Dang it! Let’s hang it.

Linda, today suggested a stream of consciousness concentrating on the word ‘rope’. My own consciousness is hardly a stream these days – more like a puddle. A stream would imply some sort of direction which, in my case, would be towards dark places. A muddy puddle, perhaps. But more like a dark void.

But that’s enough of me. How’s everyone else feeling today?


I’ve had a go at life
And life just couldn’t cope
We had a go at sex and drugs
But there was insufficient dope
No chance of a redemption
(I’ve spoken to the Pope)
No point in me just hanging ‘round
When all I do is mope
I’ve a proposal for the devil
I think we might elope
I guess I’ll go and hang myself
Do I have sufficient rope?


What Lingers Beneath

I wrote a brief response to the doggie people and realised, upon stumbling across it again (somebody actually liked it!) how poorly worked it was and thought, to feel a little less dumb, I should make some basic corrections.

It still doesn’t really work, but it is a post, and I’m struggling to post anything at all at present.


Fingers playing
Under the sheets
Minds entwined
Where love greets
Itself. With skin
Heartbeats within
Tap out a tune. That soon
Becomes a melody
For you and me
Perfectly matched
But have barely scratched
With those fingers
What lingers
Beneath the surface


The Catacombs

I turn up for about 1 in 50 of Sami’s prompts . In truth I don’t turn up to much at all these days.

But I have actually visited the catacombs a few times, though I had almost forgotten – that other life of mine being so far in the past. But since the catacombs themselves are all about past lives I thought that I might pay homage one more time.


Christians lying in a row
Secret tunnels down below
Away from Roman prying eyes
Faithful man goes when he dies
This resting place, this final home
Here within the catacomb
Where I, an atheist at best
Am humbled, quietly impressed
By faith itself, by pure belief
By death that came as pure relief
Here rest believers of the past
Perhaps you’ve found your God at last
May your eyes still somehow see
The meaning of the mystery


OK …. it doesn’t quite work. But it is 77 words!!


Free Pie

I decided to open up WordPress this morning and respond to the first challenge that I saw, and Charli Mills is, thus, the dubious recipient of my short-term attention span. Her challenge …. to write a 99 word story about free pie.

I would not normally consider writing about pie. I don’t even like pie. But that is the nature of a challenge, I suppose. And, at least, I didn’t have to actually eat one. And it’s not really a story.

But it is 99 words.


This body, clearly not ideal

Is purely circumstantial

Decisions on my every meal

Entirely financial

Caviar, imported wine?

A lovely suggestion ….

restaurants where I’d like to dine

Remain out of the question

Fast-food options, far and wide

Upset my self-impression

The lack of taste, a loss of pride

Leading to depression

So hungry for both for love and food

And lacking satisfaction

A desire to enhance my mood

Will put me into action

I’ll find a lady, short and stout

With a patisserie

I’ll woo her, and I’ll take her out

Then I’ll get my pies for free