She lived far away from their eyes. She feared them, even her own small reflection; she’d welcomed breasts, hair, height. But the bloody things kept being born, toddling, slobbering, growing teeth…
They made her blood cold.
Her cottage was cozy and sweet. But for her eyes, hers and the forest’s.
Then they came, horrible. So deep in the wood, must have come to find her. Now she watched as they came, ravenous, beady eyes glazed. They’d gobble her, cottage and all, if they could.
The stove burning hot, she opened the door and got ready to fight for her life.
10,000 Words Part One: Spoon
This is the first installment of this year’s 100 Days writing project. This year I hope to write 100 word flashfictions. 100 100 word fictions. Which looks odd written down.
Today’s offering is a fictionalised memorial to Tony Benn.
He was born with it: the smooth bowl gagging against the back of his throat and soon, the filigree vines of the handle clashed against his teeth.
The taste of cold, sharp metal, bitter on his tongue.
He retched on it, cursed it gnawed at it, tried to speak as if the damn thing had never been put there.
At last, he felt the weakened metal give, bend and break. He worked his powerful jaws on the fragments, tempered them with tobacco smoke and white hot rage, smoothed them with a sandpaper tongue.
Then, until his death, he spat bullets.
The News In Poetry Day 100: Good News
On the last day of the News In Poetry , a positive story.
Also happy anniversary to my lovely wife Chella – Five years of being civilized!
But this poem is for Alan Chambers.
http://m.bbc.co.uk/news/world-us-canada-22992714
The Light you always wanted us to see
The Truth you urged the sinners to embrace
The Love you swore would one day make them free,
Deliver them into a state of grace:
They’re all still there. The truth, the love, the light
Although they’re not exactly what you meant.
I promise that it’s going to be alright.
Now you’re no longer calling out “Repent!”
The fear that kept you silent for so long
The shame that hid your secret deep inside,
That realization that you’d got it wrong
And that nobody’s truth should be denied.
It’s time now for your final Exodus
Come, step into the rainbow, next to us.
The News In Poetry Day 99: Govematics
In summer they get six weeks off
Another two at Christmas break.
They say the job is hard? I scoff:
There surely must be some mistake.
When teachers say they work too long
Already, kicking up a fuss,
I never think I could be wrong
No, that would be ridiculous!
What was my training? They demand:
I went to school when I was small.
The teachers’ job I understand
There isn’t much to it at all.
These teachers go to work at nine
I’m pretty sure, and stop at three.
Some extra effort should be fine:
Why are they so upset with me?
The News In Poetry Day 98: Surprise!
This headline on the BBC website made me read “surprise” as a gender identity…
Not Prince, not Princess; Royal Baby.
Will it be confusing? Maybe.
But I need to emphasize:
That my gender is ‘surprise’!
King or Queen? Whatever’s fine:
Either way, I’m next in line
Why not go with ‘Monarch’, guys?
Since my gender is ‘surprise’!
It may cause distress and fear
If a Windsor’s genderqueer
Norman Tebbit rolls his eyes
Cause my gender is ‘surprise’!
But when I’m born, I’ll fall into
A world of either of pink or blue
Alas: I doubt they’ll realize
That my gender is ‘surprise’!
The News In Poetry Day 97: The Standing Man
http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-europe-22949632
This man standing in silence in the park
For hours now. The sky is growing dark
The sun has gone, and in the dark he stands
Alone, unarmed and unafraid. His hands
Hang empty and unclenched. There is no threat
Implicit in his stance; at least, not yet.
He will not fight, and he will not be chased
Defies a power which finds itself disgraced
As more and even more stand alongside:
In silence far too loud to be denied.
In stillness which begins to turn the tide.
The News In Poetry Day 96: Sweets
He was so generous, long ago:
He handed death to every child
Like lollipops: they grabbed at it
And gorged. He looked at them and smiled.
And though he craves the sugar rush
These days, he cannot take a bite.
His sticky hands are empty now
He dreams of sweetness every night.
Now that he’s old, he thinks perhaps
He gave away too much, too young.
He cannot get it from his mind:
That sickly taste upon his tongue.
The News In Poetry Day 95: Nigella
http://www.mirror.co.uk/news/uk-news/nigella-lawson-attacked-husband-see-1955564
She kisses him upon his cheek
Her throat still bruised from his embrace
Becoming more subdued and meek,
She kisses him upon his cheek
As though his blessing she must seek:
Such fear and pain upon her face.
She kisses him upon his cheek,
Her throat still bruised from his embrace.
The News In Poetry Day 94: The Ballad of Olgar and Raymon
A local news story today. Hope they show up…
Oh the rustlers rode to Ringinglow
Where the sweet alpaca graze
Out on Sheffield’s dangerous wild frontier
With their mild, long-eyelashed gaze
When they swung their lassos high and wide
Each graceful neck to snare
In the wild blue hills of Ringinglow
Did those dirty varmints care?
Now a Jealous man and his Jealous wife
Are both feeling quite bereft
In the lonely hills of Ringinglow
There are no alpacas left.
So look out for them on market days
For they may have traveled far
But the wild blue hills of Ringinglow
Call to Raymon and Olgar.
What a gol’durned shame it was for sure
On that bitterest of days
When the thieves rode up to Ringinglow
Where the meek alpaca graze
The News In Poetry Day 93: Mock Ness
The water’s dark and cold and deep
Who knows what creature there might sleep?
The water’s deep and dark and cold
If she’s alive, she must be old.
The water’s cold and deep and dark.
The truth, I fear, is far more stark.
The loch is long and wide and wet.
Nobody’s seen a monster yet.
The loch is wet and long and wide
And tourists flock to every side.
The loch is wide and wet and long.
Is fooling them for money wrong?
Tom Juniper Poetry 