Dare to Dream

Neil Kinsey-Fagan

Dare to Dream

Do you ever dare to dream
sit quietly and watch a magical scene
images play around in your mind
suck you in and burn all of your time.

What would the world be, without the dreamers
the creators, visionaries, futurists and believers
we wouldn’t progress, we wouldn’t evolve
no plans for a future they simply dissolve.

Is it a gift or is it a curse?
as you spend time on a plane that isn’t perverse
dreaming of cities that reach to the sky
of food for the populace where loved ones don’t die.

It’s a world of your making
that you can’t stop creating
welfare for all, no hunger, no wars
a gift to the future a beautiful outdoors.

Ignore all the doomsters the futures not written
as they crow and they croak like demented bitterns
we live on a sphere that’s majestic and bright
people bring their darkness and extinguish the light.

Hold in your mind a picture of splendour
and dream of a world that is beautiful and tender
a world where all species live side by side
habitats are protected no genocide.

Dream all those dreams, write them down, shout them out
change the world we live in, make your voice count
the future is ours to shape and evolve
don’t sit in your room, steel your resolve.

Stand on the roof tops, expand your mind
reach out to the cosmos don’t sit their blind
you can make a difference, you can make the change
the dreamers and visionaries need to get into the game.

Oh my beloved

‎Rainy Sarmistha‎

Oh my beloved I merged In the cloud & could Feel your Tender touch That melts in every Moment as the Water vapours Around me.. Oh love.. You already knew it.. As there is no YOU & ME It is just the vastness of Love merges within..Rainy

Bully

Ryan Woods 

"Bully"

Criticism has become a way of life for you
As much a necessity as the air that you breathe
And the food that passes your acidic lips
Sliding down that throat
That would prefer to gag and choke
On a compliment, rather than spit it out
Passing by the empty chamber where perhaps
You once had a heart...

When did you become an expert on every subject?
And every topic?
Narrow minded, and hypocritical
Your views are more myopic
Than Mr Magoo in the dead of night
Your words of malice...bite
Into me like a chainsaw chewing chunks
From a tree
That just wants to mind its own business
And be
But that's never been your way
That's never been your style
Always willing to go that extra mile
If it meant you could inflict one more bruise
One more scar
Always happy to hold the door ajar...
So you could slam it in the face
Of the next person who comes along
Pain is your poetry...
Suffering is your song
You chip away at my ego
Like a sculptor in reverse
Un-creating my creation
Un-writing my verse
It was never your intention
To simply leave me be
Brutality for all
That was your decree
So instead I soak up your dirt
Like a sponge or a rag
And I wring out the hurt
While you boast and you brag
All your words, all your gestures
I inhale the obscene
And I filter it through
Like a dialysis machine
I take all your crap
Every slap, every slur
Misery is your currency
You simply don't care
About the pain you inflict
Or the hate you incite
You're more grotesque than any monster
That ever stalked through the night
You spit out insults like thunderbolts
Never one to be placid
Your face contorted
As if each one left a bitter taste in your mouth
Like battery acid
Your tongue blistering with each shot of vitriol
That you regurgitate from within
Still fighting a war
That you simply can't win
Because hate is an engine
That must have its fuel
You're a jester, a thug, an incompetent fool
You flood the world with animosity,
Turn our smiles upside down
But at the end of the day
You're the one who will drown
Violence is a vagina to you,
A way to get off
You rape with your words and your fists
For you enough, is never enough
Were you dropped on your morals
At your moment of birth
Remember...blessed are the meek
For they shall inherit the earth
While you and your cronies,
You trolls and you phonies
Crawl back under your rocks
Into the bottomless abyss
And wait like cancer for another chance to strike
With a hiss
Like a rattlesnake startled
Or a steel jawed bear trap
We've had all we can take of your meaningless crap
So stay down there in the dark
Because that's where you belong
This is our story...
This is our song.

Copyright Ryan Woods 28/02/2016

Colourful Carriages:

The pink and blue carriages
Fly fast past the kitchen window.
Left, towards the stoney beaches of Brighton.

The green and yellow carriages
Pass by steadily in quick succession.
Right towards London, just a short stroll to Buckingham Palace.

