"Jim's Tale" (Entry 553)

This is the tattered tale of a cat called Jim. 

He was ragged and scared and painfully thin. 

It started when his owners bought a kitten that year. 

Soon Jim was forgotten, unwanted, thrown out on torn ear. 

Spent his time, touring bins, but they offer a little picking. 

If seen by the humans, he cowered away from a kicking. 

Shaken and frozen, famished day and night. 

Poor moggy Jim lived out his plight. 

Then one fateful eve, when this destitute kitty was near his end. 

He limped to a warm spot for this time to spend. 

Upon a warm grate, he curled up his scrawny lot,

And drifted into dreams right there on the spot. 

He dreamt of smiling faces and cuddles and bowls of fish,

He dreamt of strokes, a fully warm belly, and his own milk dish. 

He dreamt of being lifted and floating in the air,

He dreamt of loud music, coloured lights and an red armchair. 

On and on, as he slept, the perfect dream persisted,

Then Jim realised he was awake, this wondrous place existed!

For he had found rest beside the stage door,

The theatre caretaker taking him in as rain began to pour. 

Slowly, he nursed Jim back to life,

Fed him, cleaned him, no more strife. 

"It's good to see you alert, ma old fella,

It was touch and go there, I'll tells ya!"

"This is your home now. You'll be safe, warm and fed." Frank the caretaker told him. 

"Anyone who finds their way to our door, will never be out on a limb."

"But you'll need to earn yourself a wage. 

By greeting people, and keeping rats from the stage."

Frank smiled and stroked the furry face. "What you think on that?"

Jim blinked and purred. A whole new start. He was now a Theatre Cat! 

"Prelude to a Fantasy Life" (Entry 536)

He stood on parapet,

staring out at verdant rolling meadows.

Farm workers plower fields, the start of the season.

He sighed as he turned to look beyond the cliffs

to see the sparkling surging sea.

Glistening azure as the sun rose on this day.

He love this country.

His country.

Commanded all he could view and beyond

to the green deep oceans that lapped his island.

A jewel which would have never existed,

if he hadn’t been born.

"Wise of Old" (Entry 534)

Savage sages,

adept men of ages.

Wizards of magic.

Dark art tragic.

Learned teachers,

haggard features.

Mage of old.

Philosopher bold.

Who are the wise ones?

What do they know?

Are there still bonds?

Where do they go?

"Muddy Shapes in Fog" (Entry 533)

Travelling all night

Reach forest end.

Slow going 

on motorbikes,

dodging the main,

opting for dirt.

Tracks thick with mud,

this time of year.

Riders wearing most of it.

Them and the bikes.

Ears and mouth and guards

full of mud.

Taste of sodden soil, 

wet grass and worse.

Drink from water bottles.

Don’t wash.

Don’t waste.

Mist, their companion.

Throughout the night

lay heavier within the enveloping trees.

Ancient wood stretching out,

deeper than sight could see,

or mind imagine.

Fog swirled around headlamps.

The only bright disturbing the black.

Snapping sound.

Handlebars swung to focus light

to the forest.

Shape in the fog.

Their nightmares became real.

"Real Thing or Emperor's New Machine?" (Entry 529)

Gigantic machine throbbed and gleamed in the man-made cave.

Deep underground away from curious eyes.

They’d hoped it meant out of sight, out of mind.

Didn’t want what they were trying to achieve to come into question.

Given out statements to the scrutinised and selected media

using enough techno-babble to confound and impress.

Wanted to make it vague enough but seem as simple as possible 

than none would want to embarrass themselves

by asking what they were really doing.

The Emperor’s new clothes for intelligence. 

No one wants that belittled.

Numbers aligned.

Now.

Now they were ready to stare into the face of tomorrow.

Now they were ready to time travel.

"A Spot of Turbulence" (Entry 521)

Flying on for eight hours now.

London to Los Angeles.

Plenty of miles to go.

Captain made this trip a hundred times.

His bus in the sky.

No problem.

A snitch.

Auto pilot one.

Meal on lap,

when the crosswind hit.

More than turbulence.

Passengers petrified.

Screams seeping through 

the security non-terrorist door.

This was a hijacker of another kind.

Mother Nature’s wraith. 

Don’t doubt the danger of this woman’s scorn.

Actions in natural reaction.

He was the pilot on auto taking control.

Pulling his bus out of swerve and skid,

to smooth out on gentler winds.

He lifted the microphone, 

in caressing tones eased travellers fears.

Then switching the intercom to private and

spoke to one of his delicious but rattled cabin crew.

“Amanda, I’m awfully sorry. 

