Can You Tell A Story In…

It’s Thursday and your new five-word challenge is here. As I’m going to be out of action after my surgery, here are three prompts to keep you going. I’ll publish all your stories when I’m recovered and back blogging.

Prompts:

KISS

SANDWICH

DEODORANT

Here are your STAMP stories from last week:

Kim Smyth:

Dad loaned me a stamp.

My card needed a stamp.

Stamp received. Card sent off!

Ritu:

He stamped on my heart.

Stamps are bloody expensive nowadays!

Hand stamped. Nightclub entrance guaranteed!

Christine Mallaband-Brown:

Stamp out motorbike theft now!

Your stamp of approval please?

Stamp your feet, it’s cold.

best treasure? Penny Black stamp!

She stamped on his toe!

A postage stamp sized garden.

Keith Channing:

Stick To All Mail, Please.

Lance Greenfield:

Stamp thefts – Police arrest male.

Butterfly stamps and palace disappears.

The camp tramp stamped daintily.

Screaming Violet Elizabeth Bott stamped.

Rubber stamps can be fun.

Travelling stamp stuck in corner.

Every stamp tells a story.

Stamp out spread of viruses.

Stories need stamp of approval.

Food stamps are history now.

My passport: my stamp collection.

EDC Writing:

Stamps, licked, steamed off, displayed.

Paul Mastaglio:

Post late. Second class stamp!

Ruth Scribbles:

I’ll stamp my feet forever!!

Linking People 2003:

Sir Rowland Hill invented stamp.

Knighted for inventing postage stamp.

First adhesive postage stamp, 1837.

Queen Victoria’s head on stamp.

Penny Black Stamp for penny.

Don’t stamp feet instead breath.

Passport needs valid visa stamp.

Stamp on visa invalidates it.

Inky franking mark invalidates stamp.

Invalidated stamp cannot be reused.

Stamp with signature needed officially.

Articles have company logo stamp.

Fructochlorophyll will have SunShineSwasth stamp.

Medals were stamped with dies.

Cricketing ability stamps him valuable.

Leaders stamp authority on team.

Project has stamp of authority.

Soldiers’ stamp of boots seen!

Government did stamp out corruption!

–

And here are some stories from Tessa on the prompt FRUIT from the previous week:

I don’t consume enough fruit.

I love fresh fruit salad.

My favorite fruit is bananas.

***

Laughing Along With A Limerick

It’s Monday and limerick time. I’m giving you three prompts this week. Unfortunately, I’ve got to have some more shoulder surgery, so I’ll be out of action for a while. But I’d love to see your limericks so please send them in to give me a smile. I’ll publish them all when I’m back blogging again.

PAIN

HEAL

NURSE

Here are a few limericks to make you smile this Monday. The prompt last week was TRAIN.

Keith Channing:

Train for the race, I was told;

Running, you’ll never grow old.

And so I agreed;

I did my best speed.

Now I’m just knackered and cold!

Ritu:

Now, that really is a pain

Can’t believe I did it again

Just a tad too much booze

So I had a snooze

And I’ve gone and missed my train!

Cathy Wattam:

As an actor, I do like to train

Caped crusaders are often my game

I auditioned as Robin

But ended up sobbin’

Because I was cast as Bruce Wayne.

–

There once was a man in the rain

Who had waited so long for a train

That his clothes were all soaked

And a passenger joked

That he looked like he lived down a drain.

–

It is a real bugbear of mine

That I can’t find a train that’s on time

So I stand here and wait

Know full well I’ll be late

It’s always those leaves on the line.

–

There’s one thing I’d like to explain,

I get kind of frisky on trains

I’m a great womanizer

Yes, I am the train driver

But I’ve yet to find someone complain!

–

When you are riding a train

It’s best not to take your Cocaine

The train might be busy

And you’re feeling dizzy

The question is – are you insane?

Kim Smyth:

More people should ride the train

It would keep them out of the rain

The roads less clogged

Their minds less fogged

Once working they’d use more of their brain!

Christine Mallaband-Brown:

An 0-6-0 train in steam

Makes my hubby smile and beam

The Flying Scotsman?

He is a real Fan!

Driving it, that is his dream!

Trent’s World:

Beth married the conductor of a train

So her wedding dress had a forty-foot train

It wasn’t much fun

The thing weighed a ton

To wear it she had to exercise and train.

