the horror of their consequence Her hand strays to my buttocks, stroking Little tease always joking Seeking playful revenge I move to kiss her cheek She turns her lovely head Catches me fully on the lips ''Gotcha'' she quips Her taste consumes me The kiss returned tongue probing Joins with hers In answer to my sinful prayers Erect penis comes between us She's aware, doesn't care The dreaded longed for moment is here Trembling hand onto her breast Feeling her heart's raging fires Passion rises I lift her head Forcing her to confront her desires ''You sure?'' Her hand slides down touching my manhood Giving it a gentle squeeze ''Please'' Blood pulse thunders through my veins Devours my brain We stare, the other so familiar Yet strangers in our nakedness Each knowing we wanted this for years Never daring to admit it Even to ourselves I take her there on the couch Lost utterly lost In illicit satisfaction of our lust We plunder each other Sister and brother Forever damned By incestuous union
Archived comments for Lost
Hekkus on 31-03-2013
Lost
Good work. I love stuff that pushes boundaries, that isn't bound by taboos like so much erotica is. (The only taboo I respect is that involving young children.) The ending was a real twist.
Reminds me of a film a few years back starring Saskia Reeves, Clive Owen and Alan Rickman. Owen and Reeves played an incestuous brother and sister. That film faced the topic without being tacky; your poem did too.

Author's Reply:
Thanks Hekkus for your kind comments. Although i enjoy writing humorous poems I do believe we should shine a light into the dark corners of life too so yes I agree with you boundaries do need pushing.

I don't think I ever came across that film though.

Thanks mate


Romance Is Not Dead (posted on: 15-02-13)
Written for St Valentine's day but, well, I'll include it anyway!

Your glass eye's on the dresser Your leg's hung on the wall Your hearing aids beside you It's no damn use at all Your teeth are in the water glass Smiling up at me The same one's that I bought for you In nineteen eighty three Your face is a mask of wrinkles Your tits have headed south You're snoring like a walrus And dribbling at the mouth But honey I still love you Your faults to me are fine So on this very special day Please be my valentine!
Archived comments for Romance Is Not Dead
chant_z on 15-02-2013
Romance Is Not Dead
Wonderful *lol*

Author's Reply:
Thank you I'm glad you enjoyed it

Andrea on 15-02-2013
Romance Is Not Dead
Haha, lovely!
This sentence: 'The same one’s I bought for you' might benefit from a 'that' between 'one's' and 'I'?
But very amusing nonetheless πŸ™‚

Author's Reply:
Thank you I have corrected it as suggested great rating and comment much appreciated. πŸ™‚

Nomenklatura on 15-02-2013
Romance Is Not Dead
Very good, reminds me of this
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eNA00vhmZXI

Author's Reply:
Greatly enjoyed that Connelly fellow. I've never seen that one before most amusing! Thanks mate!

Miel on 15-02-2013
Romance Is Not Dead
An amusing write.. Well done Pronto!

Author's Reply:
So glad you enjoyed my litle ditty. Thank you very much for responding so positively!

ValDohren on 15-02-2013
Romance Is Not Dead
Very funny - I wonder what she would have to say about you, perhaps you could write a sequel. LOL.

Val πŸ™‚

Author's Reply:
Oh, yes, well we'd better press on and talk of something else! πŸ˜‰

Savvi on 15-02-2013
Romance Is Not Dead
You romantic fool you, Lol very funny lines, great rhymes and good meter, nice write. S

Author's Reply:
Thanks Savvi for the excellent rating and kind comment. I might have a go at her reply next year! πŸ™‚

Mikeverdi on 16-02-2013
Romance Is Not Dead
Brilliant! Its good to see that romance isn't dead after all HaHa! πŸ™‚ Mike

Author's Reply:
Thanks Mike for the comment and great rating πŸ™‚

cooky on 16-02-2013
Romance Is Not Dead
Oh I like this very entertaining

Author's Reply:
Thanks for the rating and kind comments Cookie πŸ™‚

Ionicus on 16-02-2013
Romance Is Not Dead
A good rib-tickling ditty.

Author's Reply:
Thanks mate for the excellent rating and kind comment.

dylan on 17-02-2013
Romance Is Not Dead
Excellent-nice rhythm throughout.
Very Luigi-esque!

Orrabest,

D.

Author's Reply:
Glad it amused you thanks for dropping by. πŸ™‚

Weefatfella on 17-02-2013
Romance Is Not Dead
 photo 615f3747-f93a-4017-925a-493d3a9cd963_zps9cdcaec0.jpg
Brillianto.
Well done loved it.
Weefatfella.

Author's Reply:
Glad you found it funny Weefatfella. Thanks for the coment mate.

KristerJones on 17-02-2013
Romance Is Not Dead
Love it! Very nice rhythm to it, and I'm a sucker for poems with a good rhythm πŸ™‚ Watch out for those apostrophes though!

Kris

Author's Reply:
Ah the parasitic preposterous apostrophes posing poetical problems again!
Thanks for th heads up mate and for your comments. πŸ™‚

CVaughan on 17-02-2013
Romance Is Not Dead
Could hear Les Dawson reciting this, terrific embodiment of non-PC humour. Frank

Author's Reply:
Thanks Frank! I'm very flattered that you should mention my poem in the same breath as Les, one of my all time favourites, Dawson.
God spare and defend me always from the plague of political correctitude and the po-faced pricks who practice it! πŸ˜‰


Old Meg (posted on: 15-02-13)
This could be a nursing home near you!

Old Meg was in the nursing home she'd been there many years And dearly loved the company of all the other dears She had an electric wheelchair on which she used to race around So fast she took the corners, only two wheels on the ground Old George stepped out before her as batty as a fruit Have yer got a licence if not I'm going to shoot She flashed a toffee wrapper Ok said George that's fine I know that it's a real one, it's just the same as mine Big bad Bill jumped from his door and loudly shouted stop I want to see some insurance I used to be a cop She showed a table napkin a delicate shade of blue Bill just took one look at it and said yes that will do Around the corner flying fast she bumped into naked Joe His hand upon his todger stiff he forced her to go slow Oh Joe said she you really are becoming quite a pain Every time I pass your room I'm breathalysed again!
Archived comments for Old Meg
ValDohren on 15-02-2013
Old Meg
Bit too close for comfort this one - but enjoyed reading, very amusing.

Val πŸ™‚

Author's Reply:
Thanks for the feed back and the great rating Val If you do end up in a nursing home like this do have fun won't you! πŸ™‚

franciman on 15-02-2013
Old Meg
This scans a little clunky, but there is no denying the clever humour in it. A performance piece undoubtedly.
cheers,
Jim

Author's Reply:
Thanks Fanciman for the comment and the rating, most generous of you.

It rather depends on how much you've had to drink when you reads it me old mate! Sometimes, when enough booze has been consumed, it can sound like pure Shakespear! at other time like pure McGonagall πŸ˜‰
Luv & hugz,
The cat

Weefatfella on 15-02-2013
Old Meg
 photo 615f3747-f93a-4017-925a-493d3a9cd963_zps9cdcaec0.jpg
Ha! away ya durty bugger.
Very good really, enjoyed that.
Thank you for sharing.
Weefatfella.

Author's Reply:
Ah Weefatfella a durty bugga I've always been and now I'm a durty owd bugga!

Thanks for the feed back mate and dinna let the tilt o' yer kilt be dependant on the heat o' the meat! Whatever that means???
Luv & hugz,
The cat

Corin on 16-02-2013
Old Meg
LOL - excellent stuff - worth a few more verses I think, I could see a sit-com based on this!

Dvae

Author's Reply:
I think there was a sitcom a few years ago? This was just a poetical joke really and jokes are best kept short methinks.
Thank you for your kind comment Corin

Ionicus on 16-02-2013
Old Meg
An amusing piece which could do with a bit of cleaning regarding rhythm and rhyming. For instance in the first line you could say: 'Old Meg was in the nursing home she’d been for many years'.
I see that you write for your own amusement so I wouldn't worry too much.
Cheers.

