Not fun, not fair #3 by Kaye Locke

Not fun, not fair #3 by Kaye Locke

He looked like a gypsy
brooding eyes and
wisps of brown curls.
How could I resist when
He invited me to waltz?

I never expected the spinning
to be so dizzying,
or the music so deafening.
He threw a curveball
And won my heart.

Then bought me candy
that sparkled in the bright lights
of the ferris wheel
where we swung high and saw clear
to our cloudless horizon.

On the rollercoaster of reality
we swooped and sunk,
and screams punctuated
the nauseating motion
Of the not-so-merry go round.

We twirled together
down the helter skelter of life
where only dank earth
waited for our landing.
Entwined, we hit the bottom.

We tried the dodgems
but couldn’t escape
our car crash lives
and ended up in a house of horror.
The dark tunnel of lost love.

Kaye Locke

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They think it’s fun! by David R Graham

They think it’s fun! by David R Graham

Most of the villagers weren’t church goers. But Sundays were days of rest.
That Sunday was no exception.
It was a heatwave. No-one was inclined to do too much.
The village was quiet, and peaceful.
I was prepared. A ploughman’s, a jug of Sangria, and a bottle of white wine were cooling in the fridge.
I got comfortable on the swing chair in the shade of the chestnut tree.
The latest Lee Child lay to hand.
I was naked beneath my dress. That always got Ryan going: my own Jack Reacher; working on a day like this, poor soul.
I had just followed Lee Child’s Jack Reacher into the fourth chapter when it happened.
Several cars came over the humpback bridge and roared through the village.
They screeched round the war memorial and roared back to the bridge.
The air was rent by shouting and hollering and shouting.
Seething with anger, I strode to the bottom of the garden.
From the top of the compost box I had a clear view of the bridge.
My heart sank.
Seven cars blocked the street. Their engines running, their doors open. Rap music assaulted the air.
A crowd of yobs blocked the bridge.
Several of the yobs clambered onto the bridge. They whooped as they jumped into the river.
Two of the cars spun their rear wheels in a cloud of white smoke then raced passed below me.
They screeched round the memorial cross and raced back to the bridge.
They were having fun.
I was angry and frightened. I got down off the box and went and called the police.
The operator was sympathetic. She assured me that a patrol car would be along shortly.
The cars roared up and down the road: their drivers shouting, their horns blaring.
Twenty-five minutes later, I called the police again.
There had been several calls about the disturbance. As soon as officers were available they would attend.
My neighbours called.
We were afraid.
We consoled and encourage.
The wives and mothers wouldn’t to let their husbands confront the youths.
Two police officers arrived in a patrol car. They parked well away from the bridge.
I joined my neighbours gathered by the church.
The officers took statements.
Then they drove down to the bridge. They did not get out of their car.
They came back.
They had told the yobs to keep their speed down and not to obstruct the highway.
They advised us to call 101 if the youths caused any further disturbance.
Then they left.
The yobs watched from the bridge. They were laughing and joking and gesticulating. And they were waiting.
They waited until the patrol car was well out of sight. Then they started all six cars and began to spin their rear wheels.
The banshee wail of screeching rubber filled the air and the bridge was enveloped in a cloud of white smoke.
I went indoors and called the police.
Officers would attend as soon as they were available.
The cars roared back and forth.
Horns blared.
The yobs hollered and shouted.
Again we called the police. Again we were told officers would attend when they were available.
I went to get my book. I would have my lunch indoors.
Returning from the garden I heard a familiar sound.
I went to the gate and looked to my right.
The cars were back at the bridge.
I look to my left.
Jim Possey’s JCB was rumbling down the street. A muck grabber bucket was attached to its yellow snout.
Where’s Jim going?
What he’s doing?
Surely he’s not going to…?
It wasn’t Jim behind the wheel.
The driver wore a black boiler suit and balaclava.
I watched open-mouthed as the vehicle rolled by.
I closed my mouth and looked to my right.
The yobs were watching the JCB.
They were triumphant.
But they were uncertain about the JCB. Its gaping talon-like bale grabber and bucket looked predatory.
It was not slowing down.
The yobs saw the black clad driver.
They grew wary. They prevaricated.
They wanted to be obstructive. They stayed where they were.
The JCB stopped.
The bridge was blocked.
The driver got out of the cab.
He swung easily onto the bonnet, stepped lightly onto the grabber and dropped out of sight.
Then he stood up.
He reached both gloved hand behind his head and drew two long black sticks from the back of his boiler suit.
I jumped down; raced indoors, bound up the stairs, cleared the bed, and reached the window.
My jaw dropped in disbelief.
A black whirlwind was scything into the yobs crowded onto the bridge.
Like ten pins struck by a bowling ball they fell left right and centre before the blur of the whirling batons.
A hardcore of yobs rally; armed themselves with beer bottles, and charged.
In the blink of an eye it was over.
All of the yobs lay about the bridge as though felled by a gas attack.
Their black clad assailant returned the sticks to the back of his boiler suit; gripped the nearest yob by his clothes, hauled him to the far side of the bridge, and laid him on the verge.
He repeated that same manoeuvre eighteen times.
I thought he was finished.
He wasn’t.
He got back into the JCB and drove slowly over the bridge.
The bale grabber opened, the bucket skimmed the road, and scooped up a black Golf Gti.
The JCB did a three point turn; drove off-road, and tipped the car down the embankment.
I was in a trance.
The JCB performed the manoeuvre five times.
Then it stopped.
The driver got out. He walked across the narrow meadow; vaulted a fence, jogged across the adjacent pasture, and entered the trees on the far side.
The police arrived: in two squad cars.
They were joined by four ambulances.
To my great relief, Ryan showed up. He had a bruise on his left cheek: an accident at the base.
I told him everything that had happened.
Then I gave him the TLC we both needed.
The following morning we learned that the eighteen yobs had been knocked unconscious. Each of them had sustained at least one broken or fractured bone. All of them had been discharged from hospital the same day.
‘I imagine they’ll think twice about coming back here,’ Ryan murmured sleepily.