–

Bob trained real hard in vault

But the virus put the games to a halt

Go home and pout

For Tokyo is out

Not getting the gold isn’t your fault.

Paul Mastaglio:

Let the train

Take the strain

No more car

For those trips afar

Enjoy your day and return home again.

The Hidden Edge:

The amazing red head, Mary Jane,

Knew not that Spiderman stopped the train,

Her trust was slighted;

Their love was blighted,

Swallowing pride is not what she’d deign!

Lance Greenfield:

My owner thinks I’m just really dumb.

But truly, I’m having great fun.

On “Stay!” I run,

And I leave on “Come!”

Training treats are filling my tum!

–

We boarded a train going to Delhi.

The driver was giving it welly.

We’d not been going long

Before we were singing this song:

We’re going too fast! Our legs are shaking like jelly!

–

We all went out for a dinner in Staines.

I chose chicken Madras for my main.

The weather was foggy.

And my rice was all soggy,

So I sent the dish back to re-strain.

Linking People2013:

Education is to train the mind to think,

Station master minds the train without a blink!

School master trains the mind,

Former minds, the latter trains and is kind!

Freight train or camel train, train the camera to click!

Ruth Scribbles:

I wish I were riding a train

Instead I got caught in the rain

I ran really fast

Went down in a splat

The concussion they say hurt my brain.

Sarian Lady:

I once had to rack my brain,

Whilst travelling home on the train.

I thought and I thought,

‘Till my nerves became fraught.

No ideas, it was all in vain.

Val Fish:

I got caught with a fine on the train

Whilst drunk, pulled the emergency chain

There’s no excuse

For improper use

Note to self; next time engage brain!

***

A Poem For Friday

Many of you know Lance Greenfield and I’m delighted to welcome him to my ‘A Poem for Friday’ slot. Before you read his sensual poem, here’s a little bit about him:

Lance is the author of two self-published novels in the ‘inspirational fiction’ genre. He got into writing by submitting reviews as part of the BBC RAW (Read and Write) campaign a few years ago. There was huge enthusiasm for his reviews, so he resolved to post reviews for every book that he reads on his personal blog, Write to Inspire. He now just loves to write anything from flash fiction to poetry to short stories.

Although he has been writing poetry all of his life, he never shared any of his poems from the time that his English teacher told him that his poetry was rubbish when he was only eight years old until he was encouraged by a tutor at the Swanwick Writers’ Summer School in 2016 to read one of his poems. Since then, his natural flow of verse from his pen has been unstoppable.

Wearing Silk

By

Lance Greenfield

Before I open my eyes,

I see you.

I feel you.

I slip out of bed,

Naked, yet enveloped by you.

I slip on my running shorts,

My shirt, my socks.

But I am already wearing you,

Like a silk cloak.

You envelope me.

You wrap yourself around me.

I am inside you.

As I stretch and start to run,

I feel you,

Soft against my skin,

Strong, soft silk.

My cadence becomes your rhythm.

As I push myself up the first hill,

I wrap myself around you,

Like a silk cloak.

I envelope you.

I wrap myself around you.

You are inside me.

You feel me,

Soft against your skin,

Strong, soft silk.

We are sheets of strong, soft silk,

Intertwined.

Inseparable.

A strong wind tries to rip us apart,

But we merge: a silk banner,

Blowing in the gale,

Defying the storm.

We are so closely bound that

Not even the fiercest maelstrom could rip us apart.

Our every ripple, every wave,

Is as one.

We are together,

Forever.

I wear you like silk.

You wear me like silk.

I am inside you,

And you in me.

We are bonded: a strong silk sash,

Forever.

***

Can You Tell A Story In…

It’s Thursday and your new five-word challenge is here. This week, your prompt is STAMP. So can you tell a story in five words, using the word STAMP in it somewhere?

Here are your FRUIT stories from last week:

Kim Smyth:

Mis favorito fruta es manzanas! (my favorite fruit is apples!)

Ritu:

I should really eat fruit.

Fruity thoughts? Go, eat some!

Fruits of my labour, perfect.

Christine Mallaband-Brown:

Hello! My dear old fruit,

Fruit in trifle? Really yummy!

The tree of life fruit.

My apple bears good fruit.

Fruit and Vegetables. Good fibre.

Sugar and fruit, make wine!