Author's Reply:
Thanks Ionicus,
You're right of course! Sometimes I write after a couple of glasses wine (And it shows) πŸ™‚

Savvi on 16-02-2013
Old Meg
Very funny and great visuals, well mostly *blush*
meter needs a minor tweek but didnt spoil the fun. Thanks S

Author's Reply:
I think there was a nursing home sitcom a while back that was quite hilarious I forget what it was called now. Oh well thanks for the feed back and the rating Savvi

RoyBateman on 17-02-2013
Old Meg
Very droll - and it sounds a bit more lively than some similar places I've seen. Enlightened staff, maybe?
"Now, folks, we've got Gerry coming in with his accordion ("Boo! Rubbish!") for another NICE selection from "The Sound of Mucus"...or we could just pass the Viagra round again!" (Hurrah! TWO doses for me!") Best of luck to 'em - especially Lucky Joe with his visits from Blowjobs R' Us...

Author's Reply:
Glad it amused you Roy thanks for dropping by!

Kat on 21-02-2013
Old Meg
I enjoyed this romp... lots of perception amongst the wry humour.

Kat

Author's Reply:
Thanks Kat if I end up in one of those places I'm sure it will be just like that! (I hope so anyway) πŸ™‚


Dead Right (posted on: 11-02-13)
My local newspaper ran a competition for a very short story the rules were: A limit of 50 words or less, three characters and a clear start middle and end. The first three of us were declared joint winners and published. This was my entry.

Dead Right Janet really wasn't comfortable seeing a clairvoyant. 'But she's very good' mum had persisted. 'Go.' Madam Theda gazed into her crystal, puzzled. 'I see a death disrupting your immediate future' she foretold ominously. Janet shuddered. 'A death? Whose death? Theda did not reply as she slumped from her chair!
Archived comments for Dead Right
TheBigBadG on 12-02-2013
Dead Right
Neat. The understated Brit in me would lose the final exclamation mark perhaps, but that's just pedantry.

If you like this sort of thing you should check out the Drabblecast. It's an audio podcast which has (twice, thrice?) featured BluePootle and they include 100 word stories... with a twist... regularly. It's also very good in general.

Author's Reply:


Pisspotical Prose (posted on: 11-02-13)
I went to a poetry reading night in a pub. The place was dominated by the beard and sandle brigade talking the most utterly pretentious crap I've ever heard. It was so bad it was hilarious! So this bit of daft doggerel is not aimed at anyone on this excellent site! Enjoy!

Write a poem deep light or trite It can be great or total shite But this time Don't make it rhyme Not fashionable you see God knows why But just don't try To make any sense Or they'll think you dense Anything goes Pisspotical prose Obscure manure They'll shrivel Before offering a negative critique Proving they don't understand Of what you speak Like the King's New Clothes They shall expose The bare arse of their folly How jolly! πŸ™‚
Archived comments for Pisspotical Prose
amman on 11-02-2013
Pisspotical Prose
Hail fella, well met. Ha ha, enjoyed. You might think about splitting the 'if they don't understand' line.
Cheers.

Author's Reply:
Thank you good sir for your kind words and rating. It it always good to have a fresh eye look at one's work so your comments are appreciated.

cooky on 11-02-2013
Pisspotical Prose
I like this. Poetry may have gone down a notch letting people like me onto the site, but poetry is for the masses.
Revolution is what I say!

Author's Reply:
Well I'm the worst possible offender as I write mostly, though not exclusively, in couplets! Thank for your comments and rating.

ValDohren on 11-02-2013
Pisspotical Prose
Love it Pronto - very funny. My poems rhyme so I am definitely old fashioned, with a bit of shite thrown in no doubt.

Val πŸ™‚

Author's Reply:
Thanks for the kind comment and rating Val; a pinch o' well placed shite never went amiss in the right context. πŸ˜‰

gwirionedd on 28-07-2015
Pisspotical Prose
Ha ha ha... I can see that this is a personal beef of yours!

I like the word "pisspotical". A military term, you say?...



Author's Reply:
I first came across the word "Pisspotical" whilst serving in the British Army of the sixties. A colleague commented that 'the whole situation is rapidly becoming pisspotical.' It sort of gelled and was used thereafter. Whether or not it's still in use is not known by me.

It's not a particular gripe by me against serious poets I just love puncturing pomposity. I have another called "The Art Critic" and "The Panjandrum" which are just as daft in their own light-hearted way.!
Thanks for the comment. πŸ™‚


No Man's Land (posted on: 11-02-13)
Christmas day 1914 some strange happenings on the western front. A story of the times when social attitudes were very different and hard for us today to understand. My father, born in 1902, was probably among the last of this generation.