The single pane frames
A few trees, an iron gate,
A fence, and the tracks.

Frail frames feel
Frequencies of steel on steel.

The air is disturbed,
As the trains shoot by
Slicing through the cold,
Sending icy gusts up through
The open window.

I sit undisturbed, in peaceful thought.
Watching steel cages,
Crammed with nameless faces.
All travelling towards the beach,
Or the Queen,
Or somewhere in between.

I guess I'm a voyeur of sorts.
Would I watch so casually if I could be seen,
Stood staring beside a pot filled sink?

© Esi Nketseaba Yankey

Loving You

We will be broadcasting this on tomorrows programme as first slot in it is a must listen to, wonderful words and production.

Loving You 

Words Kara Johnstad

Music Christian Lindquist

Narrator Kara Johnstad

Loving you

I shall die

Either way

There is no return.

For if I say no

To this passion 

That slumbers within, 

No, to your laughter

That slips under my skin

No to my heart 

That longs to take wing

No, to a moment 

More precious than spring

No, because the distance 

Is far too far, too vast

No, because why try? 

When we know that nothing will last...

In this moment 

When I look life

Right straight in the eyes

And choose NO 

In response to God's sweetest surprise

In that same moment of NO

I shall start to whither and die

My heart shall grow heavy 

And the sun shall not rise

Live a pauper's life

Empty pockets and pretty lies

Solemn and somber

A lovely disguise

I buried my flight

'So well behaved” 

Ticking off time

As I march to my grave

And yet if I say yes, 

To following this bliss

The kind that leads to topsy-turvys 

And martinis with a twist

Yes, to the difference in age 

And the difference of place 

The wild funny stories 

And a place on your face

Yes to these lines, 

That just won't leave my head

You go grrrlllll, 

Before you are dead.

If I say yes to this ache

Which I don't understand

That has pulled me right out of

My logical plans....

If I say yes, 

To licking the salt off your skin 

Or allowing you to enter me 

Deep deep within

Then my oh my

Then I shall really die

As I surrender 

To life's sweetest surprise

And this death will be quick

On that night of no moons

As we glide on lake 

And you dive like a loon...

And there in the dark 

Without time, age or space

There we are showered 

In God’s Holy Grace

I am not here 

And you are not there

We are where nobody worries 

And nobody cares

Only our souls to see 

If it were true 

Only our hearts that beat..

I love you.

Kara Johnstad is known as a Visionary, Singer-Songwriter and Mentor to Voices Changing Our World. She is founder of Voice Your Essence, and committed to the  empowerment of spiritual leaders, luminaries, and creative conscious entrepreneurs. An advocate for change in ways that heighten the human spirit, Kara’s mission is to help our world understand the role our voice plays in fine tuning our body-mind-spirit system.www.karajohnstad.com.

You, the ultimate beauty

Deepa Chandran Ram‎ to 365Scribble

10 hrs

You, the ultimate beauty

I like it, when,

the sun smiles at me, mysterious and sublime,

the grass caresses me, the smell of sandy loam,

the breeze whispers in my ears, songs of woven fantasy,

the raindrops grace to pour, the nectar into my fallacy.

The momentary pulse reaps a thousand petals

of vibrant colours on my unwitting palate.

It sends ripples of ecstasy, beyond horizon,

radiates forth, every cell reborn.

I exhale laughter, confession so tender,

my intrinsic nature of selfless surrender.

The thin haze kisses my eyelids softly,

and in that mist, oblivious and dreamy,

I see you…

You: The ultimate beauty.

