Three funerals and no wedding.
Not quite the ratio one would like.
But, at least we shall get to see the old country once again.
Through the wind and rain to the land of milk and honey.
Or, milking stools and honey traps?
Milking stools are probably a thing of the past.
And who needs to trap honey when it is readily available in jars?
So, we shall just see what there is to see.
And who there is to see.
And see how it goes.
“How goes the day?”
We’ll rain-check you on that.
There is a Haiku locked up inside this sentence – please don’t let it out.
Fu and Fa.
Between Fu and Fa there was a growing silence. Not that a silence can grow – what would it grow into without it becoming something other than a silence.
Anyway, I digress, as I do. And always have done. Even from an early age. When I was younger. Obviously.
However… on with the story.
Fu and Fa stood looking at each other.
Eyeball to eyeball. Mano a Mano . Face to face. Toe to toe. Who would be the first to blink?
So, silently, and motionlessly, the two statues continued their sparring.
Posted in Poetry
Tagged #prose, #vss, story
I Tried to Write a Tanka ©️GraemeSandford
Today is the day when my Tanka’s to be done – I tried to write one; but, sad to say, I couldn’t, so wrote a prose piece instead.
Do You Read These If They Don’t Have A Picture?
‘Plinketty-Plonketty’ Peter Penquite (the second ‘e’ of which is pronounced thus giving it the full three-syllables of silliness – ‘Pen-Kwit-e’) was, shall we say – yes, let’s – quite pernickety.
Well, that’s a story for a post far longer than this one.
One hundred words.
How on Earth am I going to do that?
Can’t be done.
Nobody in their right mind would even try such an enterprise.
Mankind, myself included, is not ready for such strange writing formats.
What about crafting my words alphabetically using every letter of the alphabet four times? Missing zeds, obviously.
No, wouldn’t work – far too silly.
Perhaps, by seeking inspiration through prosaic research articles, productivity has potential.
Sadly, someone’s library ticket has recently expired.
Subsequent foraging readily confirms text books tell tall tales – destiny recommends: try again tomorrow.
Once upon a time…
… there was a short story.
It wasn’t long at all;
and it wasn’t at all tall.
So short it was,
and set out so,
that it thought it was a poem;
but, it wasn’t.
It didn’t have much to say;
but, one day,
under the bluest of skies,
It left it’s home
and went off to seek fame and fortune.
the short story settled down
with an extract from Coleridge’s Mariner,
and they lived happily ever after.