Christmas Eve 1914 the shelling slowed towards nightfall and by 10 p.m. it has ceased entirely. The quietness was almost unbearable. Standing in the trench almost knee deep in thick gooey slime Private Albert Bowdell, a fresh faced nineteen year old, listened hard but all he could hear was his own heart beat. Christmas day would be a good time for the Germans to launch a surprise attack he thought god I hope they don't. He cupped his hands around his cigarette and drew in the comforting smoke. He was deep in the trench so there was no chance of a sniper seeing him. He exhaled slowly listening to the sound of his own breath. Faintly at first but gradually growing stronger he heard singing, disembodied voices floating in the ether. He looked down the trench but could see no one except the next sentry ten yards away drawing on his pipe. The voices grew louder and he cocked his ear straining to hear. The words were strange but the tune was instantly recognisable ''Stille nacht heilige nacht.'' Bloody 'ell he thought it's the Hun singing Silent Night. A strongly accented voice carried on the wind ''Merry Christmas Tommy.'' He felt his spirits lift for the first time in days ''Merry Christmas Fritz'' he roared back. The canvass flap of the dugout lifted and Captain Rupert Fitzwilliam Charles Bingley-Fortescue emerged looking grim. ''What the hell's going on here Bowdell''? he demanded sternly. ''Oh Jerry is singing carols sir and wishing us merry Christmas sir'' ''And did I hear you shouting back Bowdell?'' ''Yes sir'' Albert straightened himself up to the attention position. ''Well don't, d'you hear?'' That could be construed as fraternising with the enemy, court martial, shot at dawn, you understand?'' Albert suddenly felt depressed again ''Yes sir, sorry sir, won't happen again sir.'' He knew from long experience what words of contrition Bingley-Fortescue wanted to hear. The captain eyed the private with distain the lad was a damn good batman and always kept his kit in good order but, he thought, this man doesn't know his place. The other men were easy to handle but Bowdell, the son of his father's head gamekeeper, had won a scholarship to the grammar school and by all accounts had done rather well. He lived on the estate in the tied cottage with his parents but, breaking with tradition, he didn't work for the family instead his keen intelligence and hard work had secured him a post in the local bank. Albert Bowdell had a way of showing an uncommon initiative that disturbed the captain. He'd overheard him in a village speaking very good French to a pretty girl sourcing extra rations and asking for a date. He suspected this common soldier's knowledge of the language was better than his own. He didn't like that; he didn't like the man's air of independence or the way his fellows looked upon him as a natural leader. In Bingley-Fortescue's aristocratic view men of the lower social orders as he liked to refer to them were there to obey his orders instantly and without question nothing short of grovelling subservience suited the captain. When addressing his brother officers he was all charm and politeness always smiling and obliging but, when dealing with his men, he was a cold martinet who would punish a man at the drop of a hat. After one particular kit inspection back in England a comrade had remarked to Albert that the captain had looked down his nose at his immaculate kit laid out on the soldier's bed 'like he'd just been presented with a freshly laid turd' was the soldier's way of expressing it. Finding no fault with the man's kit he had flicked several items off his bed with his swagger stick and simply said ''Not good enough do it again'' and walked on to the next fellow. Another reason the captain felt slightly uneasy in the presence of his batman was that he had shot the lad's father. Bowdell senior, as head gamekeeper, had been in charge of the beaters on a pheasant shoot driving the birds onto the guns. The beaters were quite close when the safety whistles blew to stop the shoot. Rupert had been aiming at a bird at that very moment. The bird had unexpectedly dived low and Rupert, who should have held fire, let fly hitting Bowdell senior in the left arm. Rupert had been feeling rather anxious and out of sorts all that morning and his usual excellent tally of birds was well down largely due to the huge amount of champagne he'd drunk the night before. To make matters worse he'd bet that bragging swine Ellcott fifty guineas he'd do better than him. That now looked like a very forlorn hope. It wasn't the money that bothered Rupert that wasn't even a consideration; it was the fact that Ellcott would be crowing about it for weeks damn his eyes and now this bloody fellow had gotten himself in front of his gun at the wrong time damn him. The day, he thought, was completely buggered. He felt not the slightest remorse for having shot the man but he put on a concerned face and made contrite noises in front of his peers. One had to keep up appearances. ''We'll say no more about it this time Bowdell just make sure my Sam Browne is gleaming tomorrow and my pistol is clean I'm off to HQ early.'' ''Yes sir. Goodnight Sir.'' Half an hour after his dressing down Albert was relieved of his sentry duty and made his way to the dugout where he would start work cleaning his officer's kit long into the night by the pallid light of a single oil lamp. Albert had been brought up on the estate of Bullington House a large country pile set in a thousand prime acres on the Welsh borders. He'd been taught to watch his P's and Q's in front of the gentry, always to be polite and compliant with their every wish. As a boy he had had contact with the young Master Rupert on several occasions mostly during school holidays and had not enjoyed any of them. Rupert boarded at one of the better public schools so Albert only saw him in the holidays. One day Rupert had approached him and asked if they taught boxing at his school. Albert said no only football and rugby. Rupert had then told Albert he was going to teach him how to box. Albert knew better than to refuse this son of his father's employer and accepted. On this pretext Rupert, who was three years older than Albert and of bigger build, had given the younger boy a savage beating eventually walking away smiling saying in his plumy accent ''that's the way we deal with clever little shits at my school.'' Albert had learned from a parlour maid that Rupert had actually suggested to his father that they find a new head gamekeeper and throw Bowdell and his useless family out now that the man was a cripple but Baronet Bingley-Fortescue senior, a man of strong moral character, wouldn't hear of it. It was around ten o'clock on Christmas morning, a cold mist hung in the dank air when a German voice broke the unnatural silence. ''Hey Tommy can we come out and bury our sniper you killed last week?'' Bill Whatley Albert's platoon sergeant suspected a trick at first but peeped through the donkey's ears telescope. There was a German soldier standing on the lip of his trench armed only with a spade. The officers had all gone to a meeting i.e. having a Christmas drink behind the lines so Sgt. Whatley took charge. ''OK'' yelled Whatley ''but no tricks or we'll blast you.'' Three more Germans then appeared and moved to the spot about twenty five yards in front of their lines to where the body of their fallen comrade lay. They dug the grave right there. There was no point taking the decomposing body anywhere else as one piece of mud was very much like another. After the funeral party had left there was a brief silence then a strong Germanic tenor voice started to sing 'Stille Nacht' again. He was soon joined by other voices and when they had finished the British soldiers, not to be out done, sang 'Oh Come All Ye faithful'' with great gusto. How the next move came about Albert had no idea but suddenly the German's were out of their trenches and walking across no man's land waving bottles of drink one of them was even kicking a football. Before Albert could even think what he was doing he was following the rest of the men out of the trench to join the throng. A large German corporal came up to Albert hand outstretched smiling ''Merry Christmas have a drink Tommy'' he said thrusting a bottle of schnapps into his hand. Albert thanked him and took a long swig. ''My name is Albert what's yours?'' he said handing back the bottle. ''I'm Hans, not bloody Fritz!'' the man replied with a friendly wink ''And I just knew you wouldn't be called Tommy either'' ''No I'm definitely Albert'' he laughed. ''I'm a bank clerk by trade what do you do and how come you speak such good English Hans?'' ''I used to represent a company selling toys we Germans make very good toys you know. I often visited London indeed my brother has a toy shop there so I used to visit him quite regularly. He's married to an English lady, been there fifteen years.'' Albert suddenly felt deeply despondent, like a lot of intelligent people he thought a better way of settling differences between nations could and should be found. ''Why the hell are we killing each other Hans?" Hans smiled he liked this fresh faced young Englishman. ''Because we're at war that's all he said with a philosophical shrug "countries sometimes go to war and this is one of those sad times.'' Albert, sensing this friendly man was sympathetic to his views, told him of his sadness at the two countries being at war. ''You Germans are Saxons right?'' He didn't wait for an answer but continued in the same breath ''we British are Anglo Saxons we're cousins for god's sake. Your Kaiser is the grandson of our late queen Victoria and her husband Albert, after whom I'm named, was German so what the hell is it all about Hans?'' Albert paused for a second but receiving no answer went on ''Why should an ordinary British bank clerk be sent to kill a German farmer in France or a German toy seller sent to butcher a British bank clerk?'' His large expressive brown eyes reflected his sadness and Hans felt for this young man. ''I don't have those answers Albert, I don't think even the generals do. We are just 'kleine leute' (Little people) you and I we have no choice but to do as we're told.'' He took the proffered cigarette from Albert and sniffed it appreciatively before accepting a light and drawing deeply. They talked on for some time sharing the German's schnapps and Albert's fine Virginia cigarettes that Hans liked so much better than his own. At one point they were even drawn briefly into the kick about the others were having. It wasn't a proper game of football as the churned soaked earth would not permit that. They talked and drank some more, they mixed with the other soldiers but somehow kept coming back and talking to each other showing family photos joking and complaining about their respective officers. The things all soldiers do but usually confined to the ones on their own side. After a couple of hours people started drifting back to their own trenches and when the officers returned the stragglers were promptly recalled. Bingley-Fortescue was not pleased. He was not pleased at all. Slightly the worse for the brandy he had consumed he looked balefully at Albert. ''Just last night I warned you about fraternising with the enemy and not twelve hours later I find you doing just that.'' The officer's voice was quiet and had a deadly calm quality to it. Albert knew his captain well and recognised this to be a danger sign. ''Sorry sir, I just followed the others sir.'' Albert stood rigidly to attention looking the officer in the eye. ''I didn't warn the others Bowdell but I did warn you so I'm putting you on a charge of one: wilfully disobeying a lawful command and two: fraternising with the enemy. Do you understand? Albert's heart sank. Oh god was he going to be shot by his own side? ''Yes sir.'' Was all he could manage in a wooden voice that betrayed no emotion. The captain paused for a moment eyeing his batman with a mixture of curiosity and a grudging admiration at the lad's calmness. He knew Albert was an intelligent lad and the full implications of what he'd just said would have sunk in immediately. Still he thought an example needed to be set so the other men knew orders were to be obeyed instantly and without question at all times. Discipline must be maintained and by demonstrating that even the cleverest of them were no match for their superiors it would send out a strong message in a clear way understandable by all. ''Do you realise the full implications of these charges Bowdell?'' There was a cruel half gloating note in the officer's voice now. Before Albert could answer Bingley-Fortescue went on ''each charge alone could see you imprisoned for a very long time if not executed, both together will almost certainly put you before a firing squad. Not only that but the disgrace brought on your family will mean they would no longer be employable on my father's estate. Thanks to you your father and mother will be sent away penniless and homeless.'' The captain watched carefully for a reaction but was disappointed when Albert merely replied ''yes sir'' in a flat voice that again bore no emotion. ''Am I under arrest sir?'' Bingley-Fortescue eyed Albert Bowdell with something between contempt and pity he was surprised the lad had not sought to mitigate his behaviour, not pleaded for another chance, not that he would have been given one. The captain replied, a casual almost bored note creeping into his voice ''my kit needs cleaning and I'll report to this matter to HQ first as to the best place to send you in the meantime get about your duties. Oh and send Sgt Whatley to see me at once.'' The captain waved a dismissive hand to indicate he'd finished for the moment. The generals in their mighty wisdom had decided that this Christmas day meeting with the other side would be extremely bad for morale back home. In order to keep up the recruitment numbers the Germans had to be vilified, portrayed as the Hun, evil villains capable of bashing out new born babies brains with their rifle butts not ordinary decent young blokes like their men folk. No, courts martial for these 'offences' were quite out of the question as was any mention in the press. Best it was buried, hushed up for the sake of the war effort. This decision left Bingley-Fortescue with a large splash of egg on his face. He told Albert in his condescending way that he had reconsidered in light of the devastation it would cause the soldier's family them being loyal family servants and all. But he gave him the sternest of warnings that should he do anything remotely like this again he would shoot Albert himself. An uneasy truce settled between the captain and his batman neither of them spoke to the other unless it was strictly necessary. This