Golden Memories…

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Due, I suspect, to the arrival of our Great Grandchild three weeks ago, an air of nostalgia has descended upon our household. All the old photographs have come out of hiding, accompanied by much reminiscing.

We thought we would share some of these golden memories with you…

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It was like having a time machine, going back to all those times and remembering them as if they were yesterday…

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Do you ever take a walk down Memory Lane?

AAAAA

 

#Writephoto ~ Sign #Poetry

Thursday photo prompt: Sign #writephoto

 

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Endless

 

Another mindless Christ, preaching endless syllables of nothingness.

Whose soul does he think he can save with words that have no meaning?

There are no signs, no road to redemption.

Let me start my life over without the broken pieces behind me.

Let the ocean swallow my useless life.

My life did not flash before me.

All I could see, the full moon above dancing fingers of light through water.

That pub sign I passed, The Green Wizards Hat swung in front of my eyes

Misshapen, like the crazy mirrors at the carnival.

My air seems seemed endless, I should be drowning by now

no more than a body to be found on some shore by a passing stranger.

Others gather, looking down,  voices…

“How sad, she is so young, what drove her to this?”

Among the crowd, someone stepped forward to close my eyes.

He could not hear me screaming, “Please don’t. Let me see the wizard in the green hat.”

My eyes closed, my hearing gone, how will I know what he had to say to me?

I awake in hospital, had he closed my eyes too soon, thinking me dead?

Did some strange pub sign save me?

Flowers by my bedside, a card, a small green wizard hat in the corner.

Inside I read, “Now you can start your life over…”

There was no signature.

Did an ancient wizard step through time?

AAAAA

 

 

#Flash Fiction 99 Word Challenge for Carrot Ranch Literary Community

 

Carrot Ranch Challenge

 

The Attic

Clearing out the attic

I found Grandads chisels

carefully wrapped in cloth.

He is no longer with us

But I remember him telling me

Always look after your tools.

He was the same with all his tools

Paintbrushes must be thoroughly cleaned.

Unwrapping the cloth, five chisels

as good as the day he bought them

Rosewood handles, each blade sharp

as the last time he held them.

I could feel him beside me

nudging me to find the wooden train set

he made for my twelfth birthday.

I found so much more, I rediscovered

My grandfather, his lost wisdom…

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Dark Sound… #Poetry

 

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Image by Pixabay.com

 

 

Dark Sound

Thunder, like a death knell

crashes through my head.

Something evil waits

the horizon black as hell.

Lightning whips through the clouds

like the tail of an angry beast.

Destruction, beauty rolled into one evil hand.

The rain comes in bucket loads

as if someone were bailing out a sinking ship.

It’s a scene from a Ridley Scott movie.

I’ll turn the corner, find the four horsemen of the Apocalypse

riding down on me, with the fifth rider hanging back

waiting to take my life…

AAAAA

#ThrowbackThursday #BookReview The Curse of Arundel Hall @newwrites

 

One ghost, one murder, one hundred years apart. But are they connected?

Ella has discovered a secret room in The Yellow Cottage, but with it comes a ghost. Who was she? And how did she die? Ella needs to find the answers before either of them can find peace. But suddenly things take a nasty turn for the worse.
Ella Bridges has been living on Linhay Island for several months but still hasn’t discovered the identity of her ghostly guest. Deciding to research the history of her cottage for clues she finds it is connected to Arundel Hall, the large Manor House on the bluff, and when an invitation to dinner arrives realises it is the perfect opportunity to discover more.
However the evening takes a shocking turn when one of their party is murdered. Is The Curse of Arundel Hall once again rearing its ugly head, or is there a simpler explanation?
Ella suddenly finds herself involved in two mysteries at once, and again joins forces with Scotland Yard’s Police Commissioner to try and catch a killer. But will they succeed?

I am always on the lookout for something different and unusual to read, and The Curse of Arundel Hall was not disappointing. A well-written murder mystery set in the 1930s, transporting you back to another time with the old-fashioned language and way of life.

The main character, Isobella Bridges, or Ella, reminds me of the Agatha Christie heroines, although this particular lady is not an old spinster. Young and adventurous, life has not been kind and moving to the fairy tale cottage on Linhay Island was supposed to be a retreat from the world.

After a slow, scene-setting start, Ella discovers that a ghost of a woman haunts the cottage. Undaunted, it turns out she has a flair for such things and sets out to solve the mystery. She finds the skeletal remains of the woman hidden behind a secret panel. A murder soon follows, linking Ella’s cottage to nearby Arundel Hall, the subject of an ancient curse.

