Pen Friends -
The pilgrim trail by Dave Bryant
Sliding from the slipway on a pilgrim trail
Trying to catch a wind that would fill my sail
Ran into a hurricane that made no sound
Turned me inside out and ran me aground
Ended up stranded in a dead-end bay
There was no food or shelter, had to get away
Fighting for survival i had to fly
Before the situation could bleed me dry
So i shoved of and made for the open sea
Hungry for a haven that was warm and free
But the breeze gave out as the night time fell
I was becalmed, benighted and cold as hell
Brown eyed girl by Jill Curtis
I sat scrunched up on the sofa, eating the microwave macaroni cheese, mildly mulling over how tasteless and bland it was. Much like my life really. It had been 4 years and I was still in the same old job, in the same flat. How many times had I had this internal conversation; get moving, change things, get out more. Thinking and doing were two different things. Just as I sunk further back I heard it again. This time quietly, almost lost in the air. Other nights it had been bold, loud and invasive. ‘You my brown Eyed girl, do you remember when…’ Someone did because this tune had invaded my space for the last fortnight. Any other song may have gone unnoticed, but not this one. Who played this every night, always at around this time in the evening. Who else had Van Morrison’s haunting gravelly voice echoing round their head
Topic: 'A misunderstanding'
Grandchildren come first by Wanda Sellar
Mary reluctantly opened the front door to her daughter Elizabeth. She had agreed to look after her grandson Christopher, but things had changed. Mary braced herself for the inevitable recriminations.
“Hello Mum,” Elizabeth said as she breezed in with the three year old. He was quite the little angel with his blond hair and big blue eyes, very much like her daughter Elizabeth when she was younger.
Mary hugged her daughter and kissed her grandson and hoped things wouldn’t lead to an argument, which they invariably did when Elizabeth didn’t get her own way. That was her father’s doing. Spoilt her rotten.
‘I’ve got something to tell you Mum,’ Elizabeth said still in the hallway.
‘Funny enough, I’ve got something to tell you as well,’ Mary stated.
Elizabeth looked at her expectantly, but Mary couldn’t bring herself to speak Courage had failed her.
Topic: The Garden Shed
The Garden Shed by Dave Bryant
Prologue: MEN NEED SPACE TO INSULATE
THEMSELVES FROM EMOTIONAL
CONTACT. THIS IS THE TRUE
MEANING OF THE SHED………………Mr Matthew Tyrrel of North London.
Give me a modest and peaceful retreat
That’s bloke-ish and homely, not overly neat
With a sofa and stool for the weight-off-my-feet
And a stove to embrace me with comforting heat
A haven where a body can potter and tinker
A sanctified place where a fellow might linger
To savour a Cadbury choc-o-late finger
With a fine well-made cuppa and no-one to hinder
(Dipped twice in my cuppa with no-one to hinder)