The End.

The Hat by Pete Brammer

The Hat by Pete Brammer

The cruise ship Ocean Splendour had been at sea seven days and just entered port at Cadiz.
Penny Dixon-Wright and her daughter Carla Elizabeth, disembarked, to make their way into town. On their way back, Mrs Dixon- Wright suddenly grabbed Carla’s arm. “Look at that beautiful hat. It’s the most fantastic hat I have ever seen.”
The ladies entered the establishment to be met by a tall, long legged, black shiny haired, Spanish assistant. “Can I help you?” she asked.
“You certainly can my dear.” Penny pointed to the hat on the manikin, in the window. “I would like that hat, my dear.”
The assistant reached in and removed the hat. “You like it very much? Yes?”
“Yes. Very much.”
Minutes later she skipped out of the shop, box swinging from her hand, with a beaming smile across her face.
“I think you are happy mother, you look as if you’ve lost a penny, and found a thousand pounds.”
“I’ve never paid so much for a hat in all my life, but it sure was worth it.”
“It’s my cousin Jessica’s wedding soon after we get back,” said Carla, “It should be perfect,” she grinned. “There’ll be a few bursting with jealousy mum, you can bet.”
The following day, Mrs Dixon-Wright strutted up and down the numerous decks, like a peacock showing off her new headgear.
Suddenly an unexpected gust of wind whipped the hat off her head.
“Oh God! My beautiful hat!” she screamed, running across the deck, only tosee it fly off into the ocean.
Seconds later, passengers gasped as a crew member hit the water. “Man overboard” the cry went out.
It took what seemed an age, for the ship to eventually turn round and head back in the direction of the unfortunate seaman.
When they eventually rescued him, he was holding aloft the hat, with passengers cheering loudly.
As they hauled him back on board, the captain slapped him on the back. “Woodall, you should not have put your life at risk like that, especially, not for a bloody stupid hat. But after saying that; is there anything I can do for you?”
In reply, the crewman said. “Yes captain, you can tell me who on earth pushed me in!”

Freycinet by Angela O’Connor

Freycinet

Freycinet so far away
but everyday I see you.
Your wineglass bay looks
at me whenever I close
my distant eyes.