She discovers that Arundel Hall has been plagued with bad luck ever since the eleventh Duke of Norfolk built it for his wife Marion who sadly died in childbirth. The next wife went insane, and the third wife nearly drove him to murder, but she vanished, never to be seen again. Shortly after that, the Duke sold the Hall, cursing it as he left.

I really liked Ella, cheerfully determined to get on with her life and solve every problem that life throws at her, something that comes in handy in this adventure, as she figures out how to open various secret passages and hidden rooms.

This story is filled to the brim with exquisite detail and old-fashioned scenarios. The dialogue between the characters is amazing, the vocabulary perfect for the period. I loved the paranormal twist to the story, just enough to give the story an extra depth – although personally, I would have liked more.

I would defy anyone to try to guess who the murderer is, or why it happened. Just when you think you have figured it out, you are led to another possibility.

The “Spartacus” moment towards the end of the book (I won’t add any spoilers) was hilarious and the classic cliff-hanger had me yearning for the next book, but I will read the first book in this series while I am waiting.

Definitely, worth all of five stars…

About the Author

j-new

J. New is the British author of paranormal cosy mysteries, murder mysteries and magical YA with a hint of romance. A voracious reader and writer all her life, she took her first foray into Indie publishing in 2013, and has never looked back.
She has an eclectic reading taste, ranging from the Magic of Terry Pratchett, JK Rowling, Tolkien and Neil Gaiman, to Dean Koontz, Eion Colfer, Anne Rice and Agatha Christie. A lover of murder mysteries set in past times, where steam trains, afternoon tea and house staff abound. She is convinced she was born in the wrong era as she has a particular aversion to cooking and housework.
She also has an impossible bucket list, which includes travelling on the Orient Express with Hercule Poirot, shopping in Diagon Alley with Sirius Black, lazing around the Shire with Gandalf and Bilbo, exploring Pico Mundo with Odd Thomas and having Tea at the Ritz with Miss Marple.
Funds from the sale of her books go towards her dog rescue effort.

#Flights of Fancy ~ Everlasting

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Everlasting

Time is immortal

It gives no heed to the sad, the lonely.

It will pass by, happy smiles, uncaring

It glides through death’s dark tunnel

It seeks not the living, nor the light

Time has no master, it belongs to itself

It shapes new worlds, moulds new beings

It cares not for dimensions, plays out what it will

It has no beginning and no end

We could search forever

never to find its true meaning…

AAAAA

Jaye’s Journal ~ week 11

Jaye's Journal x12

 

Do you ever think that fate is not on your side?

That every time you think you have it sorted, something comes along and puts obstacles in your way, every single time?

After what seemed like a long period of confusion, my muse slipped back into gear last week, enabling me to make some headway with PayBack, my WIP.

I always write first thing in the morning, long before most of the world wakes up. I have been enjoying the return to normal and I can tell that the WIP has appreciated it too.

That phrase springs to mind, ‘It’s a glorious day, watch some buggier ruin it,’

That was when the computer crashed.

Just to prove a point, the kitchen light failed too. Not as simple as changing the light bulb, this needed one of those circular tubes, something most shops don’t stock any more. Luckily, Amazon is not most shops and I managed to order one. We will have to cook and prepare our food by candlelight until it gets here, but not too much hardship.

The computer is another matter.  It needs replacing, and I cannot really afford to at the moment. I just pray it lasts a little longer!

 

Caught a glimpse of the news this morning, where they were going on about this new survey a photographer was involved in, about people with birthmarks. They were trying to increase awareness or something along those lines.

I was expecting the usual, oddly placed patches, so was not prepared for what some people are born with. Huge dark areas, covering most of their bodies. One poor man had a birthmark all over his face. And really pretty women, almost invisible behind the ugly marks.

When I think of all the things I moan about, they fade to nothing compared to their daily torment.

Then, for some reason, I thought of all those people who cover themselves in tattoos. Not the odd artfully placed roses or butterflies, but the random haphazard determination to cover every inch of their skin.

Sometimes, I think our DNA or whatever controls our lives, has it backwards…

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Colleen’s Weekly #Poetry Challenge

Colleen’s 2019 Weekly #Tanka Tuesday #Poetry Challenge No. 127 #SynonymsOnly

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I

attend

Sunday church

my soul transcend

sins everywhere

the walls run thick with tears

heads bowed in silent prayer

seeking forgiveness given here

candle lit, penance paid, sins vanish

I chase my shadow across the Rubicon

The die is cast, whose favour will it fall

my soul hangs in balance of payment

I track the desert wilderness

I seek the one who can help

to return me from hell

call me from exile

the hunt over

my own guide

I live

now

AAAAA