I’ve been a terrible dolt.

Any chance of a new meal.

I dropped my tray in that tiny jolt.”

"Granny's Closet" (Entry 518)

“It’s in the closet.”

His granny said.

“Go fetch it. Go on! Don’t dally, my silly Ally”

Alistair gulped.

THE CLOSET!

Granny’s closet.

Ally scared.

Each step on brown faded floral carpet took him nearer.

Hand on rail, 

where paint worn down by years of use,

he heaved himself up the stairs,

like a mountaineer tackling Everest.

He heard his nan bustle into the hall behind him,

tying her beige silk scarf around her neck.

“Ally! Don’t dally! We’ll be late!…

…MOVE!”

He scuttled to the top,

Nan’s bedroom door, wide open, in front of him

and through that door, he could see

THE CLOSET.

Big and wooden and hide and carved and ancient and evil.

Trainers step by trained trainered step,

the closet looming ever larger before him.

His nose now no more than nineteen centimetres away 

from its deplorable doors.

Alistair reached out and

turned the blackened iron key.

"The Drop" (Entry 515)

Head raced.

Packet hidden.

Pace towards exit.

Too late?

Clock glanced!

Not too late!

No choice. No choice?

Fingernails dug to palms.

Hankie retrieved.

Face wiped.

Keep calm! Keep calm!

You'll get there!

Head down.

Shoulders raised.

Hands shaking,

shoved into pockets.

Right touched parcel,

Adder sting of evidence.

Remembrance of 

what must be done.

Door reached.

‘Miss! Miss!”

Pace quickened.

Heavy hand on shoulder.

Spun round.

Heart pound.

Face to face

Security Guard with

guarded smirk.

“Sorry, Miss.

You didn’t hear me.

I think you dropped this.”

A glance down to 

Her hankie!

(Gratefully retrieved. 

Out of the exit. 

She'd make the birthday party

after all!)

"Disco Beat Death" (Entry 496)

1 - 2 - 3 - 4

The disco beat bounced through his head.

BeeGees with sledge hammers.

That infernal tune on internal loop.

That bloody adverts fault,

meant to save lives.

First aid,

CPR,

chest compressions to the rhythm of ‘Stayin’ Alive.’

Ironic,

now the victim was Forever Dead.

He’d been there, willing them along,

counting his breaths, 

trusting they would keep the patient going,

as they attempted to stop the blood from literally 

Going down the drain.

He didn’t see the car hit,

but from what he was looking at now,

it must have been a head-on.

Over the bonnet and thrown into the gutter,

Like the rest of the unwanted discarded detritus.

He stared at the body,it looked empty.

A shell, some call it,

like you could hold it to your ear and

still listen to its past life, like

The distant roar of the ocean.

No, that mass of meat was nothing but compost, or ash, now.

He should know,

it was his body he viewed through

non-existant non-corporeal eyes.

He knew he should be reviewing his life,

or regretting what he should or shouldn’t have down.

Trouble was, he couldn’t stop thinking about that fucking tune,

“Ah! Ah! Ah! Ah! Stayin’ Alive!”

He prayed it wouldn’t last into eternity.

"Hallowe'en Travels" (Entry 488)

Husky hushed whispers 

This vesper time. 

No song, this eve'n. 

Only tear-stained dusk. 

As it must. 

A deathly air caresses this twilight. 

Darktide stallions take flight. Beware!

For they're worse than nightmares. 

Allowed from their world, past 'in-between.'

They have the power on Hallowe'en. 

******************

Happy Hallowe'en!

🌜👻🎃👻🌛

"A Grave Tale" (Entry 487)

A grave expression was what was required

For this undertaking. 

Needed to be dead-pan, for this death's plan. 

Sober-sided at muddy-sided hole. 

The whole thing bleak and deep. 

Then the coughing started,

As the coffin started to descend. 

Disrupted proceedings at this fellow's end, no end. 

A funeral, no fun at all. 

"One Sideways Glance" (Entry 436)

He wasn't a religious man,

In fact, he was a Dawkins fan. 

So why was he praying to every God?

To keep them safe, his team, his squad. 

A sideways glance was all he needed. 

To send the alert, the warning which should be heeded. 

To spot their mark, let him make his move. 

Bring about success, they'd much to prove. 

Keeping sharp, he shifted weight. 

Ready, waiting, their man to locate. 

Grasping into pocket, his revolver. 

With one sideways glance, it'll all be over. 

"She Kept Her Eyes Shut" (Entry 435)

She kept her eyes shut,

As nurse went about her busy-ness. 

She kept her eyes shut,

Wanting to be left awhile longer. 

