Friday Flash Fiction – Who am I?

At my beginning unnoticed,

Disturbing a few blades of grass.

At my departure miles wide,

Or so it seems to those who pass.

 

Older than any empire,

I’ve watched over cities and towns.

Crossed by legions, traversed by millions,

So often I’ve changed my bounds.

 

I am the setting for history,

For politics and power.

Painted and prosed by the famous,

Unfortunates dreaded my tower.

 

I’ve sucked down many to their deaths,

That was never my intention.

Gentle meadows are what I love,

Not man’s intervention.

 

The city turned me dark,

Hemmed me in with squalor and hate.

I’ve been loched, bombed and tunnelled,

Till my very bed vibrates.

 

My fortunes like tides fall and rise,

Stories captured for many to tell.

Painted by Turner, Canaletto,

Written by Dickens, Jerome and Wells.

 

I dream of a spring in the meadow,

And wonder am I still me,

As my banks sink and salt currents swirl

And I’m swallowed by The North Sea.

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Silly Saturday – Finding The End of The Rainbow

Reginald loved painting

Adored colours

Inspired by what he saw

Never stopped trying to create

Beautiful pictures

Of all the colours in the

World

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RED ladies dancing gracefully

ORANGE  shades of autumn trees

YELLOW downy hair of his baby son

GREEN turbulent seascapes

BLUE skies with Constable clouds

INDIGO flowers in his garden

VIOLET vivacious surrealist shapes

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Robert took photographs

Anytime, anywhere, anything

Integrated technology

New digital camera

Beautiful images

Of the real and unreal

Wonderful colours created by the computer

Salisbury Cathedral

RED balloons in the sky

ORANGE flowers magnified

YELLOW striped bumblebees

GREEN rolling hills and fields

BLUE racing cars

INDIGO  eyes of lovely ladies

VIOLET twilit skies

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Reginald regularly exhibited

At shows and displays

In galleries and art rooms, but

No one bought a single scene

Browsing, gazing, frowning, smiling, leaving. If

Only, thought Reginald, I could see the

World and find more colours.

 

23

Paint the perfect picture, try a new

Approach

Investigate

New colours

Try to find THE END OF THE RAINBOW

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Photos are the way, said Robert

Acquire a computer, find a new

Interest, begged his wife,

Never leave us, but Reginald

Took his leave

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RED desserts he crossed

ORANGE robed monks he met

YELLOW sunrises beckoned him

GREEN turbulent seas carried him towards the horizon

BLUE southern skies warmed him

INDIGO light on the mountain top dazzled him

VIOLET flower that bloomed once in a lifetime, pierced his heart, but still he

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Roamed on and on

Around the world

Into the wilderness

Never giving up hope of finding

Better colours

On the other side of the sky

Wondering if the end of the arc lay there

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RED tinted clouds

ORANGE sun

YELLOW rays

GREEN waters

BLUE raindrops

IDIGO mist

VIOLET shimmer

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Pausing, praying

Reginald asked for

Insight

Saw his

Maker, who said

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Remain still

Avert your eyes, do not go

Into the colours, But

Nearer he went

Brighter and brighter

Onwards in

Wonder

 

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Gazing at the shimmering spot where the

Rainbow burned into the

Earth, darkness fell on his soul and he saw a

Yawning chasm where all was GREY

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God spoke to

Reginald. I showed you all the colours of the

Earth, but still you asked for more. Go

Yonder and see no more.

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Silly Saturday – Staycation

 

There’s a hold up on the motorway,

After junction 59.

Rain is heavy, sky is grey,

Traffic stopped in line.

Must mean we are on holiday.

2

 

Day two and still it rains,

But we have an agenda,

Uncle Ted to steam train,

Then visit Aunty Glenda.

She’s in the Royal Infirmary.

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Day three on sunshine beach,

Lots of places to go.

No holiday is complete,

Without a secluded cove,

Scenery and strangers to meet.

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Bridges over rivers and bays,

Lighthouses, harbours and piers,

Rolling fields and bales of hay,

High crumbling cliffs to fear.

Where shall we go next day?