went on for a week or so until the day of the big push, the New Year offensive. The artillery barrage had started at two o'clock the day before the attack and continued until dawn when it abruptly ceased. Whistles blew and they went over the top. Albert had to stick close to his captain as he was his runner and would carry messages to other parts of the line as and when told. One thing no one could accuse Bingley-Fortescue of was cowardice he charged forward like a man possessed pistol in hand shouting encouragement to his company at the top of his voice. They had progressed about twenty yards toward the enemy lines when the machine gunners opened up cutting large swathes through the attackers. Men were falling on either side of Albert but by some miracle it seemed he and his officer were left unharmed. It went on like this for the next few minutes. The insane stutter of machine guns, men's screams as they were hit and now the German artillery had opened up the shells making orange splashes of death among them. ''Keep going men we're nearly there'' yelled Bingley-Fortescue just a second before a bullet ripped through his thigh right. Albert went to his assistance as a bullet passed through his sleeve without touching him. Albert dragged the pale faced officer into a deep shell hole and dived in with him just as a shell exploded nearby the concussion from it deafening and disorienting him. ''We'll be alright here for the moment sir'' said Albert recovering slightly ''I'll get you patched up as best I can sir.'' ''Get me back to our lines Bowdell now I simply have to report that the Hun have twice as many machine guns as we anticipated.'' Even hurt as he was the captain still had the ring of authority in his voice. Albert bent down and got an arm under the officer's shoulder. He lifted him with some difficulty then half carried half dragged him up the slope of the shell hole. Immediately his head cleared to top a machine gunner sprayed a burst at them narrowly missing both. Albert dropped his charge and they slid down the muddy side together into the stinking pool of slime below. ''I'm afraid they've got our range sir'' he said ''we'll have to wait until dark before we move. ''Hell man it's your duty to get me back to our lines we can't wait all bloody day HQ simply have to know about those guns.'' Albert looked doubtful ''But sir if we try now we won't make it at least we'll have a chance in the darkness.'' Bingley-Fortescue reached for his pistol dangling from the lanyard around his shoulder slowly he pointed it at Albert and even more slowly cocked it. ''I told you I'd shoot you myself if you failed to carry out my orders'' he said in a flat hard voice. ''Last chance, help me up Bowdell.'' Albert looked down the barrel of the big clumsy looking Webley pistol. He stared for a moment in mute defiance ''Well if you shoot me that's both of us buggered then'' he said sullenly omitting the 'sir' in his address a point not missed by the officer. The pistol sounded loud in the confines of the shell hole the bullet striking the earth a mere two inches from Albert's head. ''The next one kills you Bowdell now help me up.'' Albert moved slowly towards the stricken man his anger didn't show but he wanted to kill this brash arrogant bastard. Once again he picked him up and once more they moved painfully slowly toward top lip of the shell crater. They got a little further this time as the machine gunner waited wanting a bigger target. Just as he pressed the trigger to release his fatal burst a British bullet glanced off his gun with a loud whine startling him and causing him to jerk as he fired. The bullets went low but came close splashing around their feet one of them taking off two of Albert's toes. He screamed with pain and they fell backwards down the slope Albert felt the slime close over his head the agony from his foot momentarily forgot in his desperation to surface and spit out the choking slime that had filled his mouth. Taking great gasps of air Albert, now on his hands and knees, looked around him and saw his captain struggling to turn himself over. Despite his own pain he crawled to assist the more seriously injured man. He laid him as gently as he could on the slope of the shell hole as far out of the water as he could get him. ''You alright sir?'' he asked. ''No bloody thanks to you Bowdell you incompetent bastard.'' There was a savagery in the man's voice now. Usually so controlled in his viciousness he was in great pain now and a feeling of helplessness and frustration engulfed him. Around them the attack had faltered and those who were able had staggered back to their lines helping what wounded they could. The moans of the other wounded and dying that couldn't be saved were pitiful to hear. One poor soul was repeatedly calling for his mother his cries getting weaker and weaker until they finally stopped after what had seemed like an eternity. Albert dug in his pocket and produced a battered packet of cigarettes. He lit one and handed it to the captain ''Smoke''? Bingley-Fortescue took the offered cigarette ignoring the insolence of the lack of a 'sir.' Albert lit one for himself and sank back against the mud wall of their prison. He eyed his companion speculatively. ''They'll probably come at last light to either finish us off or take us prisoner.'' Albert said dully ''Either way if we try to get out of here again we'll be dead and now I'm wounded too I won't be able to carry you. Still refusing to use a respectful 'sir' address Albert watch his captain's reaction and seeing none said peevishly ''If you're thinking of shooting me them bloody well get on with it you miserable bastard.'' The officer looked at him with a cold hatred. ''You are an insolent bastard Bowdell and no mistake. Well let me make it clear to you that if we do get out of this mess I'll see you court martialled for this insubordination.'' Albert couldn't have cared less at that moment his foot was throbbing he was seriously thirsty and he was both physically and emotionally exhausted. His officer was speaking again. ''I'll make certain your family get thrown off the estate too they'll die in penury and all due to you Bowdell all due to you.'' He paused briefly then went on: "I believe your cousins work for Mr Allcott? Well they can kiss their working lives goodbye too. Off with no references, no one will employ them ever. He spat out the last word with an angry shout. Albert dragged himself over to where the wounded man had ceased his diatribe for the moment and was sucking on his cigarette. He was filled with a cold rage, trembling with anger and now and beyond caring what happened to him the arrogance of this man who thought he could control him by threatening his family was just too much. Albert knocked the cigarette out of the captain's hand and gripped him by the collar. Utter shock and surprise registered on Bingley-Fortescue's face. ''Listen to me you over privileged prick'' he shouted ''I'm tired of your bullying, tired of you treating me as less than dog shit on your boots. Who the fuck do you think you are eh? So you live in a big house with servants to wipe your arse, so your daddy has a lot of money and you feel so bloody superior to everyone else. Why? What have you ever done? What can you do? You can't even clean your own kit and you call yourself a soldier? If I could find my rifle I'd blow your stupid useless bloody head off!'' Albert was spent now he sunk down beside the wounded officer breathing heavily. Both men were silent the captain stunned at the venom in Albert's voice then, mercifully, it started to rain. They lay with their mouths open to the sky every drop they caught a blessed relief. Hours went by as they drifted in and out of consciousness weak through shock and loss of blood. After what seemed like hours Bingley-Fortescue began talking to no one in particular. ''I'm superior because of my elevated birth" he said sounding like he was trying to convince himself. "My family are aristocracy you see and we have certain privileges and we have great responsibility also. We have to look after the land and, to some extent, the people who work for us too. Not that the lower classes understand of course. Not many know their place these days it comes from educating them you know, no good will come of it mark my words.'' Albert heard this rambling speech as if in a dream, he knew the Bingley-Fortescue family history of course everyone on the estate knew. He could no longer summon the energy to be angry but said in a tired voice ''The only difference between you and me is money Rupert and that's all. You can afford to buy your privileged position and the likes of me can't. Your family made its money in the slave trade. Your great, great grandfather was a thief who stole people and sold them into slavery and you still buy and sell people today. The only difference is that today you have to pay them a pittance and tie them in a cottage or a pathetic little room in your attic but they're slaves by another name that's all.'' There was no accusation or bitterness in Albert's voice it was just a plain statement. There was silence for a moment then Rupert replied ''One can't expect a person of your class to understand Bowdell. You've had a smattering of education and that's your problem you're educated beyond your intelligence that's all. As for money that is such a vulgar subject...'' Albert interrupted him abruptly. "Money? Vulgar? The only people I've ever heard calling money vulgar are those snooty bastards like you who have far more than is good for them.'' He continued in the same flat tone ''Anyway your sort will be washed away by this war when people find out just what mindless butchers you and your so-called class are they'll never be dominated by you again. No matter what happens to us now Rupert the die is cast. You and your sort are finished.'' The light was fading now and the captain, talking to himself as much as to Albert summed up their situation. ''They'll be sending out rescue parties shortly and the German's will come out looking too so it depends on who reach's us first I suppose. Probably the Germans because they're closest. I believe they are quite civilised towards officers you know so I will be looked after in a half decent fashion. You on the other hand dear Albert will be sent to some hell hole somewhere a long way from home. Either way I'll survive or you dear Albert are finished. He used Albert's Christian name with an exaggerated mock politeness that reinforced his threat to ruin him and his family for all time. The same cold rage rose again in Albert's breast how dare this arrogant bugger play god with him? How had the baronet, a thoroughly decent man, managed to breed this hateful creature? A plan was forming in his mind even as he heard German voices approaching their shell hole. Quickly Albert moved and took up the officer's pistol broke it and checked the load. One bullet left that's all he needed. ''I have some good news for you Rupert'' he said coldly ''You're going to be a hero my friend.'' ''What the hell are you talking about? Give me that pistol at once man!''There was a note of uncertainty in his voice now even fear. The guttural voices were drawing ever nearer and time was short. ''Well it's like this Rupert we were trapped you and I and you, noble person that you are, fought bravely and when you were down to your last bullet you turned the gun on yourself death before dishonour and all that shit.'' ''You ..You wouldn't dare! Rupert looked aghast at Albert as the seriousness of the young private's intention sunk in. ''It's murder, I'm your superior officer, they'll shoot you man.'' Albert smiled ''Who'll know? Anyway I probably won't see the night out so I'll see you in hell my dear Rupert.'' The German voices were mere yards away now as Albert put the gun to Rupert's head and pulled the trigger. Rupert died instantly. The shot alerted the searching soldiers to his position a voice barked an order in German. Albert stood up as best he could and put his hands in the air. One of the soldiers fired in his direction but it was a wild shot going well wide. Another voice shouted an order and the man lowered his rifle. A familiar figure slid down the hole to stand in front of him smiling. It was Hans. ''Hello Albert'' he said grinning ''for you the war is over you lucky man'' Hans bent to check out the officer removing the field note book from the dead man's pocket. He noted the powder burns of the bullet hole in the temple. ''What happened here?'' he asked. Albert looked into Han's questioning face. ''He wouldn't surrender and was down to his last bullet so he shot himself when he heard you coming.'' ''Really?'' Hans looked incredulous. ''Did he think we German's are savages who would not accept an honourable surrender?'' Albert shrugged ''He was an aristocrat, strange people aristocrats death before dishonour, that sort of thing.'' Hans nodded understanding creeping over his face. ''Ah yes we have those sort of officers too usually called Von something or other all honour, duelling scars and shit. Albert was helped up out of the hole and through the barbed wire into the German trenches. He was sickened to pass within two feet of Sgt Whatley's body hanging suspended in the wire. The German medic did a good job of treating Albert's wounds and he was passed back down the line until he reached a military hospital outside of Hanover where a surgeon tidied up what was left of his two wounded toes then he was sent on to a prisoner of war camp. It was 1919 before Albert got back home to tell his story of how the gallant captain though badly wounded had fought to the last and had died bravely saving his life. The suicide story was good enough for the Germans but those who knew the Captain wouldn't swallow it. Albert had had plenty of time to get his new story right and mentally rehearsed it to perfection. No hyperbole no frills just a tale of exemplary courage simply told, on the strength of which the late Captain Rupert Fitzwilliam Charles Bingley-Fortescue was posthumously awarded the military cross. Rupert's father the baronet had passed away whilst they were away fighting and the estate was being run by his widow. Lady Dorothy was a kindly soul and often came to see Albert's parents during their retirement years. Albert eventually married the local vicar's daughter and moved away to become the youngest manager ever to be appointed by his bank. Times were changing.
Archived comments for No Man's Land
Weefatfella on 11-02-2013
No Mans Land
 photo 615f3747-f93a-4017-925a-493d3a9cd963_zps9cdcaec0.jpg
Aye the aristocracy.
I would have shot the bugger too.
Long before Albert did.
Enjoyed the story kept me hooked wondering when the Toff was going to get his due.
Thanks for sharing.
Weefatfella.

