I Just Don’t Care 26 November, 2012 at 3:47 pm

An exercise to create a piece of poetry 40 lines or less. No subject was suggested, so given all the choices, from a love poem, to something considering the meaning of life, or something about the beauty all around us, is it really that much of a surprise that I just did a rant in poetry form? So I present you, I Just Don’t Care. aka Procrastination On BBC News aka Meh Which side to take on the Wikileaks plight, Or where to stand in the Syrian fight, Or weather to believe revolution is right, Is it all important or are we losing sight? I just don’t care. Scotland has it’s referendum, And we’re slowly losing our kingdom, And the government’s promoting tedium, But do we still have our freedom? I couldn’t ever care. Who’s going to win X-Factor, And who’s this years top actor, As we welcome a new BBC director, Will the be any British BAFTAs? I’ll never ever care. The Internet is full of piracy, Which is a challange to democracy, Politics are rife with bribery, Which could ruin Europes economy, I’d rather not care. Does it matter what Clegg says? Are the British police just plebs? Will the London bombers ever confess? Do you want to see Kate undress? Does anyone care? So my mother is worrying herself, And my father is worrying himself, Because the government is squandering our wealth, And I desperately try to convince myself, That I just don’t care.

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The Mary Celeste 12 November, 2012 at 12:00 pm

The task was to explain the famous mystery. The famous mystery that I’m not that familiar with and didn’t have time to research, so this time there’s a reason for it being hasty and not researched. He saw them all rushing up to desk. Some woman was screaming. Never mind the screaming, just keep cleaning the floor. There were shouts from up top, followed by bangs on the big doors. They wanted him to open the door, remove the barricade. “Sorry Sir” he said, “But Mr Marshall says I’m only to clean” After a while the shouting stopped. Just like Mr Marshall says, if he stays out of things they resolve themselves. He cleaned up to the base of the stairs to the bridge, shiny clean behind him, dripping red ahead. Oh well, will keep him busy. Up at the top step, still red seeping out. He waited 5 minutes after knocking and knocked again. Counting the seconds he opened the door after another 5 minutes. What a mess! Oh well. Don’t touch the crew he was told. It took all day cleaning the red as it leaked out the crew. The next day he unblocked on of the doors to the deck. Mornings he cleaned the deck. More red. The rain from the storm had made it go everywhere, but easier to clean. It took him two days to decide the corpses could be called a mess and cleaned up. The cuts from the sword the man used made quite a mess. Perhaps he should have stopped him when he was running around with all those weapons, but that wasn’t his place. 12 O’Clock. Time to lay the tables. It was hard work doing it all on his own, but he was a good worker. Keep working and don’t […]

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Accidents Can Happen 5 November, 2012 at 12:00 pm

The aim of this exercise was to create a story in 60 words. No more, no less. The problem is, once you’ve started, you’re almost finished so describing a scene kills your word limit. Most stories I’ve seen tend to be jokes instead of stories which is what I try to avoid. He was naked. And cold. That much was plain to see. “What did you do that for?” he whispered. “Sorry..throws of passion and all that” “Throws of passion, not throw them into the canal!” “Hide! Someone’s coming!” “Where?! There’s nowhere to hide!” She pushed him off the path. Splash. “Sooooorrrrrry! Err…I love you?” His body was never found

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Chauffeur Hanged 29 October, 2012 at 12:00 pm

In this exercise, the task was to convert a newspaper article to a poem. The article chosen was regarding the execution of Thomas Henry Allaway who was hanged in 1922 in the south of England (search his name and you can find the full story). This is one of my very few attempts at poetry. Everyone should get a job, No matter how it makes you sob, But mind the daily paper, Or your soul may escape like vapour. No one should seek to murder, But if you do careful how you lure her, And be mindful of your spelling, As in court it can be telling. Craft a careful alibi, Least it may cause you to die, You must convince the judge, Of all the facts that you fudge. As you sit in your cell, And you wonder which sod did tell, Know that it’s not his fault, Just your excuse wasn’t worth its salt. “Did you do it?” Said the priest, “Then confess at the very least”, “From God nothing can be hid, And he truly knows that I did”.