INBETWEEN

‎Plain Faced Poetess‎ to 365Scribble

2 hrs

Beginning of 

CHAPTER ONE

“It may be that the old astrologers had the truth exactly reversed, when they believed that the stars controlled the destinies of men. The time may come when men control the destinies of stars.” 
Arthur C. Clarke

THE HUM
_________________________________________________

The sound of Inbetween in nonspace is something more ‘perceived’ than heard. Like tonal notes deep and just out of earshot, felt and translated to every atom. Some describe it like standing on top of a giant machine. Nial, the petite, waiflike Afsa inhabiting the Inbetween at that moment, was in fact, as usual, humming along in its head with the sound, harmonically.
Unlike most Jumpers, Nial found the great mysterious hum familiar and comforting.
It was an occupational hazard for Arisan Galaxian Engineers traveling the Inbetween. Jumpers wrestled with terror, decaying time, no air, no senses, direction null. Only their own heartbeat, and the mysterious “hum” to keep them from suspecting they're dead. For most first year engineers, it was overwhelming and after a few jumps, most opted out of the program.
For Nial it was filled with fond memories of Jumps suspended in its Father’s strong arms, his gentle intelligent soft voice humming harmonics. When Nial was Inbetween it felt nearest its beloved father’s presence.
The slim Afsa shifted incrementally within the field. No big movements in transfer. It prepared for the two minute end “push”.
The last two minutes of suspension were always intense, Everyone, including Nial, had to fight unreasonable panic and terror,another anomaly of Inbetween, those last two minutes evoked strong feelings similar to sensations of drowning or strangling.
Jump Space Mechanics explained it as the pressures of the “movement” of matter suspended, from positive atom push to the negative atom draw. This was used to create a “path” where no path should be. Like threading a “hole” through Nonspace and drawing the person through.
Nial concentrated on the phrases Father had taught it, a mediation to patiently endure the last few minutes of Inbetween. 

“Toh - Meadows of red flowers.”

“Shan - Sunlight on a mountain lake.”

“Che - The face of a loved one bright and true.”

Stop. No. Not Phija’s face, Father’s face. Nial fought the niggling distraction and started again.

“Din - An orange cat stretches in the sun.”

“Pah - A bluebird alights from a branch.”

Then- suddenly, with deity-like prominence; light, and sound from the subspace station interjected itself back into the Afsa’s existence. 

Nial started violently shaking as the stasis field passed from Inbetween to subspace.

It occasionally happened, no one knew why. The Afsa was thankful for the ‘cool down’ of subspace to try and quell the reaction prior to materializing on the Jump Station of Terius Four.
It rubbed its arms trying to shake off the ‘shivs’ as it was called.

The Jump Station control room and Guardian slowly materialized into view. The Guardian brought the panel slider down and looked up, nodding up at Nial, inspecting.

The Afsa stepped down off the platform, and presented its wrist with the Planar apparatus to the Guardian waiting by the platform, he held a device to open the apparatus, then he removed it from the thin wrist, noting the still shaking hand. 

He nodded deeply to the Afsa Ministry officer in respect, and saluted the Ministry salute, an arm sideways across the chest.

"Welcome to Terius Four Dane Nial."

Gypsy

Sharon Bive

19 February at 14:45

Gypsy

Come sit by my fire.
Let's talk for a while.
I'll pretend to listen...
maybe even smile.
Too much gypsy
in my soul,
never content
where I am,
always moving constantly
searching for something
"I" don't even umderstand.
Loner at heart...
Silence is best.
No one listens anyway,
why waste my breath...
These thoughts on my mind,
better left unsaid.
People come in,
they go right back out...
They have nothing to offer,
I can't do, or live without.
I don't mean to be bitter.
I do have a heart!
It's just been broken too often,
and shoved to the side.
They say my skin is warm,
but, I am cold to the touch...
I don't like promises,
never need that much...
I'm always packed now,
and ready to move.
I'm finally at peace
with this life "I" choose.

Sharon Bivens
2016

How to make a cup of coffee last Forever...

‎Don Wells‎ to 365Scribble

7 mins · 

"How to make a cup of coffee last Forever..."

Step by step:

1. Choose the only two matching coffee mugs that you have. The one's you bought for your first Christmas together. A girl bunny on her's, a boy bunny on his, both with the year you met on them. She resisted buying them, fearing that they would jinx your still budding love. They didn't.

2. Go to the cupboard and select the special low acid coffee that you always buy from the same local coffee shop. The one that you and your love 'discovered' together when you were out riding your bicycles and a cloudburst made you take refuge there. It was the most warming cup of coffee that you had ever had, and the first time that you had ever noticed how breath-takingly beautiful her brown eyes were.

