Morse code

Yesterday the weather was lovely so I went for a walk around the village green. Unfortunately my phone will not send the photos to my laptop via bluetooth. Both machines are old technology, although 5 plus years in my view isn’t old, and certainly need to be swapped for newer models.

Technology moves much too fast! I don’t like to use the WordPress app on my phone as the thing keeps freezing and the app is fiddly anyhow so I sent them to my Instagram account, which is easier to use, along with a short video of birdsong if you fancy having a gander.

I managed to write four short poems three of which will be for my next book and one I’ll put here as it concerns the fixation we have with our phones plus it made me smile in a “flipping doodles you’re supposed to be out walking with your dog” kind of way while I was watching the person and also writing it 🙂

Morse code

Dog walker
your eyes
hugging that screen
while your free hand is
text, text, texting

Dog stops and sniffs

A momentary glance
behind as you are pulled back to reality
then more hugging and
text, text, texting

Dog lifts a leg
to leave his own message

Dash – dot – dot – splash!

“It’s Friday.”

A rather strange story from March 2013

~

Thursday is a funny old day come clocking off time. Funny because we get paid on a Thursday, and funny because we get paid not only in cash but also in booze or any particular thing we care to partake of at the hotel bar; it’s a sort of end-of-week treat and yes I know, Thursday isn’t the end of the week but we never work Fridays.

I clock off and head for the bar as per usual only to find it shut; isn’t it a bind when something steals the rail tracks from our routines? What to do now, it’s never shut and never ever on a Thursday, as that me-thinks is when they claw back their money. I turn around and head for the exit but flip me if that door isn’t shut too!

Confused is only a mild term to what I’m feeling now. I turn around and head for the reception desk to speak to our most heavenly Matilda; I tell you, just looking at her gives me tingles, and her perfume, ah.. my god it sends the tingles into eruptions of synaptic bliss.

She isn’t there! The Bar shut, the exit shut …

Instantly the tingles are replaced by a cold sweat, my head whirls in confusion and I faint but not before having the most delicious whiff of her perfume.

I wake up and I’m in bed, but not my bed. I’m in bed with Matilda and the tingles are back.

She looks into my puzzled eyes and whispers, “It’s Friday.”
“Friday, but..?”
“Call it a promotion, we’ve been watching you and you suit our purpose just fine.”

She leans over and I’m hers … oh that fragrance …

I wake again to find myself covered in a kind of fluid sheet. Matilda is next to me, joined to me, digesting me …

Oh, perfect sweet chemistry … I feel like a Beatles song.

Eldritch the fat, son of…

This is the situation upon which Eldritch – son of Alwyn, grandson of Easchlen, Great-Grandson of that worthless peasant (who didn’t ever do a day’s work, yet always seemed to get fatter), Wyrnsnold the third – found himself pondering.

“If I eat more than Wyrnsnold, will I be immortalized in a story of fifty-five words?”

~

The prompt from dVerse was to write a fifty-five word story.