Author's Reply:
I used to serve with officers who were very class conscious and the bugger here was based on one of them though I never got around to shooting him πŸ˜‰
Thanks mate.

franciman on 12-02-2013
No Mans Land
Hi there,
Really liked your story. I was a matelot for 23 years, so have met my share of Ruperts, Nigels etc.
Convention says you should start each person's dialogue in a separate paragraph. You will find that as a reader it is easier on the eye and helps with the 'stage direction'. As a sort of dramatised documentary, I saw nothing wrong in telling us what Albert was thinking, though this might not be the case in fiction. I personally think there is a time to tell and a time to show.
At any event, I found this thought-provoking and an entertaining read. I am writing a novel of the Great War and so found this absorbing. Well done mate.
cheers,
Jim

Author's Reply:
Thank you Jim,
I retired 6 months ago and started writing then so I am quite new to it and consider myself a work in progress so your imput is very much appreciated.
Regards,
Blocat

Mikeverdi on 12-02-2013
No Mans Land
Hello to you! Jim has said all the things regarding critique and I would take his advice; it worked for me πŸ™‚ It's a good story and holds the interest. Like mine, there are typos and dots and dashes missing, I am not worried about that; I just love a good story! Mike

Author's Reply:
Thanks Mike your comments are appreciated I will look at it again as sometimes, particularly when I stay up late writing, I do make quite daft mistakes.
Blessings

cooky on 14-02-2013
No Mans Land
I liked this as it held my interest to the end. Their are two suggestions I would like to make. One is to change the date as most people know the background to the Christmas meeting in 1914 and this could stop a persons interest. Secondly I would revisit the officers injury. I feel survival would take prescedence over hatred. To order a soldier to save one's life is not cricket in gentry terms. These are my thoughts on the work.

Author's Reply:
Thank you Cookie for taking the trouble to consider my work and offer advice in answer to your comments I take your point however after 1914 Christmas meetings were rather scarce although they did still happen.
Now here is a case of fact being stranger than fiction. I was a soldier on exercise in Malaya (1962) when the roof of a badly dug command post collapsed trapping the gun position officer inside. The Battery captain ordered me to go in and rescue him would you believe? He stood a few yards away and β€˜supervised’ me and another chap did get him out and miraculously he was unhurt. The pair of them then buggered off for a drink; we peasant gunners never even got a thank you. Both of these 'gentlemen' were public school educated with rather plumy accents. πŸ˜‰ Later, on active service in Borneo, one of these gents sent us up to the most dangerous part of the border with his camera with orders to take some interesting photos whilst he stayed in the relative safety of a kampong 12 miles away!
Notwithstanding I will revisit the story and revise it when I have a little time.
Thanks again mate,


Savvi on 14-02-2013
No Mans Land
Great stuff, hooked and in all the way, great write. S

Author's Reply:
Thanks Savvi it's always nice to get some encouragement! I really appreciate the rating you gave it too.


The Pop Star (posted on: 08-02-13)
observation on fame

So now you're famous the fans dote on you Every word you sing or utter is utterly true Adulation adoration was what you once desired Now it rankles irks and grates, makes you angry, tired Can't go to pubs can't walk the streets And the girls beneath your silken sheets Want you but not for who you are Not the man but just the star They run to the papers sell their story Of sex filled nights like Roman orgy Steeped in alcohol swamped with drugs It's the lies, half truths that really bugs Paparazzi crawl like vermin Your every indiscretion earning Vast amounts for photographs To provide a few salacious laughs For morons reading gutter press And leave you suffering from the stress But fame is brief my friend in time A very different note you'l chime You'll be a legend before ere long And sagacity your own theme song A guest on chat shows your every word Respected and though it seems absurd You'll long for those days 'way back when' And yearn to do it all again!
Archived comments for The Pop Star
Bozzz on 09-02-2013
The Pop Star
This is sharp and so well put. Succinct and with rhyme to boot - well done Pronto. Maybe a need to check the rhythm at some points. Bozzz

Author's Reply:
Thanx Bozzz you're most generous I will look again.