3. Grind the beans in your restaurant quality coffee grinder. Remember how you were so upset over how much it cost. The argument you had, It was the first time that you went to bed angry with each other. She was crying in her sleep and you woke her and consoled her, saying that you've changed your mind, it was worth the price because quality endures. And it does.

4. Use the French Press because its idiot proof. It magically always makes a perfect cup of coffee. The first time you had ever seen one was when she used it to make coffee after your first night together. It seemed so cosmopolitan. She did a faux tea ceremony that stole your heart.

5. Add 2 packets of the blue artificial sweetener. How does she tell the difference? They all taste the same to you, but your not the coffee goddess.

6. Carry the two mugs of coffee and a moo cow creme dispenser that an old boy friend bought her. You were so jealous for so long. But it was one of her few happy memories from before you met. How can you resent it?

7. Hold her mug for her as she takes her first few sips. Soon the caffeine will do its magic and she will brighten and the world will start again. There will be tough times ahead but this is not one of them.

8. Cherish her. Forever.

-- don

I don’t want to be the Actor

Tom Nelson‎ to 365Scribble

16 hrs · 

Giving my time to wonderful people
That I would never know again
I am the legend
I am the fossil of my own life
Still clinging to celluloid
Though it hurts
I learnt my morals from modern man
Staying in the fifties for as long as I can
It was all about the girl
It was all about being the hero
Keeping trouble at arms length
Give me the weirdos
Give me the homeless
I’ll kick you out
Put you on the streets
Then do it again
And the door is always open
Be careful you don’t walk through
Have you ever had that love of the night
Knowing it’s right
To sleep all your days in dreams of another
She’s a sparkling wine
And so fine that If I touched her
I think that I’d cut her
Incurable romance
Isn’t about dancing
It’s about who you’re with and what they have lent you
Of their own life
Free the beast look at the moon
Tell her that you’ll see her soon
It’s alright to stay in
You know she’ll call
And if the time was right
If Jupiter was setting on pictures of beautiful ladies
I would see her tomorrow
Forget the gentle jealousy
Trade it in for a sure fire way
Of kicking the sorrow
it gets to be a habit
time to close the window and lock all the doors
it’s you she’s living for

Tom Nelson

Countessa Maria – A Tale of Despair

Neil Kinsey-Fagan

3 hrs · Ellesmere Port · 

Been working on a short story for a while to encourage other writers to submit work for the scribble show. Below is an extract from it, i would like to thank Ryan Woods Author for his helpful critique of the work and giving me support and pointers of how to continue:

Countessa Maria – A Tale of Despair

Don’t wake me, the pain is too much to bear, my body is aching, aching to see her once more. Leave me in this fog, safely tucked away in peace.

No! Not now!

Too late, it’s all too late the memories are starting to return the images, the visions and the pain. 

Wait! Wait…………… 

That’s it I flew into Marco Polo Airport at Venice let me see, I landed at about 13:30 from Manchester and collected a hire car from Maggiore car hire.

My plan that is if I ever had a plan was to spend 5 days in Venice, then travel to Verona and up to Lake Garda at the foot of the mountains, I had stayed there before many years ago. 

Venice, bellisimo, what a beautiful city, the sounds the smells, it always reminds me of a film set, unearthly yet tantalisingly real. It’s fair to say I had become an Italiaphile, spending my holidays in Rome, Venice, Florence; I consumed the art, the atmosphere, the lifestyle, wonderful memories, so long ago….
It was straightforward to get to the hotel as I had completed the trip many times before.

That’s not quite true I see it now, the number of times I took a wrong turn and ended down by the canal only to be greeted by a beautiful vista with emerald green water, stunning simply stunning and breathtaking. 

Looking back I think this was the first time I caught site of the Countessa, I was lumbering along through the crowds along Ruga d. Speziali, past a shop that sold leather bound books, the smell, that wonderful aroma of leather permeated the air so beautiful so evocative. I had been to this shop many times it was called, called…… why can’t I remember. Anyway I remember seeing this beautiful elegant women talking to the bookseller, it was only a glancing look of course, as I needed to get to the hotel. What struck me was her eyes, they where black, black as obsidian, mesmerising I felt as though I knew her that we were meant to be. Impossible of course I am far to lowly and would never have been invited into her social circles, but such a strange thought to have. 

