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Flee The Sky – A Tanka

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Shadows stain asphalt,
roads tainted with silhouettes,
light consumed by dark,
salt crystals masked by ebony,
till night, when Sun flees the sky.

Tankas are five-line poems originating from Japan, though in a short time, they have become popular in English poetry too. Like haiku, its shorter poetic counterpart, the tanka’s short structure means that precise word choice and painting a picture in the reader’s mind is at the forefront of writing in this style.

Apple Pie!

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Arnold Part 2

It was dinner time at Arnold’s’ house on the corner. He had already munched his way through his mini steak and chips, and was waiting in anticipation for his pudding. Arnold loved his pudding, always gobbling it down, often leaving a mess on the dining table. He was rolling his spoon around on the kitchen table surface, his mind on the pudding to come. Sometimes the puddings he didn’t much like (and they were few), would start to taunt him. They would sing and shout, telling him to eat them, even though he didn’t like it. This would especially happen with Apple Pie.

Arnold hated apple pie. For that reason they were especially nasty to him, unfortunately tonight he was having, apple pie! Mrs P. placed the freshly made pie in front of him, and before he could turn his nose up at them and push the plate away, the apple pie started talking to him. It’s lid opening as a mouth.

“Hello Arnold, its pudding time! Eat me, eat me, ha ha ha,” it sang.
“Go away. I don’t like you.” He whispered. Arnold turned to mum. “Mum I don’t like apple pie, its taunting me!”

Mrs P turned from her washing and in her soft patient tone she replied. ‘Just eat it!’
“But Mum, I hate apple pie!”
“Eat!” Mum replied, her tone with a hint of anger.
“You will eat me! Mum, mum, Arnold’s not eating me, ha, ha.”
“Stop it, stop it. I’ll never eat you,” Arnold whispered in reply. His voice a little louder this time.

“ARNOLD!” Mrs P shouted. “Stop talking to yourself and eat your pie, NOW.”
“Ok, Mum,” Arnold said meekly.

He was about to put the pie in his mouth when his older brother Alan burst through the kitchen door and plonked himself on a chair. He ran his hands through his greasy hair and noticed that Arnold was whispering to an apple pie.

“Who are you talking to squirt?” Alan’s voice sounded neither high pitched or deep toned. He was heading into his teenage years.

“Arnold, Arnold. Your brother’s voice is breaking. You think it’s funny, don’t you Arnold.” The apple pie sang once more. “Alan”, the pie screamed, “Arnold thinks your voice sounds strange, and he thinks you’ve got a big nose too, ha, ha, ha.”
“Stop it,” Arnold screamed.
“Stop what? Squirt,” Alan responded.
“The apple pie has been making fun of you. It said that your voice sounds funny and that you have a big nose. It’s trying to wind you up and blame me”
“Said what? You’re weird Arnold, just weird.” Alan exclaimed, his voice more high pitched than normal. “I’m not going to waste my time talking to strange little kids like you. I have a date with Suzie to think about.”
“Who’s Suzie?” Arnold asked.
“Alan’s got a spotty girlfriend,” the apple pie sang.
“Mum, please tell this apple pie to stop. He’s driving me mad!”

The situation was driving Mrs P. mad. What with a 5 year old boy talking to apple pies and a teenager whose voice was breaking and already thinking about date nights with girls. She turned and gave Arnold a stare, that was clearly implying him to shove the apple pie in his mouth!

‘This is fun, isn’t it Arnold?’ The apple pie screamed in delight.

Arnold decided that enough was enough. He wasn’t going to get the blame or a punch from his brother. So although this was going to be very tough, he closed his eyes, opened his mouth and in one huge gulp he put the pie into his mouth. Down it went, still singing and laughing as Arnold started to chew. Thankfully the ordeal was over, the pie had stopped singing. He jumped down from his chair and was about to go and play when Mrs P, turned to the boys and told them something that was to ruin their day.

“By the way Arnold. Terry will be babysitting you tomorrow night. Your father and I are out at Mavis’s for dinner.”

Arnold’s misery was complete. Having just endured eating the horrible apple pie, now the news that Terry, the hippy who lived next door was going to babysit him. He turned and dragged his feet across the floor. Knowing what impending doom was to greet him when Terry would knock on the door tomorrow evening. Alan turned to Mrs P.

“Whats wrong with him?” Alan asked.
“It’s Terry, he’ll have to sit and listen to him going on about Prog rock music and such like.”
“Ah,” Alan replied. “Impending doom indeed!” He stated.

From a Soldiers’ Girl

From the depth of my heart,
it cries and yearns for you to come.
Though as I think of the sound
of the meticulous gun shots,
carelessly flying across battlefields,
I hear the “steady-sounding”
but fake promises,
the cries of pain and the endless prayers
of men knocking on Heaven’s door.

How to solve these inequities?
I will never know.
I will only wait and hope,
for the moment I meet your eyes of gold.

Inspired by a war soldiers’ girlfriend

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Mystical Bonds

Mystical Bonds

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Blue is the piercing eyes staring right into yours, the windows of your soul
White is the blizzard outside, hurling daggers of icicles into the rock face
Grey is the stone cave, bringing refuge and protection
Orange is fire, flickering in the corner bringing warmth
Yellow is the flickering light, illuminating the cave
Red beads of crimson blood, being washed away by careful hands
Silver is the clean and silky fur, almost glowing

Although these things can be seen
Some things cannot
Like the bond between us and animals
An invisible link of companionship and trust
A mystical force bringing unity

– Inspired by Timid Rainbow 😉

Timid rainbow

Red is the soft blush on your face.
Orange is the small lamp that leads me through the darkness of the world.
Yellow is the warmth of the sunlight that shines through the window, softly waking us up.
Green is the forest that seems to gently comfort us when we are hurt deep inside.            Blue is the deep, deep ocean, that holds the mystery yet to be discovered.
Indigo is the dusk sky, and the small tinge of sadness at the corner of our hearts.        Purple is the colour of the delicate flowers that signal the subtle end of the spring.
The timid colours of the rainbow will always exist,
somewhere in the depth of our memories.

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Missing

candlelight

Looking for a purpose

Searching in the darkness

There is nothing I can do

Sitting on a dusty shelf

Peering through the window

Which is cracked

Like a spiderweb etched in glass

Stars shine brightly

Rays of moonlight

Stretch out

Like a silent sleepy cat

Lying on the broken

Creaky floorboards

Somebody grabs me suddenly

From behind

And flames erupt

As part of me

As I slowly melt away

But I am happy

It is not dark anymore

A flickering light

Can be seen

Like a playful puppy

Chasing away the sleepy cat

Spreading happiness and light

For a moment in time

But joy doesn’t last forever

And neither do I

But I know

I have been found

By my other half

We are not missing

As I become a puddle of wax

My last memories will not be missing

But found in the candlelight

My candlelight

Created by the flame and I

Not missing but found