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What I Hate About The Mail 7 March, 2012 at 12:00 pm

So when I picked up the mail this morning, there was something about pensions in there. I don’t know exactly what, some summary or suchlike. All I know is my pension is in hand. I signed on some random dotted line, so I don’t need to worry. I’ve got the guilt policy I think. The one you sign when you feel bad about not having a pension. Do I object to getting mail about my pension? Yes. Why? Because I don’t really care about it. My previous policy would send me one letter a year. That was good. It reminded me that I had one to take care of the guilt, and would give me funky numbers to nod at and pass a couple of comments about how bad things are getting and how they’ve got to pick up. But recently I’ve signed to a new pension, and this is the fifth letter in two weeks. Seriously? Five letters for one (okay, quite a few) signatures? The first was a welcome letter. Thank you. I am now welcomed. Now shut up and leave me alone. The second was a welcome pack. Erm. It’s quite okay, I’m welcomed enough thank you, but it’s nice of them to give me a little folder to put all the nonsense they give me into. The third was my online access number. Who checks there pension online? Is it now a critical service? Should I be setting my homepage to my pension account so I can check daily how much my pension is going down and wishing I just put that money into an ISA? Surely savings of that time scale are quite happy to be managed yearly rather then instant 24 hour access? Don’t get me wrong, I like the fact they have things […]

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Smuggle Trouble – Chapter 13 19 December, 2011 at 12:00 pm

After a few seconds had passed Lukasz began to suspect he hadn’t died. He opened his eyes to look at the Sargent. Instead of standing, the Sargent was lying face down. That is, if it can still be called face down when there is no face, or head at all. The only person standing in front of them was the old farmer. “Three dead Nazis. Not a bad days work.” Lukasz suddenly has the twins in his arms for the first time since they left the farm. Clara was standing, arms out reached, with pistol aimed at the old farmer. “He’s not a Nazi! He’s my husband!” The farmer gave a confused look to Lukasz who could only glance to where Victor lay. “He’s a good man, and he saved our lives!” continued Clara. Her hands shook and her face was rippling with the raw emotion that can only come from seeing your husband shot in front of you. “Clara.” The voice was spoken with considerable effort. Clara dropped the gun and rushed over to Victor. On her knees in front of him she stroked his cheek, tears streaming down her own. Victor was still alive, but not by much. “My sons,” Clara hadn’t noticed Lukasz draw up next to her “they’re beautiful. Take care of them all for me Lukasz, they are the only good thing I’ve ever done. My dear, I hope you can forgive me.” “There’s nothing to forgive you for.” said Clara as she held onto him with all her might. The not whistling pilot looked over at the old farmer. “Nazi?” he mouthed. The farmer just shrugged, thoroughly confused. They left Clara to say goodbye to Victor, after the last breath left him they dragged her to the phone. Starica was waiting by the plane […]

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Smuggle Trouble – Chapter 11 & 12 12 December, 2011 at 12:00 pm

Emerging from the woods, both still unsteady on their feet, they found themselves in a school with a maze of buildings. Picking their way through they eventually found the main school field. Clara managed something between a laugh and a sob, and even Lukasz’ heart lifted as they saw the plane. “We made it.” They made their way over at twice their normal speed, almost at walking pace. “Lukasz, can you fly?” “I thought I could when I got my first job, but I couldn’t so much as jump.” “… can you fly a plane?” “Of course not, I’m an accountant.” “And a smuggler.” Added Clara. “Not a pilot.” “And not a driver judging by your last display. A little piece of me is glad you won’t be flying. But do we know who is?” “Jack. He’ll be around here somewhere.” They set off back to the mass of buildings and began searching. “Over here.” Said Clara. “You found him?” “Just listen will you.” Lukasz could hear it. They walked to the hut where the whistling was coming from. “Halt!” The voice came from behind them. As Lukasz spun, the sight of a gun aimed at him took his focus, including the focus required to keep him standing on unsteady legs and he fell backwards. Arms flailing he dragged down Clara as well to join him in an inelegant fall with babies still in her arms, leaving them sitting on the floor outside the door of the whistling building. The twins started crying again, probably as much due to the lack of elegance as the bump of them all falling down. “Don’t move a muscle. You are both under arrest.” Standing in front of them was a boy, 18 at most, in a German uniform and holding a rifle which […]

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Smuggle Trouble – Chapter 9 & 10 5 December, 2011 at 12:00 pm