Demons (posted on: 08-02-13)
A poem in Burns tradition

Flitting cross't the moon on a stormy night A soul a-feared in mortal plight Did witness, or thought he did, black figures flying In the lightening flash and crashing sound Heard the hideous screams like the damned a-dying Trembling remembering half forgot tales of yore And other ancient lore Fell he quaking to the ground Heard a cackling of evil mirth But held in thrall cannot help rising to draw near, Mesmerized with fear And see that which he thought was seen With trembling knee Goes forth he There in the darkness a flicker of light Fire's flames green lights the scene As witches flew, drinking devils' brew Screeching higher and higher on the tortured wind Eyes glowing red with wickedness of sin Descended they unto the goat-head figure Cloven hoofed and horned of brow He draws even nearer fascinated now Against his will drawn down the hill Into their vale his blood they'll spill Drawn down to his own destruction Drums beaten by unseen demons The rhythm destroys his reason And froze his soul Seizing him, tearing him sharing him They devour his flesh Yet still he lives suffering every bite Sees his beating heart ripped from his breast Wakes up screaming, filled with dread That's the last time I read ''Tam 'O Shanter'' in bed! Tee hee readers! πŸ˜‰
Archived comments for Demons
Weefatfella on 08-02-2013
Demons
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Away ya big feartie!
Enjoyed this good write.
Jist make sure when yir readin somethin at night you're not, glowring round wi' prudent cares, Lest bogles catch yie unawares.
Thank you for sharing.
Weefatfella

Author's Reply:
Och aye ye're reet enough!

ValDohren on 08-02-2013
Demons
Haven't read it, and I don't think I'll bother now !! Scary stuff Pronto.

Val πŸ™‚

Author's Reply:
Ah t'well Val it ends in a surprise and you'll be able to sleep I promise πŸ˜‰

Bozzz on 08-02-2013
Demons
Shades of Macbeth's witch friends to accompany Robbie. A great steal Pronto...Bozzz

Author's Reply:
I was just taking a rise from "Owd Rabbie" I'm a mischievous old soul at times πŸ™‚

purplespirit on 10-02-2013
Demons
Dark and giving me goose pumps, so I rather looked forward from one stanza to the next, hoping for the final line -- which then exactly gave a change to it all and I finished with a smile, when I discovered that you were refering to an old classic. Thanks. Purple

Author's Reply:
Thanx purple for your comments Guess I just have a weird sense of humour πŸ˜‰


The Bar Steward's Ball (posted on: 08-02-13)
A nod and wink at life

They came from every corner of the Western World Waving their bright banners freshly they'd unfurled To camp beside a stinking sewer and hold a bar stewards ball Then decide who was the biggest bar steward of them all There were bar stewards fat and bar stewards thin There were evil bar stewards too There were dodgy looking bar stewards sitting sniffing glue There were lying spying bar stewards Given to journalism Six feet lower than shark shit They should have been in prison There were bar stewards selling pussy A habit to support There were bar stewards they called bankers Thieves who never did get caught There were sycophantic bar stewards With a total lack of guts Bending over backwards In their efforts to lick butts Ingratiating bar stewards each and every one The slimiest dirtiest bar stewards The world had ever known But the winner of the contest By a country mile Was a bar steward who could murder you Whilst continuing to smile He was slicker than a blob of snot Upon a glass door knob They called this evil bar steward By the name of Bob the Gob What were the traits that won him The coveted first position? Why thirty years skulduggery As a career politician
Archived comments for The Bar Steward's Ball
Weefatfella on 08-02-2013
The Bar Stewards Ball
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Aye they are all durty slimy Bar-stewards that lot.
Enjoyed.
Weefatfella

Author's Reply:
Thanks Weefatfella I just love to give 'em a bit back!

Savvi on 08-02-2013
The Bar Stewards Ball
you tell it so well, I hate those bar stewards to pieces. great job

Author's Reply:
Thanks Savvi just a bit o' fun! πŸ˜‰

Bozzz on 08-02-2013
The Bar Stewards Ball
Hi Pronto, Your description of the winner fits most MPs to a tee. Drinks on the House? You cannot possibly comment. Good stuff...Bozzz

Author's Reply:
Thanks Bozzz, just giving back a bit of the bullshit we the electorate are forced to swallow!

Mikeverdi on 09-02-2013
The Bar Stewards Ball
I don't know why you just don't 'tell it like it is' πŸ™‚ mike

Author's Reply:
Thanks Mike for the comment and the rating!