Fruit colours, bright paint ideas!

Keith Channing:

Fruit Remains Until It Turns.

Fruit Rots Unless In Turmeric.

Fruity Recipes Use Intact Tomatoes.

Lance Greenfield:

Murder weapon was fruit knife.

Suffer the fruit of lies.

She’s beautiful yet tainted fruit.

Killer bees attack fruit farmer.

Sharing fruit gives great pleasure.

Eating juicy fruit in bath.

Let’s crush this ripened peach.

Is passion fruit an aphrodisiac?

Eating forbidden fruit is sinful.

Fruit has thousands of uses.

Low-hanging fruit is harvested first.

Hard work yields lush fruits.

Fruit machines are one-armed bandits.

Double cream partners fruit salad.

Sarian Lady:

Picking fruit is very relaxing.

EDC Writing:

Fruit cake? Matter of opinion.

Paul Mastaglio:

Red wine comes from fruit.

White wine comes from fruit.

Love fruit. I really do!

Ruth Scribbles:

I hate most fruit cake.

Joy Smith:

Fruit salad does dental damage.

Tomato. Fruit of vegetable salad?

Kiwi fruit, lost Aussie wanders.

Creamed fruit becomes a fool.

A fruit trifle needs sherry.

Summer fruit pudding tantalizes tastebuds.

Fruity headcovering that Carmen wore.

Apples and pears, fruit steps.

Fruit juice makes cereal breakfast.

Fruit knife in the conservatory.

Fruit salad and carnation milk.

Fruit of my loins, child.

Fruit cake or sponge wars.

Low hanging fruit, Reaper’s pickings.

Eve’s fruit was Adam’s downfall.

Fruit bat shuns laxative medication.

Linking People 2003:

Simon coined fructochlorophyll contains fruit.

Fruit contains fructose unlike sugar.

Sugar has sucrose unlike fruit.

Fructose from fruit better sweetener.

Fruit plus Chlorophyll make fructochlorophyll.

Sweet fruit better than sugar.

Dieting does not yield fruit.

Eating fruit is better dieting.

JJ Smith:

Livingstone Doctor ? – No, Bat Fruit.

wojch:

Not every fruit we eat.

Tastes fruity and so sweet.

Lacking fruitage in the sun.

Bitter, like a sour grapefruit.

***

Fairies Part Three

For part one, click here

For part two, click here

The knife came from nowhere. Eleanor hadn’t seen it before. All she saw was a shimmer of silver and then there was a sea of scarlet. Her mummy didn’t even get a chance to scream. Mrs Draper did. She screamed before she ran down the stairs and out of the house. She didn’t even stop to pick up her clothes.

Eleanor is still now. She is holding out her arms, beckoning the fairies to her. But not scarlet ones. There won’t be any scarlet fairies. Eleanor doesn’t like scarlet.

I wish I could see them. I wish I could be there with Eleanor and feel the flutter of their wings. I wish they would invite me into their magical world and spare me my suffering. Eleanor is fading now. I can’t see her. Come back, Eleanor, come back.

I look around the room. It is so bright, so stark, so empty. The people will be here soon. They think they are helping. I don’t want their help. I don’t want to remember the bad time. I want the fairies to come again. I used to see them. All colours of the rainbow and more besides. Except scarlet. I don’t like scarlet. But they were my friends. For years and years. My only friends, apart from teddy.

The door opens. They’re here.

“Come on, Eleanor, time for your medication.”

I reach for my teddy. Perhaps one day the fairies will come back.         

The End

***

Funny Of The Week

Spoilsport…

Laughing Along With A Limerick

Here’s your Monday smile – it’s limerick time. Send in your own or here’s a prompt for you –

TRAIN

Here are a few limericks to make you smile this Monday. The prompt last week was SPORT.

Keith Channing:

Sport can be fun, but I’m lazy.

Perhaps I’m a little bit hazy,

Only I see no joy

Running like a schoolboy.

Too much and I’m sure I’d go crazy!

Ritu:

I’d rather read, and sit on my bum

But that’s not so good for my tum

Find a child who likes sport

And soon you’ll get caught

Like me, now a true cricket mum!

Cathy Wattam:

My funny old pal was a sport

Liked to chase me with things he had bought

Feather dusters were fine

But I did draw the line

At the snake he was due to import.