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Houses of National Trust,

Cathedrals with towers to climb,

Great statues of rust,

Museums and art sublime.

Then home at last we must.

 

Salisbury Cathedral

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Silly Saturday – Various Verses

                                              Beach Hut

 

Six years we’ve waited for this wooden box,

With flaking paint and rusty locks.

There’s barely room to stand,

The floor covered in sand.

The towels are damp and musty

And all the shelves are dusty.

 

But the kettle and mugs are well in reach

And there’s a great view of the beach.

In the sun we sit and read books

Waves beckon, costumes hanging on the hooks.

Wet and cold return for hot tea,

Strip off and dress in modesty.

 

The neighbours are close, two inches away,

Her next door is topless today,

His huge stomach should not be seen,

Thank goodness for the screen between.

The other side are out of sight,

Soaring under parachutes bright.

 

Their boards dip the waves, then ride up high,

We sit and watch them in the sky.

If we fall asleep as we usually do

We won’t notice when they drop from view.

Until we hear roaring whir above the wave

As Coastguard hovers, kite surfers to save.

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New Things

 

How to adore new things.

No need to buy, to bring

The sensual delight

Of touch, smell and sight.

 

John Lewis sells to you

Cotton, wool, silk, bamboo

Knitting yarns, skeins and such,

Many hues, soft to touch.

 

Call in at the bookshop,

Look out for new stock,

White paper, page pristine,

Smooth spine, jacket clean.

 

Tack shop for leather new

Saddles, bridles on view,

Shopkeeper hopes to sell;

No, just here for the smell.

 

Go down to the saw mill

Experience the thrill,

Newly sawn scented wood,

Golden sawdust feels good.

 

Ancient ocean, old land,

New waves, new tides, smooth sand,

Grains glitter, sparkling foam,

Before feet start to roam.

 

Sunrise reveals hard frost,

New scenery at no cost,

White landscape, yours to view,

Air sharp, breath anew.

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Silly Saturday – Potty Poems

                        Garden Gate         

 

The man next door has a notice on his gate,

ALL CATS WHO ENTER, BEWARE YOUR FATE.

For he prefers two legged creatures,

Those with wings and feathers as features.

 

Four legged creatures who climb, chase and bite

Beware of getting in my neighbour’s sight,

For the man next door is a very good shot,

His eyes are sharp and his fingers hot.

 

Blue Tits swing on the latest contraption,

Before grey squirrels get into action.

Wood Pigeons plummet, Sparrows flutter,

He presses a button and snaps the shutter.

 

Doves coo, Crows squawk, Magpies chatter.

Wren in the hedge hears him natter.

Blackbird sings, Robin hops and follows him around,

Worms and grubs aplenty when his fork goes in the ground.

 

The man next door tied a letter to my gate,

Welcome new neighbour, we surely will be mates,

If my views you share; dogs and cats detest

And make friends with all creatures who build a nest.

17

 

                                     True Love        

 

Robbie was my true love,

He stole my heart one day.

He came to fix the plumbing,

When I was in dismay.

 

He said ‘Where is your stop cock?

That’s where we must begin.’

As leaks sprung all around,

My feelings he did win.

 

It’s location I knew not,

As the kitchen he did roam.

‘May I search your cupboards?’

‘Please make yourself at home.’

 

His voice was melted chocolate,

I did not mind the flood,

As eyes of startling blue

Stirred something in my blood.

 

Shall I put the kettle on?

Was all that I could say,

When Robbie the hunky plumber

Stole my heart that day.

 

He soon was in my cupboard,

Found the valve to turn.

As he knelt upon the floor

My cheeks began to burn.

 

I caught a glimpse of waistband,

Calvin Klein was what it said.

An inch of sun tanned back

Made my face turn red.

 

He filed and sawed and screwed,

As he mended all the pipes.

The sweat began to pour

Down his manly big biceps.

 

We sat out on the patio,

At last his work was done.

Wine and chunky sandwiches

To eat out in the sun.

 

He called upon his mobile

To cancel his next call.

‘Shall I check your heating,

Then will that be all?’

 

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https://www.seanhenry.com/sculpture/