September 12, 2012

  • Gator’s Triple Play – “Pumpkin Soup” Sept 16, ’09

     

     

     

     
     
     
    A pumpkin picked, a pumpkin ready
    But not for Hallowe’en, no, not for Freddy
    And not for Jason or the Evil Dead
    But for Pumpkin Soup and a family fed.
     
    And while I’m busy in my steamy kitchen
    My CD blasts so I can listen
    To a tune so catchy, boppy and brash ~
    “Pumpkin Soup” by the brill Kate Nash.
     
    Take it away Kate!
     
     
     
     

     

     

     

  • Gator’s Triple Play – “Let’s Get It On” Sept 09, ’09

    Well MonoMonday in its “official” form has come to an end with the welcome return of the Gator, but that doesn’t mean an end to all the fun.:) He’s recently begun a new project, Gator’s Triple Play, and here’s my first entry ~ for what it’s worth! :D
     
    Click here for other entries and the rules. :)
     
     

     
     
     
     
     

    Get a playlist! Standalone player Get Ringtones
     
     
     
     

    Edited… thanks for letting me know about the Playlist problem Mia! Here’s a YouTube version of the song too. :)

  • UFC – erm…??! May 26, ’11




    I started writing this as a UFC challenge god knows how long ago, but never got it finished. A 26-line poem, with each line flowing through the alphabet. I found it this afternoon, going through an old notebook – I’d got as far as Q before quitting. ;)

    Anyway, I just finished it. Yay me!

    ~*~*~

    Aging. Insidious, surreptitious.
    Before you realise -
    Changes in health.
    Do you seek
    Evidence? Look out
    For new symptoms?
    Got these lumps,
    Hiding under skin
    Inside my body.
    Just “nothing” lumps?
    Killer cancer cells?
    Like to know?
    My mind thinks,
    No, not really.
    Or do I?
    Posing the dilemma.
    Questions, queries. Querulous.

    Right! Be brave!
    See the doc.
    Testing, testing, testing.
    Ultrasound shows “debris”,
    Very little else.
    Why the worry?!
    Xylophones are too tinny. I like glockenspiels better.
    (YOU do better??! LOL!)
    Zeebers is coming!!

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    TRIPLES with EMMA

  • UFC – “My Haikus” April 27, ’10

     
    Mousepotato’s Challenge

    Write me some haikus, 
    About aspects of your life.

    Let them start with “My”.
     
    As many or few
    As you feel able to do…
    Let me know of you.
     
     
     
    ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
     
    My coffee mug speaks 
    of beautiful addiction.
    I’m happily hooked.
     
    ~*~
     
    My fountain pen cries
    for its years of sad neglect,
    Hating my emails.
     
    ~*~
     
    My camera lens snaps;
    Another memory saved
    for my nostalgia.
     
    ~*~
     
    My cat discovers
    there is life beyond the fire.
    The birds hot foot it.
     
    ~*~
     
    My garden awaits.
    A veritable feast is
    being planted.
     
    ~*~
     
    My husband is yin
    As I am the yang. We are
    Complimentary.
     
    ~*~
     
    My bed is too big
    When my husband drives the road.
    Roll on the weekend!
     
    ~*~
     
    Click here for UFC 237. :)
     
    TRIPLES with EMMA

  • UFC – “A Previous Life” April 16, ’10


     
    Shadowlight’s Challenge 
     
    Use as many of the following phrases as possible.You can use them in a song, poem, scene, chapter, or a story of 500-1500 words. 
     
    * born on the night of the blue moon when shooting stars filled the skies
    * drowning in a sea of unsaid words
    * sacred time
    * blank canvas
    * The breeze at dawn carrying secrets came softly through my window
    * through a glass darkly
     
     
    A Previous Life 
     
      I was born on the night of the blue moon when shooting stars filled the skies.      As I grew, I believed that meant my life was special, unblemished, with each  shooting star representing a wonderful event destined to happen; a charmed 
     life.
     