I finally arrived at the hotel at about 17:30 I dropped off my bags and headed off down towards the Grande Canal down the Riva del Carbon to a restaurant I knew there. Sitting alone outside in the warm summer air with only the company of strangers at the other tables, I sipped my glass of Bordalino red wine, what I would give to taste that sweet nectar now.

Looking out towards the canal I could see couples and families ambling along enjoying the beautiful evening. To my left I caught site of the Countessa, who entered the restaurant, exchanged pleasantries with the owner and then casually started to walk in my direction, captivating, truly captivating.

I averted my gaze and looked back along the canal side lost in my thoughts soaking up the atmosphere. Suddenly I was startled by the Contessa asking in Italian if she could join me, I replied of course in broken Italian ‘Mi dispiace signora, io non parlo italiano, io sono inglese.’
As would be fitting of a woman of her class she replied in perfect English, introduced herself and sat down.

That first meeting looking into those eyes, I was lost, lost and captivated by her presence, it was as though she had stolen my heart, invaded my mind and taken it captive until she decided to release me.
She touched my arm lightly, it was as though lights had exploded in my head, my body was charged, my mind a slave to her being, a clear wanting and yearning, exciting and exhilarating, yet tinged with a touch of foreboding. Looking back now, did I at some level know what the future held. I don’t know, maybe, but of course I paid no heed to that nagging thought in the recess of my mind.

to be continued.....

The Calm before The Storm

Poetry from the Woods.

10 January · 

Here is a poem that I wrote some time ago, inspired by my love of boxing at the time and of my interest in Norse Mythology. Originally entitled simply "The Boxer" I feel that the title "The Calm Before The Storm" better epitomises what I was trying to convey in the poem; the raw emotions that run through a boxers mind whilst waiting in the wings for his time to fight and the emotions that bombard him as he steps into the ring and battle commences. I hope that you like this and I hope that it may for a moment transport you into the mind of the warrior of the square ring.

"The Calm before The Storm"

The clock on the wall ticks staccato
While my heart beats like a bronze automaton
The blood, sweat and tears a visceral perfume
My shadow mocks me like a ghost
My every move mimicked by my silhouetted counterpart
Every action met by an equal and opposite reaction
Only this opponent does not hit back
Sometimes I wish he would
To feel the sting of my own leather
Against my own flesh
To feel the bite of my own punch and see
My bloodied and battered form slumped before me
The ultimate sacrifice
I hear my name called
And find myself in the arena
The music stops, the lights dim
And the square ring stands before me
My dreams made flesh
The crowd a blur of noise and nonsense
Baying for blood - ad nauseam
I'll give them what they want
And then some
The referee speaks
While the judges watch like Valkyries
And I stare into my opponents eyes
Into his soul
I see fear and anxiety
A lamb to the slaughter
Let's get ready to rumble
And then we are alone
Two warriors born of rage and war
I want to help him
I also want to kill him
I do neither
As the bell rings and the dance begins
Round and round we go
Each thrust and jab
Each hook and cross
Invoking a violent, balletic riposte
The seconds pass like hours
The minutes like days
As we continue our engagement
Of agony and ecstasy
To the victor...the spoils
To the vanquished...despair
Valhalla awaits us both
Like the welcoming arms of our mother's
Call me what you will
Boxer, pugilist, modern day gladiator
I stand proud, and I stand alone.

Copyright Ryan Woods 2015

Addiction a Personal Journey

Ashleigh Campora‎ to UTOPIA OF POETS

1 hr · 

Hi my names ashleigh I'm a 30 year old single mama to a beautiful 5 year old girl. I am a recovering drug addict who has battled against society, bullies and stigma since I was 13. I write to cope. I write to share hope. I try to be for someone what i wish someone had been to me- and all that matters is that hopefully something I write will make even 1 person realize they are not alone. So- here's my first share, on my addiction.