Golden sunset, white sands and
ice cold water. The Antarctic
winds never mimic another.
Bountiful land I love you so.
Untouched by man-
unfortunately no.

Still you are here, for all to see;
Freycinet never that far away.

Light by Michael Healy

Light by Michael Healy

My bed was in a slept-in mess, for I had just awoken.
I picked my feather pillows up, crumpled but not broken,
They felt so very light, compared with their size.
My brain began to wake and rise,
And my thoughts came as no surprise.
What is Light?

We know what Einstein said;
Energy equals mass times a constant squared.
E = mc2, that constant, c, is the speed of light
299 792 458 metres per second.
Thus, mass,m, is crucial to the energy as it beacons
Light is energy. The more energy the brighter the light.

I switched on my bedside lamp.
This had a halogen bulb, very energetic, very bright.
All around my room was excess light.
I opened my room’s curtains. Outside the dawn was dull.
Daylight was late coming, clouds filtered sunlight from being full.
This greyness made me sad.

What is it about light, it seems to affect people’s mood.
Bright light and the soul is cheered,
Darkness and gloom prevails, almost feared.
But the human soul interacts with its environment and light.
Indeed light is crucial to life on earth.

Without light:
Our bodies cannot synthesize crucial vitamins and hormones,
Plants cannot photosynthesize; no vegetables, fruit and flowers.
The World would be a dull, lifeless, monochrome; a cold place.

Thank goodness for the light of the sun,
For the warmth and light in our homes.
May the light waves from the sun, and their photon particles,
Continue to brighten our lives.

Dr Michael Healy

IF YOU TAKE LOVE AS YOUR MISTRESS by Barrie Purnell

IF YOU TAKE LOVE AS YOUR MISTRESS

There are some things in life you can’t comprehend or control
Affairs of the heart and that which lies deep in your soul.
Love is a mistress that you cannot command or constrain
An enigma a mystery that you can never explain.

If you are looking for love then you had better beware
If you take love as your mistress she isn’t forgiving or fair
She will mess with your mind until nothing is what it seems
She is just too dreamy for real life and too real for dreams.
She is a fallen angel who comes to you while you sleep
Searching your mind for commitments to steal and to keep
You are in a prison without bars and her hypnotic hand
Will hold you without touching wherever it is that you stand
The drug of her beauty will invade your heart and your mind
She will prove without doubt that so called true love is blind
When love is your mistress her rules you will have to obey
If you give her your love she’ll take your freewill away.
She will bind you tightly with jealousy and with mistrust
And will ambush you with a confusion of passion and lust
And when your emotions are laid out naked before her
She will clothe them in your tears which is all she can offer
When love is your mistress she’ll drain you of reason and sense
You may meet by design or just by coincidence.
She can take you without warning and give you no time to flee
Very soon you will have forgotten what it’s like to be free.
If you take love as your mistress she will seduce you with lies
If she succeeds you find she’s taken your soul as her prize.
She can be all things to all men and will enslave you with her charms
As you lie innocent and unsuspecting in some lover’s arms.
She is without mercy demanding surrender right from the start
Leaving you defenseless against another attack on your heart

Picking love as your mistress is just a gamble you take
You are gambling with your heart if you lose it will break.
The book of love gives you all the odds if you bother to read
Why when so many have failed are you so sure you will succeed?
Love’s a one way journey which has no route map or chart
And few successfully end it from the many hopefuls who start
She will change you forever for better or maybe for worse
Too late you will find out if she is a blessing or a curse

If you take love as your mistress and drink deep of her pleasure
You know from that moment she is your mistress forever
If you’re lucky she will give you eyes that won’t shed any tears
And a transfusion of trust to banish your doubts and your fears.
She will weave you dreams from roses to blot out your yesterday
You will have no regrets you will be happy that she stood in your way
She will invade every part of you from your head down to your heel
Mere words on a page won’t describe how she’ll make you feel
She will ignore all your weaknesses and tell you that you’re strong
Let you live the romance you knew before only in poetry and song
So go ahead and take love as your mistress that is if you dare
But remember my warning from someone who’s already been there
Only take love as your mistress if you think you can handle the role
She may be your one true love and you’ve nothing to lose but your soul