Scribbler: Fifteen Minutes Of Fiction

Bob's Red Face

One Saturday morning we went to Bob’s
with mops and rags to help with jobs.
He’d just moved in, the place was dusty.
The overall feel was somewhat musty.
Well, we all got in and worked quite hard,
even tidying up the yard.
Around about twelve we decided to break,
what with hunger to feed and thirst to slake.
Bob went out to get in his car
to go to the shop, though the shop wasn’t far.
But Bob’s car was parked in behind all the others,
so he ended up having to use his young brother’s.
In a very short time Bob had returned.
He got out of the car and that’s when we learned
That it wasn’t the car that he drove to the store.
A white Vee Dub? Yes. That was for sure.
But this car had blue seats – Bob’s brother’s had grey.
Bob hadn’t noticed as he drove away.
He drove back to the store and there as he’d guessed
was the car’s legal owner looking distressed.
He got out of the car and showed her the key
and the other white car parked down two or three.
His sheepish apology was quickly accepted,
luckily the police had not intercepted.
Back home he drove, car returned to his brother-
amazed that the key to one car, fit another.

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Memories

The soldiers march along the crowd lined road,
Although their marching days are almost gone.
For years the war has stayed in each of them:
They lost so much; those boys when they were young.
Things seen and heard and things that can’t be shared -
A soldier's memories: burden of his mind.

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Yesteryear

In our small town there aren’t many stores
but out on the highway there’s a place I adore.
It’s a huge barnlike shed that’s full of old gear
and it’s been aptly named – it’s called Yesteryear.
In through the doors, and now, left or right?
Wherever I look there are thrills to delight:
A great stack of rusting iron called tools,
on to some sewing machines with their spools
and stacked beneath them are boxes of books.
Look, aren’t these cute? A whole set of chooks,*
Roosters are everywhere and chicks and hens,
painted on trays and mugs that hold pens.
Heaps of salt cellars and chipped pepper shakers,
things lovingly painted by amateur makers,
no longer wanted now granny is dead,
but keenly hoarded by collectors instead.
Past Militaria – I’m not into medals
but I like that old trike with its blue rusting pedals.
There are the boudoir dolls, all snooty and tatty
and that teddy bear is decidedly ratty.
A porcelain face peeps out from a box
just next to a case of collected rocks.
There are books and music, baubles and beads,
I just follow my eyes wherever they lead.
There is far too much to write it all here –
Fifteen minutes? It would take me a year!

*Australian word for chickens

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Ocean Danger

Mother standing on the shore
child in the grip of an unseen rip
swept out to sea
edge of the ocean -great commotion
quick reaction – lifesaver action
mother watches heart in throat
is her youngster still afloat?
seconds drag – time drawn out
she dares to hope but still the doubt
minutes seem to melt to hours
the looming dread of all her fears
all the time she fights the tears
she strains to see beyond the waves
then a voice calls out he’s saved
mother standing on the shore
united with her child once more.

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Stamps

There exist in this world some people who are not famous or even well known beyond their immediate circle of acquaintances, who nevertheless have a great impact on those with whom they come in contact. Mr G is such a person.
This man was a teacher. He had the ability to impart knowledge, and at the same time draw out the best in his students. Where confidence was lacking, he was able to help a child to see their own self worth, assist them in making each endeavour seem worthwhile and to want to strive to achieve a goal. Small successes became the steps which led the way to a better future. This is the person I would wish to see remembered on a stamp.
Thank you, Mr G.

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Special Days

Every day of the year it seems is taken up with someone’s dreams;
Hopes for the future, thoughts of the past, those who are gone and those who will last.
Days for this and days for that, honour the Queen, remember your cat:
Walk to work, plant a tree, Clean up Day, Help someone be Free.
A day for mothers, a day for dads, a day to remember the fallen lads.
A day to wear unusual clothes, a day to wear a bright red nose.
A day of thanksgiving, a day of regret, Christmas and birthdays -things not thought of yet.
If it were up to me, I must let it be said, I’d have a day of Nothing instead.

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Fictional characters

Reading the books of Somerset Maugham
is one of my current pleasures.
His characters are at once cold and warm-
Real people- that make his works treasures.

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Winter Morn

The misty clouds roll in with dawn’s first light;
An opaque gloom that covers all we see.
But then the warming sun begins to rise,
To lift and fade the early eiderdown.
The haze of brumous fairy floss dissolves
And leaves a day that’s blue-bright, crisp and clear.

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Fear of loss

Hospital ward - neat white bed,
tubes and masks an awful dread
that grips. The fear - a silent tear-
don't leave me.
Measured life across a screen,
peaks and falls - a pulsing beat
of stops and starts - that break my heart-
don't leave me.

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Flute

I have a brand new flute
But I haven't got a tutor
And when I try to toot
It sounds more like a hooter!

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