Poetry is one of those things that seems to divide readers into quite different camps. I am a poet and a poetry lover but fully understand how other people just don’t ‘get it’. This piece, though it’s about a poet is not altogether about poetry. Mick Bloor shows yet again what a knowledgeable and well read writer he is. Excellent stuff.
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Today’s treat is from an author who has already been published by us so do check out her back catalogue. We thought this piece would speak to many of us. That niggle that you know is unreasonable but by gum you can’t let it go. Amusing but very well observed. We give you In a Word – enjoy
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In a Word by Karen Uttien
This morning, I watched a woman walk towards me. By the time she reached me, I had assessed her in one word. Privileged.
Gold Gucci sandals complimented the little black dress, swaying elegantly just above her knee. Large fashionable sunglasses accentuated glossy red lips. Long dark hair rolled playfully down her back. Golden sun-bronzed skin – a recent trip on a private yacht no doubt.
As she walked past, Chanel No. 5 overwhelmed me. Consuming me all the way home. So much so, by the time I got there, I had reassessed the woman entirely.
Her hair, although beautiful, was rather too long. Tired. Her skin was over-baked. Withering. Her pouty lips, somewhat sulky. And the sunglasses – I suspected were masking a congregation.
Yes. This once highly desired woman, was hanging on for dear life. In a word. Madonna.
Now, you realise this assessment is probably not true. No. But it does tell a truth; no one knows how others see you. Which brings me to this little story …
*
It was my friend’s 40th birthday. A best friend. Let’s call her Jenny.
There was me and Jenny. Her other three best friends, and our partners. So, 10 of us.
Jenny’s a bit flash. And very generous. A superb combination.
She hired a room on the top floor in a very fancy restaurant.
We were greeted by Don Perignon and sculptured canapes. Then glided to our seats. Chairs pulled out. Napkins draped. Swarovski filled with sparkling from the Nile itself.
There were somewhere between six and way-too-many delectable courses, each paired with our precious chef’s personally selected wines.
The sheer privilege, my new dress, the altitude, and Don – all attributed equally to my giddy happiness. The entire room now reflecting nothing less than a woozy beehive overflowing with honey.
Then, just as I thought I might explode with glee, came the speech.
‘… I have thought of one word to describe each of you,’ Jenny said, pointing. ‘You. And you. And you! What each of you are to me. My. Dear. Dear. Friends.’
She began on her right.
Inspiring. Loyal. Thoughtful. Fun. Adventurous …
Now – as I said earlier – I know one can’t see how others see you but, when Jenny and I exchange our fond twenty-five-year friendship smile, I was not expecting –
‘Dependable!’ I yelped.
The night went on and my volatile happiness wafted into a small headache.
We said our good-byes and clambered into a taxi.
As we drove along the highway, a giant billboard illuminated the skyline shouting … DEPENDABLE DRYCLEANERS!! I nodded sadly, and fell asleep.
*
That was nearly ten years ago. I still bring it up. Still throw it out to new audiences for discussion. Most agree it is an excellent trait … on a resume. And everyone most certainly would use a dependable drycleaner.
I have brought it up with Jenny. Several times. She stands by it. I should let it go, but …
The last time I felt so aggrieved – I was six. We were to perform Hans Christian Anderson’s “The Swineherd” for our end-of-year panto and, without doubt, I would be the princess.
‘But princesses don’t wear pink jumpsuits and curly tails,’ I explained to stupid Mrs Elliot.
For this fine Sunday we present two little pieces written by our own Diane M. Dickson. One is an article the other is one of those odds and ends tales best suited for this feature in its own indefinable little way.
Continue reading “Sunday Whatever: A Double Shot of Diane M. Dickson”
This Sunday’s Whoever is someone who has been with the site since the summer of 2019. Harrison Kim has an extensive cannon of work and you would do well to have a look at his eclectic and entertaining stories. HIs responses to the questions surprised and amused us – enjoy:
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“I take it you eat most of your food at home, gorging, where no-one can see?”
“I suppose so, at home that is but never gorging.”
“Really?”
“Yes, really.”
“What’s your favourite? Kebabs? Chips and Cheese? Sweet And Sour? Trifle? All of the above?”
“…Probably fish.”
“Oh, I do like a fish supper but you know, my waste-line doesn’t look after itself! So is it chips and curry
sauce and a battered fish for you?”
“No. I like a Salmon Caesar Salad with a touch of lemon mayonnaise. Or a Sea-bass on a bed of
courgette, tomatoes, asparagus and mange-tout.”
“Really! Well fuck me! Puddings though, I take it you like your puddings? All of them/ Isthere any that
you prefer?”
“Yep, I love fresh fruit.”
“Well it’s getting a bit clearer now, you never see a skinny gorilla! I suppose it’s a good job that they don’t
like ice-cream…What’s your favourite flavour? I bet it’s chocolate”
“Ice cream goes right through me so I avoid it.”
“…But you are really fat, so maybe some of it sticks.”
“My weight is an enigma to me. I am the only person that I know who can defecate, stand on the scales
and be two pounds heavier…How that makes me laugh.”
“What about sweeties, you must eat loads or is it tonnes?”
“Nope, I prefer plain crackers.”
“With what?”
“Nothing really, just a glass of red wine.”
“A glass or a case?”
“…Just a glass, enough for my crackers.”
“Hee-Hee same sort of question, just the packet or a case?”
“A few does me.”
“So you’re telling me that you eat the way that you do and yet you are still fucking enormous??”
“I suppose I am.”