To linger in dreams before the din. Monotonous routine of day screamed in. 

She kept her eyes shut,

To stave off the relentless chatter

the nurse would rattle as soon as knew she was awake. 

She kept her eyes shut,

And listened to metal clatter on metal,

Dull clank of glass to ceramic grazed.  

The judder and jar of her bed as the head was raised. 

Cover blown! Eyes open. Banter began,

As sheets were shed to be replace by crisper and cleaner. 

Along with flurry of washcloths and water,

Made her cleaner too. 

She shut her eyes against the blush. 

That rose in cheeks, before

Night gown replaced and smoothed. 

Teeth brushed and then her hair,

With daily compliment about colour so fair. 

She kept her eyes shut. 

As she was pulled forward to have pillows plumped. 

She lay against the nurse's own plump lavender scented pillows 

Which nestled beneath starched white uniform. 

Laid back in place to catch, 

by cough in throat, 

the whiff of peppermint toothpaste and chewing gum,

Fighting with tobacco base note. 

She turned her eyes and fixed their gaze 

on open windows, curtains caught a breeze. 

Detection of the world out there,

To be seen in and to see,

Experience and be part of,

But that wasn't her place to be. 

She shut her eyes. 

Her life was these four buttermilk glossy walls, white ceiling fan,

The starched smoky nurse 

And the open windows, now fully draped.

She kept her eyes shut. 

Yet, the tears escaped. 

"Rampage Moan"* (Entry 418)

on Lurdans Soil 

where Sailors Lund,

and Inland Lours,

Around Sills

(and Slod Urinals)

of Lurid Salons

by Lunar's Lidos. 

Old Insulars

of Lunar Dossil

sat to see

Sallo Sundri

and hear

Radios Nulls,

(Orals Unlids),

the Rolls Unsaid.  

but friends gathered,

Allison Ruds,

Darius Nolls,

Dillion Sarus,

Dollar Sinus

and Lola Sundris 

to quest, retrieve

Aldrin's Soul. 

onwards, onwards

Aids Unrolls

until to reach and see

the Lunar's Idols 

on Dias Unrolls. 

the Unsail Lords

from Snod of Arillus 

screamed out and

In Soul Slard

like Surloin Lads. 

job accomplished,

in view of the

Solr Sundial,

through Ruins Allods, 

lives on in Lairs Unsold

the LaDinos Slur

broken down pieces

of RUSSIAN DOLL. 

***

* Title - "Rampage Moan" = "Anagram Poem."

"Barman! Barman!" (Entry 412)

"Barman! Barman!

Have you any booze?"

"Yes, mate! Yes, luv!

What you wanna chose?"

"Whiskey and Jagermeister. 

Larger from the Danes. 

Vodka, Gin and Bacardi 

Topped off with fake champagnes."

"Barman! Barman!

Have you any booze?

I need to get drunk,

Inhibitions, I must loose."

"Yes, mate! Yes, luv!

I've got it by the bottle. 

Just give me cards or ready cash and

You can have the lottle!"

"Born A Thousand Tears Ago" (Entry 386)

Born. 

A thousand tears ago. 

A thousand million light years away. 

A place blown to

A thousand million billion pieces 

In the Dymantism Conflict. 

That was the best thing to happen to it. 

It wasn't a town on a planet.

It was a breeding ground on a facility. 

Conceived in embrovats. 

Developed then sucked from the gel 

To dwell and be raised in optimum statis. 

Fed nutrients and knowledge. 

Extracted waste and individuality. 

Breed, born and betrayed. 

Genetically grown grunts. 

The best thing to happen to that place was when it was blown apart. 

Artificial wombs went boom!

I should know. 

One of their Spawned Warriors, made to order, made the order.

I pressed the trigger.

"Today was Different" (Entry 381)

Car park cordoned. 

Police patrol. 

The Strip stripped of a stretch of side road. 

Twenty four hour partying under neon never noticed. 

Though traffic backed up. 

The boy with the lunch pail,

bit his lip, 

worrying how this would 

effect his tardiness record. 

Proud he never received a slip. 

Today was different. 

Mom wasn't taking him today. 

Mom wouldn't have taken him this route,

past the casinos and strip joints. 

He never knew that she didn't want folks to recognise her,

while he was with her,

near her place of work. 

Today was different. 

Uncle Mike was taking him. 

He'd been his Uncle for a month now. 

He told the boy, his mom had to go into work early. 

He was upset she hadn't told him herself, 

when she kissed him goodnight,

but he wasn't going to tell Uncle Mike that. 

The boy was still afraid of him. 