–

I can’t find a sport I can do

Up to now I have tried twenty-two

But they all make me hot

I can’t master the squat

And am fearful I might follow through.

–

The day I had just become forty

I decided I should be more sporty

But on the basketball court

I heard someone retort

‘She can’t reach, because she’s such a shorty!’

–

In sport you must play by the rules

We were told at our Primary Schools

But when I got a bad itch

On the new football pitch

I had to start playing in mules.

Kim Smyth:

My youngest son was so good at sports

He could play all different sorts

My other two not so much

They liked gaming and such

And none of the three liked short shorts!

Christine Mallaband-Brown:

A choice between physics and sport?

Which did I prefer to be taught?

Neither, was I good at

My efforts always fell flat!

But Art was always A on my report!

Trent’s World:

Robbie was selling me short

So I decided to take him to court

He returned my loot

So I dropped the suit

I can be a pretty good sport.

–

Bob’s vest sports a flower

Crocheted with much power

All gaudy and bright

It even glows at night

You’d think his bank job would sour.

Paul Mastaglio:

After a lot of thought

We can now do sport

Golf, Tennis or a bit of cricket

There’s the ticket

That’s the end of my report.

The Hidden Edge:

The tennis champ, Lindsay Davenport,

Whether she was on or off the court,

Would take it on the chin,

If she didn’t quite win,

And was always a jolly good sport!

Lance Greenfield:

He was every girl’s hottest desire.

Set my heart and my belly on fire.

A runner was he,

With legs like great trees.

But the spoilsport would not be my squire.

Linking People2013:

Soccer needs much physical exertions,

Unlike chess, players shout to cast aspersions!

Referee’s appeal to be a sport,

But, cricket players take dort!

Match fixing, hidden corruptions!

Sarian Lady:

I was never any good at sport,

In running I always got caught.

Still, I practised and practised,

‘Till I had legs of elastic.

And now I never fall short.

Val Fish:

I was always useless at sport

I’m just not the athletic sort

I’d come last every race

I couldn’t keep pace

And at long jump I always fell short.

***

A Poem For Friday

This week, my guest poet is David Marsden, one of my former Writers Bureau students. Here’s a little bit about David, in his own words:

I started off writing short stories, then I became interested in poetry and non-fiction, so I write a mixture of subjects.

Poetry writing is a favourite of mine because it comes more natural and takes up less time. I also like writing short non-fiction about mysteries. I enjoy digging into the past and researching unusual things.

I entitle this poem The Mirror. An old film about a haunted mirror inspired me. It doesn’t reflect on the story but gave me the idea.

The Mirror

By

David Marsden

The mirror on the wall is old and brown

he bought it from the antiques shop down town

he didn’t know the power it possessed

it’s just a gift for his loving wife, Bess.

---

It’s rather large, she thought, where shall it go

the lounge, he thought, study, she told him so

over the mantle-piece where the flames dance,

to give the room an air of ambiance.

---

He looked into the glass one stormy night

a figure stood behind, oh what a fright

its face distorted as if in torment

its eyes as black as night, its clothes all rent.

---

It laid its deathly hand upon his neck

a grip of iron, one mighty squeeze did break

he fell upon the floor in a dead heap

he’s trapped in the mirror, its soul set free.

---

She could not find her man, he is not there

in all the house, there’s not a single stir

she looked into the mirror on the wall

and saw him there and thought he’d had a fall.

---

But when she turned to help him off the floor

she did not see his body there no more

she once more gazed into the mirror there

again, the mirror held him in its glare.

---

She felt a force upon her neck, a hand

and now she lies in there beside her man

she saw him trapped in glass for evermore

and now there’s two of them, or maybe more.

---

Can You Tell A Story In…

It’s Thursday and your new five-word challenge is here. This week, your prompt is FRUIT. So can you tell a story in five words, using the word FRUIT in it somewhere?

Here are your THING stories from last week:

Ritu:

This thing, too, shall pass.

Need to tell you something.

Things are looking up, finally.

Christine Mallaband-Brown:

The ‘thing’ was truly huge.

My husband loves railway things.

Several things appeared last night.

I’ll be at the thing.

Think not thing-you fool!

An egg and thingy sandwich?

Thing was made of string…

These foolish things – favourite song.

Keith Channing:

Thing a thong of thickthpence.

Things Harvested Invariably Need Gathering.