     And so it was. My blank canvas filled with the passing years and became a story  book of happy memories, love, and good times. My entire life up to that point
     was a sacred time…
     
     But then I met you, and my world proverbially turned upside down. I stood on
     the outside, looking in at a world I didn’t comprehend, had no understanding of
     at all. The life of an addict – your life. My shooting stars crashed and burned one
     by one as your life overtook mine and it became all about you. The stealing. The
     lies. The debt. But how could I escape? I loved you, and my greatest wish was to
     help you escape from your demons. So I didn’t complain, not at first. I  ”empathised” and felt so badly for you, knowing that on your good days you
     hated yourself for what you were doing to us. I kept quiet with my anguish and
     the harsh words of blame and accusation in my head; I left myself drowning in a  sea of unsaid words. My love for you had me willfully looking through a glass
     darkly, refusing to see the truth – that the heartfelt word of an addict is never  going to be truthful in the end, no matter how truthfully spoken at the time.
     
     I longed for escape but couldn’t leave. Guilt made me static. I thought that the
     magic answer to all our problems would surely, simply must, make itself known
     if I willed it hard enough. But the final star bombed to the ground and exploded.
     My longed-for answers did not come like the breeze at dawn, carrying secrets 
     softly through my window. The end came like a train crash in a dumbfounding,
     paralysing string of hateful, hurtful words from your drunken mouth. Words I 
     was never even meant to hear.
     
     My inertia was broken. I grabbed myself, the remnants of my life, and removed 
     them far, far away from you. The weight of your oppression lifted. With every
     day that passed a new star appeared to replace the old until now, years later, I
     can hardly see the darkness of the night sky.
     


    Click here to read more challenges.


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    TRIPLES with EMMA

  • UFC – “The Sound of Water Says What I Think” – March 11, ’10





     
    Mousepotato’s Challenge.
     
    Which of the four Earth Elements are you? Earth? Air? Fire? Water?
    And how does the Element fit your personality?
    Poem or prose, rhyming or not, short or long.
    Show us which and why you are.
     
    ~*~*~*~*~*~*~
     
     
    The Sound of Water Says What I Think
     
     
    The sound of water says what I think.
    I babble like the babbling brook,
    Usually disturbing the peace
    When silence would be more appropriate.
    Chastisement makes me giggle
    Like the gurgling of a shallow creek over stones.
     
    I’m quiet. 
    I spend much time reflecting.
    Still waters run deep…
    My thoughts flow and meander from one to the next,
    The end of one sliding seamlessly into the beginning of the next
    On a continuous journey,
    Only ebbing when sleep overtakes me.
     
    Provoke me to anger and I will crash and roar
    Like powerful waves battering into jagged rocks,
    Spitting foam.
    I will roil and rail against the world,
    The salt water spilling like a waterfall from my eyes
    Until the crisis is over and I slowly recede to calm one more,
    Spent.
     
    I can drip sarcasm.
    I spill over with joy.
    I freeze solid when hurt.
    I am always half-full, never half-empty.
    The sound of water says what I think.
     
    ©MP66 
     
     
    Click here for other entries.

     

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    TRIPLES with EMMA

  • UFC – “My Favourite Time of the Day Is…” Feb 19, ’10




    Skyerider’s Challenge
     
    Write at least 500 words starting with the phrase 
    “My favorite time of the day is…”
     
    This is a chance to share a little of yourself with us!
    ~*~*~
     
    My favourite time of the day is more of a “was”, than an “is”, now.
    When I was young, my father spent months at a time stationed abroad with the Army. Usually mum stayed at home and worked her job and looked after me and my brother. But she took the opportunity one time to take a holiday in Cyprus, while our father was stationed there, leaving me and Geoff with our maternal grandparents.
     
    My Gran was always an early riser, “up at the crack of dawn”, usually about five o’clock in the morning. During that two week stay, I began getting up with her, and soon grew to love these special early mornings. 
     
    While Geoff and Grandad slept on, Gran and I would settle at the huge table in her kitchen. Her morning brew was always fennel tea, strong and sweet, and served in her best china cups and saucers. Nothing else would do! She had her own favourite cup, a delicate pink rose hand-painted on one side and edged in gold, the china itself so translucent you could practically see through it. For me, she rummaged in the pantry and found one with faded green ivy leaves. To this day, I love ivy.
     
    We’d sit with our tea and just watch the day beginning. Her kitchen window was large, almost huge, and gave us a view over the entire garden from the alpine rockery just outside the house to the greenhouse hiding behind overgrown Sweet Williams at the bottom. The sun would peek over the rooftops of the houses beyond the garden, lighting the entire view with delicate hues of pink and gold. It looked like magic to my eight year old eyes, and I would imagine the fairies living at the bottom of the garden running and tripping their way to bed, before human eyes could catch them and prove their reality for once and for all.
     