He bit his lip again. 

Then coughed,

"'cuse me, sir... err - Uncle. How long will we be? I don't wanna be late, you see as..."

He broke off at the shrug viewed through the rear mirror. 

Uncle Mike went on ignoring the boy to pop a window, and lit a joint, as he sneered at the rows of cop cars. 

The boy slide down on the sticky back seat and 

peered out the lower edge of the dirt ingrained glass. 

He watched bored police leaning against hot hoods and cool shaded walls. 

He saw the ambulance, 

all flashing lights and sirens,

lost in the cacophony of Las Vegas. 

He saw the stretcher and black bag on top. 

A long black bag. 

Containing something. 

The boy frowned. 

He was expecting to see a man, 

or even a lady on the stretcher,

like he'd seen at the hospital that one time,

when his mom got bruised and broke her nose, 

by a silly fall down some stairs, 

and Uncle Benny stopped coming around. 

He'd like to be a paramedic, or a police officer, or a scientist, or a fireman, or an astronaut, or a doctor, or Justin Bieber. 

"What's in that bag, Uncle Mike?" The boy asked. 

"Bad news for someone today. You wouldn't wanna be that person now would ya, boy?"

"Ashes" (Entry 377)

Ashes. 

She was used to seeing ashes. 

Fireplaces in every room of the big house where she worked. 

Lowly maid, cleaning grates, when she was younger. 

Much younger. 

Then she met him, in line at the pictures,

His face a picture as he offered her a cigarette. 

Knowing from that first moment. 

Together Forever. 

Ashes.

Happy cleaning her own fireplace. 

House proud. Proud of her life. 

Their own place. Home. 

Where they raised their family. 

Happy. Together Forever. 

Ashes. 

She washed the ashes from her devastated son's face,

As they climbed over the rubble of their home - 

Bombed, burnt to the ground - Blitzed. 

Knowing that as long as her family where at her side and 

He was fine on his far off duty,

They would build their home again. 

Happy. Apart for Now, but Together Forever. 

Ashes. 

She laughed along with her family 

As the ashes from Chinese lanterns landed gently around them. 

Fireworks shone in some exotic celebration. 

Singapore where she followed him on his last posting and 

She learnt about style, silk and sophistication. 

Happy. Together Forever. 

Ashes. 

She'd often brush the ash from his hair each morning

As he returned from late nights at the Foundry. 

Back in Blighty, saving hard

To put the children through good schools and colleges. 

Happy. Together Forever. 

Ashes. 

She cleaned the ash trays 

Filled to the brim after part-time work in the pub to pay for holidays and family presents and treats. 

Or those used at home in evenings with friends. 

A time full of music and dance

And Gin and Tonic and John Players and 

Benson and Hedges and Martini. 

Happy. Together Forever. 

Ashes. 

She was use to ashes,

But not like these. 

She stared into the Urn. 

Cough turned to blood which turned him ashen. 

Cancer. 

Cigarette ashes to ashes. 

Dust to Dust. 

Knowing one day, she'll be with his again. 

Happy. Together Forever.

Together Forever. 

Together. 

Forever. 

Forever. 

"The Summons" (Entry 375)

Metal-tipped stiletto heels echo on marble floor. 

Reverberate in smoke-like tendrils to somber dome above. 

Nervous unrhythmic tapping,

As an ancient typewriter hitting and leaving its mark. 

Repetition rebound around the rotunda atrium melding into next. 

It wasn't fair!

She had been summoned. 

There was no refusal. 

She arrived on time,

But had been kept waiting. 

Sweat her out!

Why was she made to feel guilty?

She jolted as sight met with uniformed guard, 

And held. 

Steely blue ex-service beneath peaked cap to 

Brown and teary, fighting fear, to point of sending mascara flowing in inky ribbons over alabaster cheeks,

As pale as any statue that graced this hallowed hall. 

He sat as judge, jury and executioner 

Behind raised and ruling oak desk. 

Her gaze fazed first. 

Desperate to find new eye line. 

Hard, dark, wood bench. 

New project.

She sat tentatively on the same spot as 

Rumps by the multiple had polished before. 

A grey suited identikit drone loomed and slithered from behind a heavy ornate door.

Her fingers gripped and well-worn edge as she screamed inside. 

Why her? 

What was she doing here?

It wasn't her fault? Wasn't her desire?

Who truly wants to work here?

Not her!

Why go through all this when she didn't want the job!

She rose to go. 

But the drone approached. 

He lifted his chin a little higher to peer down her nose to her. 

Nostrils quivering as he sniffed,

"Miss Cavendish. Your father will see you now."