Trent’s World:

I can’t remember a thing!

Is “thing” a dirty word?

Roberta Writes:

Unknown thing. Approaching Earth. Bam!

The thing I needed. Lost.

Lance Greenfield:

Thong? Thing thumb thing thimble.

Thingamajigs bounce around in Thingamyland.

Viking meeting. There’s a thing!

All things to all men.

Julie Andrews sang Favourite Things.

Always wash your thingy thoroughly.

We’re onto a good thing.

Eating custard isn’t my thing.

Chuck Berry’s thing? His Ding-a-ling.

Cleopatra did her own thing.

Crazy little thing called love.

That was a close thing!

Anything worn under my kilt?

Nothing mostly happens quite frequently.

Heavy breathing on telephone line.

Something emerged from the briny.

Sarian Lady:

I can’t remember a thing.

EDC Writing:

Young, maybe? Fresh another thing!

One thing, two of them.

Thing is, she didn’t know.

Thing is, he couldn’t tell.

My thing thanks to you!

Paul Mastaglio:

The thing is… I’ve forgotten.

I’m late for this thing.

Here’s the thing you wanted!

K Morris Poet:

The thing is somewhat unfinished!

I had this fling thing.

Joy Smith:

Some thing for the weekend?

Things ain’t what they were.

Red jumpsuit for Thing 1.

Thing 1 divorces Thing 2.

Things created by Dr Seuss.

String and thing, kitchen drawer.

What is your saddest thing.

This crazy little thing life.

Things – sings with a lisp.

My thing is getting away.

Brushes with this covid thing.

Have a great weekend thing.

Linking People 2003:

The word “thing” is “pronoun”.

”Whatitsname” is synonym of “thing”!

Idle mind says, “thing”, often!

A thing of the past!

Learning from everything and everyone!

Sentient being feels unlike thing.

Thing is inanimate material object.

Vacuum does not occupy anything.

***

Fairies Part Two

For part one, click here

I am shaking with sobs now. I know the answer. I know the things Eleanor has seen. Things a seven-year-old shouldn’t see, shouldn’t ever know anything about. And I could do nothing about it. I couldn’t stop it, I couldn’t save her.

But it wasn’t always like this. Her daddy used to make her smile. All the time. He worked hard at the shop and came home as early as he could to read her a bedtime story. He used to bring sweets home every Friday. Fizzy cola bottles were the best. So sugary and sweet. Her daddy used to swing her round and round. Her mummy used to scold him for getting Eleanor all excited before bedtime and then he would pull out a bottle of perfume and Mummy would fling her arms around him in forgiveness. Her mummy didn’t mind really. All she wanted was for her Eleanor to be happy. And they were happy. All of them. Such a happy family.

Then everything changed. It was all her daddy’s fault. Horrible, horrible Daddy. Poor Eleanor. Poor Eleanor, who had been feeling sick all day at school and who had come home early with Mummy. Her mummy had gone to school straight from work when they couldn’t get hold of Daddy at the shop. Her daddy had taken the afternoon off work and gone home to bed.

Dear Eleanor. She ran up those stairs when she saw his car outside, all thoughts of sickness suddenly gone. Her fast footsteps didn’t give Mrs Draper from number three much time to wrap Daddy’s dressing gown round herself.

Her daddy shouted at Eleanor. He shouted at her like he had never shouted before. Her mummy came up after her. She was so shocked and so hurt. For a moment, her face had crumpled and the floor had threatened to claim her. Then anger kicked in. Anger at how Daddy had spoken to their daughter. Anger at Daddy for what he had done. Anger at Mrs Draper.

Her mummy told Eleanor to go downstairs then while she marched on, pulling at Daddy’s dressing gown. Eleanor didn’t know what was going on. She thought her daddy was ill. Why else would he be in bed? Perhaps Mrs Draper was ill, too. But she knew something was wrong. It was in their voices and their faces.

Eleanor couldn’t move. She watched the ugly folds of flesh emerge as the emerald green gown fell to the floor. She stood rigid as Daddy leapt up, pulling his trousers past his hips and launched himself at her mummy. Mummy was wild, lashing out viciously and verbally.

Eleanor should have gone. She would have known what was to come next, but she wouldn’t have seen it. It wouldn’t have blasted into her conscious, raw and ragged, day in, day out until the only thing that made sense were the fairies.

Part three next week

***