It's the taste of decay that just hangs from your lips, and the label warning death you won't find on your scripts. It’s the life you uprooted when you chose to get high; its forgetting you’ll fall because drugs have you convinced you can fly. It’s the sun, it’s the stars, it’s the thin crescent moon, its that sticky tarred substance left burnt on your spoon. It’s a desperate escape, a long road walked alone- it’s a clear little baggie that’s been stamped “Al Capone.” It’s the feeling of warmth that rushes your veins; it’s that deep altered state you feel eases your pain. Its whiskey breath- Its your dealer speed dialed. Its thinking you’re okay as you’re getting killed by denial. It’s a horrid existence-its gruesome at best; a masquerade of torture in which you're now obsessed. It’s a somber old photo that you’ve rolled into a blunt, its “chasing the dragon”-its winning the hunt. It’s the voice you can’t hear, that you thought never mattered- it’s the mirror of life in which you have shattered. Its never enough and you’ll always need more; it’s a causality of life laying dead on the floor. It’s the high of your life- sending chills through your bones- its that pretty glass house at which you keep casting stones. It’s a broken down palace, our bodies so battered-it’s the blood on the walls where our brains have been splattered. It’s the devil in mourning- he’s a brute and a fiend-and the angel’s left crying cause she could not intervene. It’s a dead-bolted casket, an air deprived crypt; a damp murky tomb the reaper holds in his grip. It’s the trigger you finger, it’s the tracks lining your skin. It’s the rip tide that drowns you as it sinks you with sin. It’s the poet with rhythm who loves dropping rhymes; it’s the man in a suit behind bars doing time. It’s the screams—it’s the darkness—is this where it begins? Where it ends? Was that first shot of dope worth the life it’s condemned? Its why you're divorced- why your kids won’t come back. How unfair for them to see their mom booting smack. Its a girl interrupted, a mind gone insane- had you never been taught that drugs fry your brain? Its days running through nights, its life fading—gone black; it’s the hands of time you can never turn back. It’s the fire inside you- it’s the truth heard in your lies; you think they've been fooled, but they can see through your disguise. Don’t try to glamorize it- get the facts- keep it real- take time to acknowledge all the things drugs will steal. So, before that first hit, that first bump, that first slam.....remember addiction's that bitch who does NOT give a damn.
-Ashleigh Campora

Rc deWinter

i hear you knocking on my heart
i'm going to dream of you tonight
i can't wait to fall asleep
~ RC deWinter







We will be covering some of this great work on the next broadcast of Scribble.

Mysterious Journeyman

Here's another, 

Mysterious Journeyman

That man on the path, only a few miles ahead
Never looks back, or turns his head
His back was straight, his head held high
Now and again, he'd look up to the sky
His journey was his, he knew where he was going
Even though I could tell, his direction, I often had no way of knowing
I saw him stop, take stock, deliberate, then choose
I tried to catch up, to ask, why the delay, why did you muse
I saw him stumble, a few times, too far away to help him get up
But rise he did, didn't miss a step, just an emotional hiccup
On occasion he disappeared, clean out of sight

Left me guessing, at juncture, did he go left or right

Now and again, he was accompanied, as was I

By a throng of others, enjoying that guy

The merriment he shares, I hear their laughter their joy

Non of his group, unwelcome, or does he play with as toy

He's closer now, I'm much closer than before

But still some distance, he'd just climbed mountain and rocky tor

He led me over hills, across rivers, 'neath stormy skies

My fascinations, curiosities, as he set my route, ignoring my cries

Where are you going, where do you lead

Why ignore me, why don't you heed

He's closer again, I can now almost touch his soul

Though he seems less straight, slower in achieving his goal

I can see now his grey hair, his pallor less young

His weathered, worn demeanour, reflect youthful songs sung

His movements look strained, he's visibly tired

I'll catch him up soon, ask why he's inspired

To travel this road, of sixty two years

And whether his journey was worth such pain and so many tears

Although I never caught up, not yet at least

I know where we'll meet, at final wake's feast

This journey I've shared with that man in front was not all what it seems

It was me on our road, me and my dreams.......