Just Another Bum (posted on: 04-02-13)
A short story

Constable Eltoft shuddered slightly as he regarded the tramp lying in the doorway snoring. He hated dealing with these people they smelled awful and quite a few of them were aggressive too. He was alone and there were better things for him to do back at the station; a whole mountain of paperwork to complete. Well he thought, just another bum, looks like he's here for the night he's not bothering anyone and judging by the smell he's been on the meths too. He looked at the huddled figure laying on his cardboard bed his facial expression somewhere between disgust and contempt. Little did he know that night how events would conspire to throw them together. Geoffrey Eltoft was as keen as the next copper to make a collar or prevent a crime he was a brave and dutiful policeman an ex soldier as tough as nails and as honest a man as you'd find anywhere but he didn't see himself in the role of social worker. He had little sympathy for the drunks and down-and-outs in his opinion they were shiftless idle junkies, alcoholics and the terminally workshy. He was nauseated by the smell of unwashed flesh, stale tobacco and alcohol that was the universal odour that these people seemed to exude and he hated it with a passion. A great number of these folk were young, physically fit men and were certainly able to do a day's work but, to his mind, they preferred to sponge off the rest of society. His views were at odds with those of most of his colleagues but he'd seen real grinding poverty in his army days, women who couldn't feed starving children and men too weak to work sitting by the roadside with hollow cheeks and empty eyes totally without hope. Eltoft sighed, turned, and walked swiftly on about his business. Hamish Rutherford awoke raving, throwing his arms wildly about his head his incoherent shouts echoing loudly down the empty street. Coming to as near a state to full consciousness as he ever got he ceased his struggles and lay panting in the cold early light. He blinked, rubbed his eyes and felt in his pocket for last night's bottle knowing before he looked that it was empty. He needed another drink to drive away what he called his visions. His hands were shaking his mouth tasted dry and bitter from the meths he'd drunk the previous night. He groaned, rolled over, struggled onto all fours and began retching his emaciated body wracked with spasms. Virtually nothing escaped his lips because he had had almost nothing to eat for the past two days. He stayed in that position for a few minutes whilst the spasms passed then he arose with some difficulty feeling stiff from the cold and the hard unyielding doorway. The street lights clicked off in the growing dawn and he stood scratching his ear pondering what to do next. Gathering up what few possessions he had he shuffled off toward the homeless shelter where he had been refused entry the night before due to his being drunk and aggressive towards the staff. Maybe he'd get a hot drink when the doors opened. He'd only come to the city of Manchester a few days before because he was tired of the harassment he was getting from the police and the others of his ilk who seemed to have a down on him for some reason. Maybe it was that he retained a faint air of authority despite his shuffle bum appearance or maybe it was his Scottish accent? He also talked back to the police when told to move on often telling them to 'piss off and catch criminals,' not an attitude that endeared him to them. He didn't know and he didn't care 'bollocks to 'em' was sum total of his thoughts on the matter. The only thing that really mattered to Hamish Rutherford was where his next drink was coming from. On Eltoft's next afternoon shift he and his colleague, a female officer named Julie Stein, came across Rutherford begging outside a bank. He cut a pathetic figure with his long straggly beard and his matted shoulder length grey hair. A ragged buttonless jacket flapped about his sparse frame one pocket hung in useless tatters the other one bulging with a cider bottle. He was quietly asking everyone who went in or came out of the bank for spare change. Most people quickly walked around him their disgusted looks leaving him in no doubt as to what they thought. He was swaying slightly and mumbling incoherently in between holding out his hand constantly repeating: ''Y'ony spare change sarr? Y'ony spare change modom?'' Eltoft couldn't walk away from this he had to move the man on. ''Right mate let's have you moving along you know begging is against the law.... '' Over Rutherford's shoulder he saw a man hurrying from a nearby jeweller's shop a scarf over his face and a hold-all in his left hand. Eltoft was already stepping around the tramp when the shop alarm went off. ''Oi you there" he shouted "come here'' and ran towards the man. The man turned and Eltoft saw the automatic pistol in his hand. What happened next seemed like slow motion the man fired the gun in the air and then pointed it at Eltoft and Stein who was now alongside her colleague. ''Back off copper or the next shot kills you.'' The voice was harsh and flat with no trace of fear or panic in it. Eltoft halted in his tracks hands spread wide ''Listen mate why don't you give it up you won't get away with it there's CCTV all over this area.'' Eltoft was fifteen yards from the man but he could see from the steady way he held the automatic that the guy knew how to handle a pistol. The "O" of the barrel end never wavering a fraction. No one noticed Rutherford zigzagging an erratic course, bottle in hand past the police. Passers-by were diving for cover and some women were screaming. Rutherford seemed to be moving away and past the gunman as a motorcycle, revving wildly, came around the corner its helmeted rider braking late and stopping two yards past the gunman. The robber caught sight of Rutherford in his peripheral vision and glanced his way but the gun never moved from the police. He rapidly decided the drunk was no threat and turned towards the motorcycle. That's when Rutherford's bottle, thrown from three yards, hit him behind his left ear shattering on impact. The man's step faltered it seemed for a second he was going down then he whipped around and fired at Rutherford who was closing with him at remarkable speed. Before the man could fire again Rutherford had crashed into him and grabbed the man's wrist in an iron grip twisting the pistol expertly out of his grasp he pushed the weapon under the robbers chin and fired twice in rapid succession. The man went down instantly as the motorcyclist pulled a gun and fired a wild shot at Eltoft who was running towards him. The fellow was in a panic and was uncertain whether to fire again or make good his escape. He decided to fire again as he could hardly miss at the ever closing range. Eltoft was still three yards away from him and fully committed he saw the gun lining up on him knowing he was about to be shot he could do nothing but run and hope maybe if he could knock him off his bike Stein might be able to escape and avoid his fate. That's when Rutherford fired again twice in rapid succession. The bullets smacked into the back of the rider's helmet barely an inch apart the front Perspex face shield exploding in a shower of shards and gore as the bullets passed though his head and he slumped forward off the machine. Rutherford stood swaying pistol in hand still pointing to where his target had been. Eltoft looked shocked as Stein ran bravely at Rutherford shouting ''Give me that gun now.'' Rutherford's hand dropped to his side and the gun fell to the pavement he turned and staggered the few steps to the wall of the jewellers clutching his chest he hesitated a moment then slipped down into a sitting position against the wall breathing heavily. He knew he was hurt badly, the visions of his old enemy came flooding back to him stark and real he was once again in the Afghan fort, the insane stutter of machine gun fire filling his head and the shouts of hundreds of fanatical Taliban insurgents as they closed in. ''Fix bayonets! Fix bayonets!'' he screamed his eyes wide and staring then suddenly he subsided his breath rasping in his throat. As he urgently called for backup Eltoft made his way to the fallen man and knelt down beside him. Rutherford looked at him calm now a faint smile on his lips ''Still pulling you oot o' the shit corporal Eltoft after all these years.'' Eltoft looked at the man totally dumbstruck. Rutherford's coat had flopped open and Eltoft saw the medal pinned to the inside. It looked improbably clean against the filthy fabric of the coat and gleamed in the weak autumn sunlight. "Not lost ma touch with the old double tap eh?" Rutherford smiled then winced as pain speared through him."They gave me this Distinguished Conduct Medal last time I pulled your section's sorry arses out of the shit, remember? He asked sardonically. ''The bastards beat me this time though I won't walk away from this lad.'' Eltoft looked pale and not just with the shock of the incident he could hardly believe what he was hearing. At last he found his voice ''Sergeant Rutherford?'' he queried ''Hamish?'' His voice was shaking, sheer incredulity on his face. ''The very same corporal the very same'' he looked Eltoft in the eye ''I want you to have this when I'm gone lad'' he said pointing to his medal "I've no bugger to leave it to and it might be worth a few quid." He'd long ago sold his other campaign medals and drunk the money away but some vestige of pride in his former self wouldn't allow him part with his DCM. Stein joined them ''The ambulance is on its way'' she said in a soft voice then added quite unnecessarily ''the other two men are dead.'' Eltoft looked at the chest wound sustained by his old comrade the nine millimetre bullet had gone though his left lung missing the heart but the wound, he knew from experience, was fatal. How he had managed to stay on his feet and achieve what he had done was nothing short of miraculous. ''Hang on Hamish, hang on me old mukka the blood tub's coming I can hear it.'' Eltoft had slipped back into army slang without even realising it.   Rutherford was sinking fast he looked up at the younger man ''Sorry if I dis..if I dis 'point you Corp... didn't mean to turn into a bum.'' A bloody foam was forming at the corners of his mouth ''it was the visions you know I kept seeing it over an' over, hearing the screams.'' Stein bade him hush and save his strength. Eltoft held his hand ''No way were you ever a bum Hamish, no way mate me and a lot of other folk wouldn't be here today if it wasn't for you just you rest easy old lad, rest easy." Sirens filled the air as police cars marked and unmarked arrived on the scene to be met by Stein. The ambulance arrived a minute later but it was over by then Rutherford was staring sightlessly at the sky and beside him Eltoft, head bowed, was softly weeping.
Archived comments for Just Another Bum
Savvi on 06-02-2013
Just Another Bum
very well written, love the characters and held me all the way, great ending, whats not to like. Thanks for sharing. S

Author's Reply:
Thank you Savvi your comments are so encouraging.

Weefatfella on 07-02-2013
Just Another Bum
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Absolutely Excellent Stuff.
Brilliantly told and compelling right to the end.
I loved it.
I'm looking forward to more of your work.
Thank you very much for sharing this.
Weefatfella.

Author's Reply:
Thanx mate I much appreciate your positive words.


Me Owd Aunt Bid (posted on: 04-02-13)
Needs Telling

She was just the lady who looked after me when I came home from school, But I had to call her auntie for respect was then the rule, A Dublin woman so she was and fiercely proud she of it, She loved everybody's children but never would admit, That she was sad because she had no children of her own, Her husband went to war you see and never made it home, ''Have you done your homework boy? She'd ask with a face so stern, ''If you're ever to amount to much you've an awful lot to learn,'' I couldn't kid owd aunty Bid for she could read my mind, God help me if I lied to her I'd get a sore behind, So I polished off my homework as quickly as I could, Then off to play off to play with the other kids with a warning to be good. She used to say the strangest things if I did any wrong, Like: ''You'll regret that to yer dying day, If I let you live that long.'' And ''Turn that blasted racket down'' she shouted up the stairs, ''If I have to come up after you, you'd better say yer prayers!'' I still don't know what a spalpeen is though she often called me one, And I always thought it was all one word: ''Away- wit-ye- be-gone! '' Though her speech often bemused me I knew just what she meant, Stay on the straight and narrow boy or I'll make you repent! ''Get out of me way and go and play'' she often scolded me, ''But it's raining cats and dogs'' I said and I haven't had me tea, ''You've never been to Dublin if you call that piddle rain, It's only 'liquid sunshine' be off and don't complain.'' ''I could hear less of that more often'' she said of Rock and Roll, ''It'll never come to anything they'll end up on the dole, And who's that caterwauling? Does he think that he can sing?'' ''They call him Elvis Pressley aunt and some call him the king.'' ''I've never heard the like of it'' owd aunt bid would rave, ''That poor old Mister Miller must be turning in his grave! What's wrong with Benny Goodman and good old Henry Hall? Why you'd want to listen to that noise I've no idea at all'' Yes she was old fashioned but she loved me like a son, With all her quirky sayings she really was great fun, As a kid she seemed so strict to me but her heart was full of love, And I was away on that fateful day when she went up above.   I was in the army then in far flung Borneo, Up country on the border when I got to know, Of how she'd leapt into the road to push a child aside, The motor car hit her instead and that's how Biddy died. Looking out for other's children and in my dreams I heard her say, ''Ah t'well it needed doing boy, don't fuss now, I'm okay,'' Then I swear I heard her chuckling and she gave a gentle cuss, ''It could have been much worse'' she laughed ''sure it might have been a bus.'' I've tried to teach my kids and theirs the things I learned from her, To look out for one another and always show you care, For in my heart and in my mind there isn't any doubt, We should try to put more into life than ever we take out.
Archived comments for Me Owd Aunt Bid
Weefatfella on 04-02-2013
Me Owd Aunt Bid
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Brilliant.
A fitting tribute to owd Bid.
Very enjoyable.
Thank you for sharing.
Weefatfella.

