False Idol

She raises me on pedestals like a pharaoh, or a king.
Nothing ever touches me; I’m her hero, my praise she’ll sing.
She thinks I stride my chosen path to sweep all fears away, and will not ever suffer strife; I’ll scare the demons away.
In truth I’m just a man, a fraud, no god like powers. I work hard to remain her idol, by putting in the hours.
Fair faith such as hers makes the cynic in me glad, her surging spirit carries me, and makes me proud that I’m her Dad.

On Forbidden Love

She loves me, she loves she not.
Her chiding words draped me in sorrow.
Her smiling chastisement “there's always tomorrow.”
My gift of Flowers strewn, and left to decay, like my hope for her forbidden love.
Together on her silken bale, I found them locked a grotesque entanglement of betrayal.
An end to their love, as they put an end to mine, through shattered vase and flowers, for my courtships wasted hours.
The crimson spray of their demise illuminating cream linen, with splaying lines,
A tear for every Petal fallen, I am the Publisher of my passionate crime.

I finally submitted something to a print anthology. GULP!

I took the family out for a picnic and ramble through a local forest last weekend. As the kids went off and played, we got to discussing plans and where our lives were going.  I mentioned to my supportive and beloved wife that I'd had an idea kicking around since last year, but I'd done nothing with it and now the deadline was a week away. Thus began my roller coaster week, where I resurrected a stagant idea with a strong central character, and went from a 200 word precise to 5168 in five days. I've discovered that I have some bad capitalisation habits not to mention I evolved a nervous tic where I thought closer but typed closure through the whole document. What would Freud say. Luckily a patient wife proof read it for me twice, and it's now submitted. Now comes the pacing.

My Entry for Lily's Friday Prediction

My entry for Lily Childs Feardom 

Cul De Sac

Invisible like a pebble in a moat, I lay and wait all day.
Reality is a slur in my mind, my perception almost blind.
A lovely man holds my hand, my husband so he says, arrives early and stays till he’s shooed away.

At night they leave me laying in my soaking wet nightdress, they disconnected my panic button, so I can’t alert my distress.

My son arrives. If he knew, he’d make this cruelty stop, but worry clouds the beauty of his face, so a mothers love can not reveal the depth of my carers disgrace.

I didn't mean to kill him, it just kind of happened. I've been gently rocking back and forth in my chair arms wrapped around my chest in a attempt at self comforting, thinking what have I done, what have I fucking done, FFS. If I had a few extra words to give I might of been able to save him, but no I had to go for the Killer line and making his last words cyptic or pure comedy if your not aware of Epsteins sculpture. Tench will be back. I wrote this piece for Lily's Friday Prediction


Case closed
Tench stood watch under the spire of Coventry’s bombed out Cathedral, looking every bit the undertaker, cold and alone. What he grudgingly needed right now was the high gloss of Selling’s humour to keep him going. He felt something sharp hit the back of his neck and a wet numbness began to roam down his spine, making him shudder. As his end came near, He laughed in realisation, Epstein had used a milk bottle to fashion the devils shaft. “The Devils penis is a milk bottle!” were his final words. St Michael smiled down on him, then perfect oblivion.

~End~

Coventry Cathedral displays the sculpture of St Michael vanquishing the Devil by Epstein on the wall next to the entrance steps. Daringly Epstein envisioned the Devil as being naked. Having personally spent hours waiting on the steps of Coventry Cathedral for one reason or another I had a morbid fascination with the Naked DEvil, it finally Dawned on me that Epstein had used a milk bottle to create the penis, causing me to exclaim the very line used by Tench.

Lily's Friday Prediction-8th July-2011

I didn't intend to write this then I was flicking through some old photographs at the weekend and discovered a picture tucked inside a note book with just the title and a date written. On my walk into work this morning this kept coming back to play.

Toxic Girlfriend 1993

My head is tangled in a toxic space where you define what goes, you’re the kind of girl that cuts off your face but only to spite your nose.

When you gatecrashed your way into my life, you were like an incision to my heart.

I went from a life so promising, straight to the end with no middle part.

Your desires are set to suffocate; you’re a covering like a septic crust.

You’re not dealing with a full deck love, your aces are missing, and if this were blackjack I’d be bust.

this weeks entry for lily's prediction

I'm on the cusp of getting a Kindle 3G, but my inner voice says hold on theres a discount around the corner with the Kindle 3G with Special offers bound to come to the UK soon now Fathers day is over.

Well at least it's brilliant week over at Lily childs feardom with a fantastic new piece from Lily, a DVD recommendation and the brilliant Friday prediction here's my entry.

Khyams Box

He dared to open Khyam’s box, the gilded letters bore her warning “What does not start has no end”

Watching the sands float through the hour glass within began to hypnotise him.

“Each of those granules is a Soul” Khyam whispered into his sub-consciousness, “See how the sand is never emptied from the top, that’s because a new soul is born, to replace those lost, you are lost too Cabannon”

Cabannon felt the ebb and flow till it overwhelmed his being, his soul billowed in the breeze, till he too became dust, swept away by Khyams tsunami of the soul.