Colin Cameron

The Journal Of Cinnamon Paige, Un-Death By Chocolate

This was the first teaser that Ryan Woods shared with all of us about 

The Journal Of Cinnamon Paige, Un-Death By Chocolate. This is the scene where Cinnamon has her first encounter with the un-dead. Broadcast on the first show of Scribble.

"The left side of his cheek had been eaten through to the jawbone; his teeth visible through the gaping, jagged hole in his flesh. As I got nearer I watched as his tongue slid through the hole in his cheek like a short, fleshy snake. A thought entered my head, which I immediately tried to dismiss. It seemed almost as if that discoloured lump of meat that was Mr Mahoney's tongue was tasting the air as if it had detected on the breeze a flavour that it liked - Cinnamon, and by that I meant me.
He wasn't immediately able to pinpoint my location due to the fact that where his left eyeball should have been there was only a dark, vacant socket that several flies seemed to have taken a particular interest in. However, as his head continued to turn towards me his right eye latched onto me and I could have sworn that I saw a glimmer in that dead soulless eye that looked like excitement.
A realisation suddenly dawned on me. I was alone with no means of protection and I was being studied by my elderly, seemingly un-dead neighbour who was eyeing me up, if you'll pardon the slightly pervy sounding expression, as if I was a prime piece of meat on a butchers hook.
The freak that was once Mr Mahoney now faced me fully and began to advance towards me in a shambling manner like a puppet whose strings had become all tangled up. His advance may have been slow, as befits the elderly and the un-dead, but it seemed to have a determined purpose to it that I found extremely disturbing.
I felt sure that I could outrun him because even when he was alive he wasn't exactly the most mobile or athletic pensioner that I had ever met. But for some reason I also felt that outrunning him was not necessarily the solution, as if now that he'd inhaled my scent, and liked it, he was not going to stop until his stained dentures were gnawing on my young, tender flesh.
As crazy as it may sound I'd chuckled to myself inwardly at that thought. An image had entered my head of him biting down on my calf and then raising his head in cannibalistic glory whilst his dentures remained clamped on my leg. I'd wondered briefly to myself if that was a real possibility before deciding that in truth I really had no desire to find out."

I shall not tell you how Cinnamon handles the situation. You will have to discover that when the manuscript is complete and hopefully on the shelf.

www.facebook.com/ryanwoodsauthor

Direct Openings

DIRECT OPENINGS

Sort with inner sage

come clear the maximum care;

find bliss – electric 

Here singsasoul-stirring melody inside

watching for love’s peace–call upon silent witness

living imagination of what’s real– inside pure zeal

Breathe calm–feel the heal

give inside ondawn’s blending;

light the shadow’sdeath

Silently surrender inside–rise after falling deep

beginning’s birth – intothe tinyfluttering’s

flowing limitlessly– love’s vastness has no end 

See all in mind’s eye

fly sky’s merge with heart’s kissing;

live direct openings

©® Jen Walls 2016

Jen is a member of the Kubili group and a regular contributor to the Scribble Show. 

Love: A Rebuttal

This Poem was covered on this weeks Scribble show written by Don Wells.

‎Don Wells‎

 to 

365Scribble

13 February at 20:18 · 

"Love: A Rebuttal"

there's danger in a kiss

there's menace in a hug

it's a thrilling kind of bliss

this mystery we call love

its a dagger that's thrown at us

when we dare to show our heart

its a car wired to explode

that we just have to start

its a discarded banana peel

that we rush to slip upon

its a noose that dangles nearby

that we hurry to try on

its a pandora's box of secrets

we can't help but look inside

its a madman with a hook

and we offer him a ride

its the tea that has been laced

with a drop of poison in our cup

and though we spit it out

we can't drink it fast enough

its a cobra in our bedsheets

its a raven at our door

its a hound that chases us

'round and 'round a foggy, scottish moor

its an old electric fence

that we just have to touch

its all these things so deadly

yet they fascinate so much

if our pool was full of sharks

would we dare to venture in?

but add a little romance

and we can't resist a swim

why do we act so foolish,

so headstrong and so stupid?

why must we submit

to the random aim of cupid?

so we run towards disaster

and we embrace the pain

and as soon as we recover

we flirt with danger once again

-- Don Wells

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