Author's Reply:
Glad you enjoyed it Weefatfella πŸ™‚

Andrea on 04-02-2013
Me Owd Aunt Bid
Haha, she sounds like my mate Evelyn (also a Dubbie, so she is) πŸ™‚ Poor Aunt Bid though - what a sad demise!

Author's Reply:
Thank you most kindly Andrea πŸ™‚

Romany on 04-02-2013
Me Owd Aunt Bid
I just love this! What a warm, loving, humorous to tribute to what sounds like a lovely woman, not to mention a brave and honourable one. Lucky you for having shared such a fundamental and formative portion of your life with her, and lucky her for having engendered such love and affection in you, even now.



romany x

Author's Reply:
Well thank you my friend for your generous comments much appreciated

Kazzmoss on 06-02-2013
Me Owd Aunt Bid
Ah, what a lovely story. I really enjoyed reading it and the way it seemed to bounce along as it rhymed.


Author's Reply:
Thank you I'm glad you enjoyed it.

Savvi on 07-02-2013
Me Owd Aunt Bid
Brilliant, really enjoyed this it feels like a trip down memory lane and from the heart your voice is perfect and the accent is spot on, I loved aunty bid and I've only just met her. great rhymes and nice aliteration. You have done her proud and so does the last stanza. One typo in the third stanza last line 2x off to play

Author's Reply:
Thanks for the brilliant rating Savvi, very kind of you and for pointing out the 'Eliphant in the room' typo too! πŸ™‚

Mikeverdi on 09-02-2013
Me Owd Aunt Bid
Just brilliant, I loved it. Was she real... I do hope so. Every one needs someone like this when they are young. Top marks from me.

Author's Reply:
I put her in faction because, although 99% real there was a bit o' blarney too but I'm not saying where or t'would spoil it. Thanks for the superb rating πŸ™‚


Out of Habit (posted on: 01-02-13)
You will not fail to enjoy the sting in the tail!

They meet in a bar young handsome slim him Slender tender fair her Gorgeous eyes slender thighs Lovely arse makeup sparse He tall athletic large trouser bulge She looks lusty eager to indulge They drink they wink and never shrink From touching the other as unsubtly they flirt Her hand sliding in his silken shirt So what do you do Mary Jane? Oh mine's a large organisation Been around since the dawn of creation But please don't spoil the night, right? My leisure time is somewhat short So let's drop the chat of every sort That isn't about this night of fun And so seduction has begun And so it goes each tugging at the others clothes Dancing striking sexy pose Where it's leading both know well Back with him to his hotel Kissing fondlling burning desire Clinging tightly hearts on fire So to the pleasures of the night Impure sexual delight He starts with gentle artful thrust Holds in check his urgent lust To her pleasure gives every heed Much too soon to spill his seed She rakes his back with her finger nails Leaving gleaming scarlet trails He moans lost in her moist folds Both her lovely breasts he holds Teasing kneading, sucking feeding On her very soul, achieves his goal She arches high with desperate cry His satisfaction delayed a fraction Then pours inside her skilful rider Spirit wrung dry she starts to cry He comforts her strokes her hair I shouldn't have done it I'm not free I'm promised to someone else you see Well he's a lucky fellow who is he? He must be an older man am I right? She nods you could say that And despite your youth and beauty You consider it your sacred duty To cleave to him, oh god that's grim I don't make a habit of this you know Just twice a year It's getting light I have to go He holds her back and makes it plain That he must see her once again Won't listen to no Won't let her go 'Til she consents Desperate to be gone she relents Ok see me at ten over there The cafe near St Peter's Square Then she's gone by the glow of dawn Running swift across a dew wet lawn And then It's ten She watches discrete across the street He sits shuffling nervous feet Checks his watch checks it again Confirms it's nearly five past ten He rise's checks every passing female face Nervously he starts to pace She crosses the street her promise to keep Walking up but doesn't greet Quickly passing she smiles and nods She knows that it's against all odds He'd recognise her from their night of fun For who looks closely at a passing nun?
Archived comments for Out of Habit
stormwolf on 01-02-2013
Out of Habit
Hi Pronto and welcome to UKA πŸ˜‰
I really enjoyed the sting in the tail and never saw it coming. The title was perfect too. The poem itself needs some work done on the rhythm and some other things

Where it’s will leading they both know

Nice intro to your work
Alison x

Author's Reply:

Thanks Alison your comments are much appreciated

Bozzz on 01-02-2013
Out of Habit
Who's a lucky boy then! Good fun to read and as Alison says, needs a lot of work to get the rhythm right - one way is to count the syllables on each line and work line length to a consistent pattern of syllable counts. Fondlling ? Fondling. Good start at poetry - you tell the story very well indeed....Bozzz

Author's Reply:
Thank you Bozzz your kind observations are noted. I don't pretend I'm a good poet although writing it gives me pleassure I'm more of a story teller. So thanks mate I joined the site 'cos I want to improve, looks like I've a journey to make. πŸ™‚

Hekkus on 04-04-2013
Out of Habit
Clever rhyming, good description, a nice twist in the very last line...good work!

Author's Reply:
Thank you Hekkus I'm glad you enjoyed it.


Homework (posted on: 01-02-13)
Read it an' see

Have you done your homework John? Miss Rotherham wants to know It should have been in yesterday You're being rather slow But I'm sexually exhausted miss he said in airy fashion I'm young, damn good looking and driven by my passion He smirked about the classroom made grand gestures in the air To expect me to do homework miss really isn't fair Miss Rotherham smiled sweetly made her own gesture grand Sexual exhaustion John? Then write with your other hand
Archived comments for Homework
Bozzz on 01-02-2013
Homework
A bit jerky on the way, but the wit and story carry the day. A shorter version of the last line would improve the impact - "Then use the other hand", is one option? I liked this poem....Bozzz

Author's Reply:
Thanks Bozzz for your considered reply. I wondered if I should leave out the 'please' from the last line. or not and after reading it a loud, in my northern accent, I decided to leave it but I think I'll revise it.
Cheers mate πŸ™‚


Of Dads and Daughters (posted on: 01-02-13)
What's to say? If you have a daughter you'll recognise yourself straight away! πŸ™‚

Dad's and daughters Love at first sight Oh infant bright What dangerous waters Will you navigate On your stream of life And grow mayhap To be a mother, a wife? Your purity lack of maturity So engaging watching you grow The father's dread fears You'll never know Trembling heart watching you start First day at school and he's a fool For fearing for you All will be well you'll play your part The birthday parties Running yon and hither Too and froe Giddy as a whirligig Energetic frenetic He counts the years Come and go Childhood illness's spotty skin And of course You fell off your horse Broken arm caused alarm You healed all right Dad was the one Who most took fright Confidence of youth Showing your truth Teeth set in braces His finger traces The shape of your face On school photograph Hearing you laugh Sharing your joy First date with a boy And now you're gone A child of your own My god how time has flown The father daughter bond never broken Of love so often spoken Obvious for all to see The truth trust and loyalty And how you both have grown And Gramps now has another girl To sit on his knee to hear her plea Read me a story Gramps Of castles and kingdoms Of princes and tramps Like mummy says you used to do She'll be asleep before he's through Contentedly sighing he reads another page Another child another age
Archived comments for Of Dads and Daughters
Kat on 01-02-2013
Of Dads and Daughters
I really enjoyed this poem. So insightful, filled with warmth and love and with the perfect ending.

Welcome to UKA!

Kat

Author's Reply:
Thank you Kat for your kind comments πŸ™‚

Weefatfella on 02-02-2013
Of Dads and Daughters
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Exactly!
I agree with every word.
I have two daughters and we have been blessed with one grandson.
I look forward to hopefully many more grandchildren.
As you so eloquently say, to complete the circle.
Thank you for sharing and a very warm welcome to UKA. Weefatfella.

Author's Reply:
Thank you my friend your kind response it is most encouraging. I'm glad to be here on this site. I only took up writing since I retired last July and I'm glad I did.
Warm regards,