End of Summer on the barbequethe first sizzleof raindropsrunning jumpover the streamand failingscowling wifeinto the phone he says"reboot the server"derelict buildingyet anothergraffiti penisfalling leavesevery footstep smellsof Autumna hundred yardsinto the woodslitter ceases
Nothing to Hide When the sun goes down, I'm camping outUpon your precious lawnYour alarm goes off at half past sixI was still out there at dawnNow I'm sat upon your garden gateTo watch your passing lifeSee everything you get up to,You and your lovely wifeEnjoy reading your morning mail?I see you've got a billThe postcard says your cousin's wellBut the children are feeling illYour supermarket loyalty cardReveals your breakfast brandAnd following your credit trailI see the holiday you've plannedAt half past eight, it's off to workI watch you on TVYou're travelling fast, a redlight jumpedYet more data there for meWhile yo
A Summer Stroll around the scrumping orcharda new fencefrom the gravestonethe fledgling's first flightbeyond a cloudwallthe perfect sunset
Legs soft-hearted fool -across the ceiling,baby spiderswatching the harvestmanin our respective cornerswe eatbathroom moth,three hunters circleeach other's websevictedthe house spiderseeking shelter
Six Word Story - The End Face down I lie, I'm toast
Wordspill - Rabbit WordspillIt was the type of bar that only really gets busy for anhour or two after the offices kick out, popular with the city types looking for a quick drink before catching the train to Surbiton. As I sat nursing my pint, a group walked in and I could hear one of them talking about how much money he had made that day, even above the overly loud music from the jukebox. I could still hear him talking as they ordered their drinks and sat down at a table on the opposite side of the room from me. What ever it was he had to say, he was still talking loudly about it twenty minutes later as I drained the last few drops from . The nusic
CS Lewis, It's All Your Fault So, here I am in a clone motel on the edge of an industrial town. The room is comfortable, but impersonal, soulless. In an attempt to bring some feeling of home, I hang the little stone wolf on its leather thonging from the mirror as I shave in preparation for the day ahead. A day that will be spent in a dimly lit warehouse watching numbers scroll on the screen as the clatters and roars of industrial ovens and shakers fill the air.Thank goodness then, for that hour between work and darkness, a time to explore the roads and paths that lead away from the hotel. Maybe to the ruined abbey across the fields, whose grounds will be closed for the
Lord of the Files September 22nd : The project deadline has been and gone. We engineers have been told that we must do all that we can to complete the work as soon as possible including working late and unsocial hours.September 23rd : Managers are conspicuous by their absence. They were last seen at about 9.00pm by one of the cleaners who also discovered that all the exits are now locked. Someone tried to inform the gatehouse about this but only got an engaged tone on the telephone.September 24th : The building doors are still locked. We've decided to send Dave into the air conditioning to see if he can get out of the building and open the doors. Being the
Passing Strangers Here it comes again, that pretty smile,That brief elusive flicker of the lipsWhat hardened heart would it not beguile?Driving reason howling from the slipsIs there something here that might amuse?A comic shape, an ill-starred face?Perhaps a toy to play with and confuse,To be discarded for another's placeOr do you see someone to let in?A ray of light for a kindred soulLifting a heart only one can win,Changing what was half into a wholeSo what can be read in this fleeting sign,As you go your way and I go mine?
Sta.sh
