#The Sunday Whirl ~ Wordle 359

banner.jpg

Wordle 395.png

 

Windblown

 

Rain-washed along our street in a wave, pushed by the wind.

Half-formed bubbles floated on top as if someone was blowing through a straw trying to amuse unseen children.

It has been this way for the past three weeks, helpful for my writing, my desk in front of the large bay window.

Early one morning, I noticed a yellow garment drifting by. A small jacket, possibly a child’s. A beam of light broke through the clouds, illuminating the jacket as it passed. It caught on the corner of the street.

I decided to retrieve it, not knowing why and as I stepped outside, the rain stopped and the silence felt like a soothing balm.

Inside the pocket, I found one large marble, a whistle and a very old tin soldier.

The jacket must belong to a boy. I doubt it would be a girl.

I placed a card in the corner shop, hoping the owner of the jacket would want it back. I wanted the story of my find, a child’s treasure. I remembered my own, long ago squirrelled under my bed. The fires of yesterday blown out now.

Saturday morning, I answered the doorbell to a beautiful young woman holding the hand of a young girl of about five years old. I asked them in and went to get the jacket.

As I handed it to the woman, the child snatched it from her and checked the pockets, smiling at her treasures.

“Jessica, what do you say?”

Thanks received, I asked if they would like tea, that I had cake.

A ploy, giving her mother that look that only a child can, without saying please.

I served the tea with a small glass of orange for Jessica.

I asked Jessica’s mother if I could talk about the three objects I found in the pocket.

“The marble was the first time Jess won a game, I told her to keep it for luck to remind her she is a winner. The whistle is for unwanted attention, should she feel uncomfortable. It has a very loud sound and scares of dogs and other nuisances.”

Her look told me I was supposed to know what she meant, and of course, I did.

The tin soldier was the last gift from her father. He told her it would remind her that he would always be by her side, fighting in her corner. The Gulf War I understood.

I thought the mother to be in her late twenties, too young to be alone with a child. The Gulf War ended a year ago. I couldn’t bring myself to believe she wouldn’t have found someone yet. I hoped not, because I intended to be that someone …

AAAAA

Love…

 

burn-96145__340.jpg

Image by Pixabay.com

 

 

Love

I felt the winter winds

blow chills through my bones

chasing memories, unable to capture

haunting melodies hung in the air.

Warm winter furs, brandy cupped hands

love songs whispered through the strings of a harp

All lost now to the winter winds.

I cannot walk where your ashes lie

deep beneath the sea, you rest

my mind holds you forever young

my one true love…

AAAAA

Moon Dust… #Poetry

 

moon-26619__340.png

Image by Pixabay.com

 

 

Moon Dust

Angry voices fill the air

Lonely souls

a broken chair.

House standing in despair

One voice calling

what if you could

walk on the moon?

Would you bury

the two souls lying there?

Left behind on mission lost

time and space shall not erase

the memory of lessons learned.

Send a ship, bring them home

The moon is no place to be left alone…

AAAAA

Thoughts…

 

gothic-2910057__340.jpg

Image by Pixabay.com

 

 

Jaye said I should think of something different to write about.

Short stories or romance, ghosts, hauntings, all of which I think I do.

Unlike Jaye, I am only good at one thing. The work I put out, good or bad, I can’t always tell until there is feedback.

I know that sometimes the pieces I put in front of Jaye have moved her to tears. So maybe there is something to them. Either that or she is just a soft Nellie. Who knows?

I can only do what comes from the pen. Good or bad, it is for others to judge.

I guess I can tell when the web is silent, the likes low.

Maybe Jaye is right, the pen has had its day.

Then again, we don’t always agree from one second to the next.

Unless there is a blue moon, and they don’t come around very often.

AAAAA

#Writephoto ~ Sign #Poetry

Thursday photo prompt: Sign #writephoto

 

Featured Image -- 45847

 

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…

AAAAA.png

Dark Sound… #Poetry

 

lightning-199651_960_720.jpg

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

flights of fancy.jpg

 

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