“I don’t believe you. You must be shovelling in a dozen or so doughnuts. Maybe you are one of those
weird fucks who sleep eat, walk, eat and walk…Does your food go missing? And does the staff of your
local twenty-four hour Spar look at you in a funny way?”
“No.”
“Exercise! I take it you are a lazy bastard and do fuck all?”
“I walk to my work so I do around twenty miles a week.”
“Twenty?”
“Around that and that isn’t counting me being on my feet all day.”
“You can’t be watching what you eat. I know fucking everything that goes into my mouth.”
“I don’t watch what I eat as I know that it doesn’t matter”
“I take it that you’re happy to be a fat cunt?”
“I don’t think any folks are.”
“Can you even see your cock in the shower?”
“Yes, it’s big enough thank you very much.”
“Jesus fuck…I could never be your size. I’d need to kill myself. But it’s great to see a bloater who is happy
with the way that they are – Fair play to you.”
“I can understand that and do you know what gets me through?”
“Chocolates??”
“No. Mindless violence to the likes of you, so I’m going to kill you now and save you from ever having to
take your skinny anorexic arse and vomit up another cheeseburger ever again you fucking weight
watching cunt!”
Today’s whatever is a beautiful piece of prose written by the legend that is Tom Sheehan. Anyone who is a regular reader will be aware of Tom’s enormous contribution to the site. Newcomers would be well advised to have a look at his back catalogue. All four pages of titles. Now, though we give you Winter Solstice 2016
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A Favourite Place: Innerpeffray, Scotland’s oldest free lending library, established 1680.
Article by Michael Bloor
I’ve always been nuts about libraries. I’m pretty fond of bookshops, but libraries were my first and truest love. First of all, the local Carnegie library, where I went as a little lad, accompanying my grandad when he went to change his Zane Grey cowboy thrillers. Then, the central library in town, with its reference section, and its newspaper/periodicals section, with old men dozing in the central heating. The university libraries and The National Library of Scotland, where all manner of rare and wonderful books can be summoned up from the stacks for your study, all absolutely…FREE!
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This is another example of the sort of submission that we receive that don’t actually fit with the site but the writing is too special for us to reject it. This is a bite sized piece from a new writer and we were all enchanted by it.
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Mushroom Searching by Zary Fekete
These days there are many books, many pages, all promising, but the right way to begin is to ask grandmother. Which grandmother? Choose one. They are all correct and never lie. Nagyi or Nagyika or Mamikam. From Pest or Dunantul or the Alfold, they each have their secrets. They were all young once. Their routes led them from little country hamlets and acres of chipped Communist blocs, down through the decades, past wall after wall, papered with propaganda, each sign promising something just beyond reach, not quite true. But the mushroom recipe doesn’t lie. It just requires the right one.
Choose favorable weather. Just after a rain followed by a humid sun, hidden away in the shadows of the forest. Not a stir of breeze among the wet trunks. The only sound the drip drip of soaked leaves and the tiny scurrying of beetles and ants among the underbrush. Bring along a basket lined with embroidered cloth for collection and grandfather’s sharp knife for exploring beneath rotting logs, make sure you aren’t bitten by something waiting in the soaking darkness. Wear the right clothes. Tuck your tights into stockings and tie petticoats around knees, purposefully designating legs, so nothing can be caught in the grasping, greedy branches. Walk carefully. Hold hands. Pick a partner. Step where she stepped.
Watch the ground carefully. Remember the legend of the boy who wouldn’t share his bread while he walked with his friends through the woods. He had a full mouth every time they looked back at him, so he spit out each guilty mouthful. The bread-droppings left a trail. They transformed into mushrooms, and that’s why when you find one there are always more nearby.
Once your basket is full bring it to the village examiner. Some mushrooms are safe, but some carry poisonous secrets. Some promise succor but silently wound. Some sing sweet songs but echo with a hollow gong. All taste sweet and feathery on first bite, but some have dark pools in their past. Bring home the good ones, but throw the rest into the stream and watch them float away.
Finally, prepare your soup. Mix the mushrooms with the right broth. Thin-sliced for clear soup. Thick-chunked for heavy stew. The mushrooms will take on the flavor of their companions. In this way they make good neighbors. They don’t betray secrets. They keep what is given to them. They protect what is beneath them. The preserve the family lineage deep below the earth.
Derby in the English Midlands, where I was born and raised, is an industrial city, famous in the past for its locomotives, and in the present for Rolls Royce aero engines. In my lifetime, an awful lot of its old buildings have been knocked down, even the ancient church of St Alkmund’s, swept away with its graveyard to make room for the new inner ring road. But it still has a lot of old pubs: The Dolphin Inn, for example, dates back to 1580. So the fact that The Noah’s Ark pub is two hundred years old is hardly noteworthy. What is pretty interesting though, is how it got its title. It’s not named after ‘the illustrious first navigator,’ as one Victorian local historian phrased it. It’s named after a locally famous character called Noah Bullock who had a house on that site, back in the seventeenth century.
Continue reading “Sunday Whatever – What’s in a name by Michael Bloor”
Today is a real delight we have three wonderful pieces by the star who is Tom Sheehan. Anyone who has read much of Tom’s work will know how much his location near the Saugus River means to him and how it feeds his writing to take us all there with him. Tom’s time serving in Korea is another strong and most often stunning content in his huge cannon of work and Interception by a Muse includes both of these and though it may not be strictly fiction it’s a darned good read. And while you are still pondering the quality of wordsmanship read on and treat yourself to two more examples of fine writing. Upon My River, Upon My Soul and Words make up the rest of this Triple Treat.
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literally stories 