    Birds would shortly arrive and take their breakfast at the bird table, the bag of peanuts, and the hanging half coconut shell, all the while keeping an eye out for Mrs Johnson’s cat next door. Sparrows, Blue Tits, Goldfinches, and a Collared Dove, if we were lucky. I think I saw the Dove twice, the entire time I was there.
     
    Gran would tell me her plans for the garden… which plants she wanted next to dot amongst the stones and glass rocks in the rockery. Her roses needed pruning, I remember that, although I had no idea what pruning was at the time. It didn’t matter. I just loved to listen, and enjoy this special quiet time that belonged just to me and her. She smiled often, and pushed the sleeves of her cardigan up to her elbows. I have the same habit, which I was forever being told off for by my mum. “You’ll make them baggy!” But I only had to say “but Gran does it!”, and she’d relent. She was right, by the way. I have piles of baggy-sleeved sweaters in the wardrobe.
     
    The peace would end gradually as Grandad and Geoff decided it was time to start their day too. Hearing the creak of the floorboards on the landing, Gran would grin at me and put the kettle on for  a fresh pot of tea… just regular old PG Tips this time. I would carefully rinse the china cups and saucers and set them in the rack to drain, and our quiet time would be over until the next morning.
     
    These days, my very early mornings are spent sat outside my camper van in the woods, drinking coffee and, if I’m lucky, watching deer slowly ambling across the top of the lane, unaware of my presence. While Gran was never a coffee drinker, I think she’d approve of the deer. :)
     

    TRIPLES with EMMA

  • UFC – “It’s a Love/Hate Kind of Thing” Feb 15, ’10






    Jo’s Challenge

    Write in ONE paragraph, containing just SIX sentences,  a description or story or whatever you like that stands alone without additional sentences or paragraphs.

     

     

    “It’s a Love/Hate Kind of Thing”

     

    Hiking up to and back from the mailbox, a good ten minutes each way, was like kicking my way though fifty thousand tonnes of Johnson’s Baby Powder dropped by a careless hand from overloaded skies above. And the mailman hadn’t called today anyway; it’s enough to make me swear, and believe me, I have ~ on numerous occasions today. I hate snow. But when I see this freefall of soft and powdery, fluffy and gentle whiteness through a different eye ~ the eye of the camera ~ my attitude shifts from one end of the spectrum to the other. The inherent and undeniable beauty in the way it covers all blemishes and reshapes the landscape takes my breath away, and leaves me speechless. I love snow.

     
    For more entries, click here. :)
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    TRIPLES with EMMA

  • UFC – “A Normal Beginning, An Unexpected End” Jan 21, ’10

    Dio’s Challenge.

    By now you are probably pretty familiar with the seven dwarfs: Doc, Grumpy,Sneezy, Sleepy, Happy, Bashful, and Dopey. Today’s challenge is to write a story with characters possessing at least two of those personalities. It can be any kind of story you want, serious or humorous, but you have to include two of the personalities above. Personalities mind you, not characters.
     
    You cannot write a story that includes the dwarfs themselves, nor use the actual words (Doc, Grumpy, Sneezy, Sleepy, Happy, Bashful, and Dopey.), although you can use variations of the words (Ahchoo, he sneezed uncontrollably, and what brings you here?) Your readers should be able to tell which personalities you use. It is up to you whether you use the more obvious ones (Sleepy) or the not so obvious ones (Doc).
     



    A Normal Beginning, An Unexpected End
     
    He thumped the alarm clock into silence and stumbled out from under the covers, cursing as his toes met the icy floorboards. Damn cat! Playing with his slippers while he slept, again! He knelt down and glared under the bed, ready to grab the offending feline and kick it out of the room if he found it hiding there. How many times had he told her to Shut The Door! when she came to bed after him, and keep the obsequious, creeping thing out of the bedroom?! No KittyBaby (“KittyBaby”! OMG. he shook his head in exasperation) under there, but his slippers were ~ just out of reach. He rolled his eyes and lay down on the cold floor, fiercely grabbing for them and swearing aloud as he banged his head wriggling out again. Standing up, he shot a look at his wife’s back, before putting the slippers on and stomping off to the bathroom. It’s difficult to stomp in slippers, but he managed it quite well.
     
