The Object of Pursuit of an Inner-Saboteur

14/03/2010

Haiku

old man bowed his head

awaiting the winter rest

hasty frozen grip

                                                                           ****

in the burning sun

on a sunday afternoon

glass of lemonade

                                                                           ****

he arrived early

a father-daughter embrace

green-eyed freckled girl

Happy Mother’s Day!!!

Today is Mothering Sunday. Hope every Mum receives lots of extra hugs and kisses from her children, hope today is very very special 🙂

Here’s a story I wrote for my kids a couple of weeks ago. I know, I know…still a bit clunky, but as soon as I stop procrastinating I’ll sort it out 🙂

.

“Alfie Brown’s Day Off School”

The winter was snowy               

And turned the world white.

The village of Giggleswick

Woke from a very cold night.

.

The kettles got busy,

The dogs wagged their tails.

The adults kept yawning

And moved slower than snails.

.

The parents poached eggs

And the children had toast,

On crisp Monday morning

Decorated by frost.

.

The voice on the radio

Advised to keep warm.

It said the school’s closed

Due to the snowstorm.

.

Most children went out

To build a snowman,

But young Alfie Brown

Had his own curious plan.

.

“That’s cool,” he grinned

And ran to his room.

“I’ll set up my rocket

For launch this afternoon.”

.

He put on his spacesuit

And helmet with microphone.

Then spoke to space traffic control

With a professional tone.

.

“The Moon expedition

Is ready for …”

Alfie stopped talking

And stared at the floor.

.

He rubbed his eyes,

Then dropped his toy,

Because in front of him

Stood the tiniest boy.

.

“Who are you?” asked Alfie.

“And how did you get here?

I’m busy commanding.

You must not come near.”

.

“My rocket is ready

To fly to the Moon,

So cover your ears

In case it goes BOOM!”

.

The little boy shivered

And whispered: “Hello,

I’m Peter the Crumbeater

And I live one floor below.”

.

“My house has been frozen

For three days and three nights now,

So I have been sleeping

Inside your old nightgown.”

.

Alfie looked puzzled.

“One floor below?

There’s nothing down there

Except for the burrow.”

.

“It’s under your floorboards.

I don’t need much space,”

Said Peter the Crumbeater

With a smile on his face.

.

“Your rocket looks awesome!

Please let me watch.

It’s so exciting

To countdown for launch.”

.

“I’ve eaten your cheese crumbs

And I’d like to repay

By helping your mission.

So, what do you say?”

.

Alfie considered,

Then said, “Please do.

The mission’s success

Depends on its crew”.

.

“Thank you, Commander,”

Said Peter saluting.

“I’m waiting for orders,

Whatever needs doing.”

.

They opened all windows

Facing east side of town.

Then took the positions

And started the countdown.

.

The rocket reached ceiling,

Then fell on Alfie’s head.

It gave him two bruises

And crashed on his bed.

.

They tried five more times

Without any luck.

The rocket hit furniture

And kept getting stuck.

.

“I have an idea,”

Said Peter excited.

“I’m small enough

To fit in inside it.”

.

“Fantastic!” yelled Alfie

And helped Peter in.

Explained the controls

And checked rocket’s engine.

.

“Have fun and eat

As much as you please.

The moon’s made of crackers

And best kind of cheese.”

.

Alfie then waved

 And shouted: “Goodbye!”

Peter waved back

And gave him a smile.

.

He flew out the window

And above the tall trees.

Towards the Moon

Made out of cheese.

.

All boys and girls,

Please don’t forget

To wave to Peter

Who flies in his rocket.

.

He flies round the Moon

And turns the stars on.

He eats cheese for lunch

And sleeps at dawn.

13/03/2010

“Insomnia”

Filed under: poetry — Monika Thornton @ 20:35
Tags: , , , , , , , , , ,

The night creeps lazily on the ground

and whips the world with stinging tail.

The hunt for grovelling victims

knows no mercy and compassion.

She throws her weight around with me;

loud hissing calls for blind obedience.

The artisan of gloom illusions,

she claws her way to my conscious

and summons me to the Mystic Kingdom

of darkness and obscurity.

.

Oh, how I relish her flawed instincts!

Her sham methods and misperception.

This is my triumph and my victory.

She fails to soothe my racing heart

and tries in vain to swoon my psyche;

her wicked blows ricochet off me.

She disappoints and dissatisfies me

with her neophyte-like ignorance.

Still, I choose to play her sordid game,

silent masquerade of defeat.

.

I hear my footsteps on the lino;

resonance of the ticking clock.

Silence is an unwelcome mate.

I laugh out loud to mask unrest

sensing vibrations of my pounding heart.

Victory loses ground to fear

menacing in its lady’s cloak.

Herculean task of setting foot

in confines of my barren bed.

I reach for ashtray and cigarettes.

.

Raw screams and cries of howling wind,

they summon me to join the dance.

The litter’s clanking in the yard.

I count the seconds of eternity,

then toss and turn in web of darkness.

I long for dreamless sleep and rest.

The night is punishing me for fraud.

No lucid dreams for who betrays her,

the sentence is harsh and unrelenting.

She’ll shatter me like a pane of glass.

“The Man and His City”

Filed under: poetry — Monika Thornton @ 20:04
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he grew up in this city’s dirt
flying paper aeroplanes into ceiling sky
holding to his mother’s skirt
frightened of the shopping windows
where the frozen mannequins
stared with deadly eyes

he became a man in this city
where behind wrought iron gates
lived a girl with freckles
who stole his willing heart as
it matched her polka dot red dress
they kissed in the clouds of cigarettes
and matched their footsteps blending in with crowds

he grew old in this city
where the street lamps marked his route

and the townhall clock marked his life
unrecognized passer-by
staring in and staring out
old man who fed the pigeons
and loved his city like his wife 

“Is there a prince in there?” K. Blixen

I have decided to create a blog purely for my creative writing projects. I want all of my stories and poems in one place. Some of them I am happy with, some still need work… I used to hide my unfinished projects in a drawer promising to come back to them, but I never did. This is my virtual drawer, my compost heap, a place where I’m hoping my work will mature 🙂  I’m also hoping for a boost of motivation and inspiration, you can never have enough of that!

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