“Come on Clara! We’ve got to get to the plane.” “You try walking when you’ve just given birth!” “Here, let me take one of them.” “No! I’m fine.” “Then if you’re fine, stop whining.” They both hobbled on at speed. A meandering cow overtook them. “It would have been quicker to drive around the forest you know.” “Not when the roads are crawling with Germans!” They walked on in silence for a while longer. Lukasz was easily outpacing Clara. “Quiet!” Whispered Lukasz crouching low behind a tree. “I said quiet! Not sing a flaming nursery rhyme!” “You try keeping these two quiet then.” “If you give them here I will!” Lukasz peeked round the tree and spotted a soldier walking into the woods, leaving his motorbike unattended on the main road. Pressing tight against the tree all he could hear was the foot steps and his heart thumping through his entire body. He didn’t even realised he scrunched up his eyes. The foot steps were getting louder and louder and then stopped. Slowly he opened his eyes. Right in front of him was a German officer who promptly unzipped his flies and urinated against the next tree. In a move that could cause hatred of all children, one of the twins started crying. Not bawling admittedly, but louder than suitable for the social setting. “Hello? Is anyone there?” Thankfully he wasn’t pacing towards the noise and his hands were still occupied. Moving slowly was usual for Lukasz, but now he was moving carefully and silently over the one meter between him and the soldiers back. Slowly he gripped the pistol in the soldiers holster but the soldier spun, midstream. Lukasz managed to clear the holster, but as he did, the gun let off a shot before Lukasz went down from […]

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Smuggle Trouble – Chapter 7 & 8 28 November, 2011 at 12:00 pm

Lukasz rang the bell. Back in the car was Clara, looking at him and waiting. There was no movement from within the house. His hand moved over the doorbell to ring again and hovered for a second before thinking better of the idea and dropped down. The door cracked open, tugging on the chain and a piercing eye peeped through the gap. “What do you want?” “Hi, um, would you… can we…” Lukasz had never stumbled this much since school, “… in the car.” he continued, “She’s having a baby!” The door slammed closed. Lukasz went pale, all life and all hope seemed to drain from him. His hands had been twiddling in front of him, but now they fell limply to his side. He wanted to go back to the car, but he didn’t want to see the disappointment on her face. The door opened. The old man stood in the doorway with an old woman standing behind him. “Well don’t just stand there gawping, bring her in!” Lukasz tried to help Clara into the house, and the old man managed to help Clara into the house. Soon Clara was in the house and was being well looked after by the old lady. After 10 minutes of pacing, Lukasz spoke up. “Is it nearly done?” The old woman, named Starica, gave him an odd look. “Is what nearly done?” Lukasz suspected Starica meant “old woman” in some language. “Ignore him, he’s an idiot.” “Clara!” exclaimed Starica, “Enough of the negativity! Your baby should be brought into the world surrounded by positivity”. “And kind rational intelligent thoughts?” “Exactly!” “Best keep Lukasz out of here then.” “Nonsense! Your husband should be a part of this. Lukasz, why don’t you sit in the chair next to her and hold her hand.” Lukasz […]

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Smuggle Trouble – Chapter 5 & 6 21 November, 2011 at 12:00 pm

Night had fallen, and the only sounds inside the car were the spluttering of the engine, and the sobbing from Clara. “No matter how much you cry, it won’t bring him back.” He was trying to console her, but all he got was a punch on the arm. “Ow! What was that for?” “Saying stupid things.” He tried to punch her on the arm in return, but punching sideways whilst trying to pay attention to a dark road isn’t always the most successful. He missed her arm narrowly and the result was more painful for Clara than he intended. It was also more painful for Lukasz when slaps started raining down on him. “Ow! Sorry! Stop it! I’m trying to drive here!” She stopped and went back to her sobbing. He wasn’t sure if he preferred her violent or crying. “Have you quite finished?” he asked. She delivered a sharp jab to his arm before confirming she’d finished. Now he was sure he preferred it when she was crying. She was still sobbing when he saw a road block up ahead with about 5 soldiers standing around. “Hold on tight, I’m going to crash this road block!” A soldier stepped in the road. “Halt please!” The car slowed to a halt. Clara looked at him with pure disdain. “What happened to crashing it?” “I didn’t expect him to say please?” “Of course, you can’t hit anyone who’s being polite.” “It would have been rude.” The soldier stood next to the window putting an end to their exchange over the issue of the soldier being saved by manners. “Papers please.” “I think I left them at home.” The guard lent down and shone a torch inside the car. “Oh, sorry sir, I didn’t realise it was you.” He gestured to another […]

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