    Her fuzzy brain registered the cursing which rudely broke into her reverie, and she rolled over languorously, stretching out her limbs. One eye opened blearily and peeked at the clock ~ 5.00am, good. Plenty of time before she had to get up. And he would be gone in an hour or so, grabbing his white coat and stethoscope and rushing to the surgery to vent his miserable self on someone other than herself for a change. She felt a gentle rumbling against her stomach, and lifted the cover. Ah! Hello, my sweet pretty KittyBaby! There you are! You naughty waughty fluffy wuffy thing you! She giggled, and stroked the cat’s head and back with long, sweeping strokes. The rhythmic motion combined soporifically with the satisfied purring to lull her back into dreamland.
     
    Forty five minutes later, a resounding BANG! from outside in the driveway awoke her with a start. Grabbing her satin robe and pulling it tightly around her body, she opened the curtain to see what was happening and gasped. Her husband’s Jag, with its DR#1 personalised plate, was concertinaed into the oak tree at the corner of the drive, and his bloodied head rested at a strange angle against the steering wheel. His griping about the ice on the road and the danger it presented had finally proved founded.
     
    Her hand shot to her throat in sudden shock at the scene before her. People were running towards the car but it was obvious they were too late to do anything for him. But slowly, her shock morphed into a totally different emotion as the meaning of the accident sank in. Her face broke into a huge grin, she grabbed the cat into her arms, and began a dancing pirhouette around the room. She wouldn’t just be enjoying a few hours’ respite from his complaining today ~ now it would be eternal. She threw her head back and laughed, a glassy, tinkling laugh, and she and KittyBaby danced on…
     
    (MP66 01/10)


    Triples With Emma

     

  • United friends Challenge – “Don’t Judge a Book” Jan 20, 2010





    SkyeRider’s challenge - 

     

    Write an essay or a poem about one of today’s social ills.  It can be fictional, such as a poem written from a drug addict’s point of view, or it can be your opinion, complete with why a certain problem bothers you and what you feel should be done about it.  Or even what you are doing yourself, such as volunteering in a soup kitchen.

     

    One stricture:  Don’t let your piece be a lead in to a political rant.  We are from several different countries here in UFC, and I’m sure each country has its own problems. *smile*

     

     

     

    Don’t Judge a Book

     

    I see the way you look at me

    As you document my history.

    Your sharp eyes scanning me up and down;

    Your brows drawn into a superior frown.

    I know you think I’m such a waste

    Of your hospital money, time and space.

    It’s my ‘own damn fault’ so why should you care?

    But you’ve not lived my life. You’ve not been there.

     

    I had a job too once, kept me in good stead;

    A home, a wife, a young family fed.

    I was on great money, 100K a year!

    I was riding high on the good life and thought I’d nothing to fear.

    But harsh economics took it all away.

    My coping mechanisms poor, yes ~ I was led astray.

    I’d always believed in the “Just say No”

    But my friends egged me on and I “just had a go”.

    “It’ll make you feel better” they told me, and true…

    For the first few months the drugs saw me through.

    But their grip got tighter… and tighter… and tight,

    And when there’s no fight in you, you simply can’t fight.

    My veins getting smaller, scarcer and shot

    One bad hit enough to start the rot.

     

    So here I am now, in your withering gaze,

    With you firing your questions, your labyrinth maze.

    You try to draw blood and my arm throws a jolt.

    That hurts like hell! But no sympathy, I can tell…

    It’s “all my fault”.

    I thought nurses were supposed to have compassion, feeling and care,

    But when you deal with “the likes of me”

    I can see it isn’t there.

    Your skills are precious, “don’t I know?”.

    You’ve real patients to see.

    The poorly. Deserving. Genuine ones…

    Not the scum of the earth like me.

     

    Your lips don’t even have to say the words,

    I can see it right there in your eyes…

    The ones that soak up the mess I’m in now,

    With no thought for the wherefores, or whys.

    But look beyond my needle-tracked arms,

    The bruises and the bones.

    I’m a human being, just like you ~

    I just fell on harder stones.

    I was someone in my life before ~

    A husband, father, brother.

    Please treat me with a little respect…

    Don’t judge a book by its cover.

     

    (MP66 01/10, non-fiction)

     

    I wrote this because it was something that always bothered me a lot during my ten years as a Registered Nurse in England. We treated a lot of addicts and alcoholics on my ward ~ this could have been written from either standpoint. It used to really get my goat at times, the way some nurses would treat them. Especially as, which my colleagues knew, my partner at the time was a heroin/crack addict, then alcoholic after he got clean from the drugs, himself.

    TRIPLES with EMMA