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22 July: Journal of Thoughts
A Chip, We Cried The French cried “Mais non! We made pommes frites!” But history winced and called them twits.For Belgium fried the golden wand,In oil so deep, so rich, so fond. They claimed the name, those saucy Gauls,While Britons munched in seaside stalls.“A chip,” we cried, “not frites, you fool!”Then wrapped them hot in…
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22 July: A Six Sentence Story
14.2 of 27 – Driftspire: Lindisfarne – Before dawn, dreaming Part 3: Driftspire’s Tidemark Brigid dreams in crow-black ink and saltwater glyphs — names she realises she wrote herself, now unspooling like psalms soaked through by rain. Felreil stands at the edge of her sleep, voice soft as worn vellum: “Of course you dream this…
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21 July: A Six Sentence Fish Story
MicroDosing: 55µg – The Depth of Blue-Grey Cold Year on year, that trout knew the river’s elbow-turn. Its icy thieving bite at bait. The humming tone of my father’s hook circling the same blue-grey crook of curved water. Depth was measured in patience. He’d cast and recast, quiet as the current. And the water, full…
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21 July: The Old Woman With No Cat
The Old Woman and Schrödinger’s Cat — The Collapse (part 3) The old woman wakes to find the box again — open, empty, and whispering like a kettle just before the scream. Inside, a note — written in her own precise hand, but the ink smells of ozone and forgotten rain: “Observation completes the curse…
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20 July: MicroDosing 70µg
Soil’s Song ( a 70µg microdose of 70 words) I know soil. Its memory hums beneath my feet, my hands deep in its dark gospel — decay turned bloom. A cradle for seed, for bone, and eternity’s silence — where roots whisper, gossiping like neighbours over the fence. I know the hush of unborn gardens,…
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19 July: The Old Woman With No Cat (tweaked)
From the Old Woman’s Journal: The Cat Gets Dramatic. Again. 10:32 AM — Found the not-my-cat in the coal bin again this morning, covered in soot and undeserved gravitas — “researching ancestral hardship” and “honouring the noble struggles of the Welsh proletariat,” it claims. Impressive rhetoric for something that still chases string and shadows. I…
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18 July: Microdosing Fiction
Unsolved “I’m home,” she calls to her husband upstairs, “I’ll just put the groceries away.” Milk in the door, grapes in the drawer, eggs top shelf…. Next morning, the warm scent of coffee’s brewing, sunlight slicing through the kitchen blinds. She puts a frying pan on the stove to warm, opens the fridge door, and…
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17 July: A Thursday Door
A Tanka Poem for Two French Doors Chateau doors stand tallEchoes wrapped in oaken calmSunlight softly drapesOld rooms cradle our laughterMemory dances through wood Bushboy (Brian Dodd) shares photos of doors, but not just any doors. Spectacular doors from his journeys. Dan’s Thursday Doors opened the door on this. I love doors of all sorts. I’ve trawled…
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17 July: Sonnet to a River
Songs the River Sings (A Sonnet to River Arun) The boat was small, the river calm—no storm to blame, no wrathful psalm. Just wood grown tired of being wood,just water doing what water should. Eleven men (their hands darkwith earth-turned songs), eight women(keepers of loom and flaxen thread),now seamstresses of this riverbed. May mountains spill…
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17 July: Ten Things of Thankful
In no particular order: 3. Thankful for ice cream when the temperature at 9:30PM is still 32C. Have mercy — salted caramel ice cream! 3. Thankful that not all the greenhouse tomatoes have “white core“. It’s caused by extreme temperatures — which we’ve had (well, not as extreme as Spain, or Southern France, or Greece…
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