Message in a bottle – 2

Character, Humour, Places, Poetry, Tale

Salford, 21st July 2017

Remember that piece I wrote about the message washed up in a bottle ?  I’ve given it a little thought and wrote what might have been on that rolled up paper!

Messageinbottle

 

Sat, as I am
on this deserted isle

I’m sending this message
to make someone smile

Being stuck on this island
isn’t much fun

even though theres blue skies
and lots of sun

so I’ve drawn you a map
and hope you might see

to send out a crew
to rescue me!

Billy the Conqueror

Childhood, Fun, Poetry, Schooldays, Tale

Conquer

 

Could it be fate, that

at 11.06 a new king of the schoolyard was crowned ?

In a Hastings school conquest with the town folk watching

Harry saw his hopes and dreams shatter

into a hundred different pieces

over the tarmac floor

But unlike his namesake – he didn’t get any in his eye

Putting the bootlace back in his pocket

he sought reflection, under a nearby Horse chestnut tree

Maidens hearts fluttered as the crowd jumped and cheered

whilst lads in the playground greatly revered

the conker as hard as a diamond….

and its owner – William – the Conkeror!

A small note from inky…readers might be curious on the time in the piece….1066 transposed on a digital clock…and there’s 60 mins in an hour😉

Treasure

Acrostic, Myths, Sailing, Tale

Treasure

Taken from merchant ships, by

Rascals of the seven seas

Every pirate worth their salty sea legs

Admires the prize of jewels, silver and gold doubloons

Some keep their precious horde hidden

Under tropical sands , deserted shores – only

Revealed many moons later by a younger

Explorer, following the pirates charts and maps

Eerie

Cities, Photography, Spooky, Superstition, Tale, Treat, Treats

DSC00552.JPG

eerie

Eerie, by Brian F Kirkham

 

The most frightening thing about Halloween – Nothing’s going on!

No cars moving down main street

No children around saying “Trick or Treat”

Not a sound of a Movement in the midnight air

Look out of the window – there’s nobody there

but floating through air – the willow-the-wisp

telling tales of fairies in the sky cold and crisp

followed by friends of the cold dark wood

and you cant hear them sing – even though you should

the eeriest thing this whole Halloween

the most lifeless street that you’ve ever seen

Six word story challenge : Anticipation

Tale

27th February 2016

Recently i’ve been taking part in the Six Word Story Challenge run by one of my fellow bloggers Sometimes Stellar…

here’s the link :

https://nicolaauckland.wordpress.com/2016/02/27/sometimes-stellar-storyteller-six-word-story-challenge-23/

This weeks challenge : A six worder on Anticipation – Here’s my Take on it

Chocolate Pudding for Afters – Can’t Wait!

A Tale of Old Boots

Camping, Character, Description, Memories, Outdoor Pursuits, Outdoors, Prose, Tale, writing

In a part of the corridor, just by the stairs by the front door, lies a pair of Old Black Boots. It’s been quite a while since they have been walking. Their leather is worn from the passing of time and many a moorland excursion. Lakeland water now pools at the toes.But they still feel right. As if once put on, they could take their owner from their Salford home out to the hills of Perpignan and back again, covering miles along the way and without a mutter or moan.

Now, Rugby boots and training shoes might be fine for a sportsman at Old Trafford but they don’t cut it on the fields of the West Yorkshire Moors. If these boots could talk, the tales they would tell – of covering rocky paths once stepped by Roman Legionaries, of campfire ditties sung round old ancient stones, and of moonlight illuminating mugs of steaming hot Beef Tea.

They’d sit outside tents so the groundsheet stayed clean, observing the melodic snoring around them.  And leave their owner a morning surprise if they hadn’t been left under the flysheet. They would walk for miles as their owner crossed field and moor, praying that they would avoid the hidden cowpats. Of course they’d get cleaned on one day, just before parade, as the group amassed around a solitary flagpole.

And when they got home, they created a bit of a fuss. Left outside on the evening news on a step by the Garden lawn.  Local politicians now have the boots treadmarks of mud and clay imprinted on them.  But then again, wi’ these boots – they’ve no interest in politics – unless it’s rights to roam.  The bucket and wire brush look threatening, next to the bin.  But these boots know – you can scrub em till the cows come home – this mud sticks!

Where they’ll go next, is anyone’s guess. But for now – having had a ‘tidyup’ – they just sit on the varnished wooden shelf, looking quite a sight with dark brown Yorkshire mud entrapped in the soles. They look at themselves in the tall hallway mirror and think of the streams they’ve crossed and the moors they’ve run, the bracken broken for kindling and stiles climbed in fun.

Mountain Meadow

Good Companion