Talkin' Blues No.1

I’ve been tryin’ ta write me some talkin’ blues,

I think I know what I need to do -

But I ain't got no kinda of theme,

Just a traditional rhyming scheme.

I got nothin’... Nothing anyone’d care for.

Sooooooo

I failed a bit with that first bit,

But this ain't gonna be no Top 10 hit.

Sooner or later if I keep writin’

I’ll surely get to some gold strikin’.

Just keep on digging… this hole.

Now what do I got to complain about?

What's gonna make me scream and shout?

What's the middle class got to protest

From its safe, warm and cosy nest?

Same as always … someone, anyone else. Anyone different. (snorts and raises eyebrows)

Or what funny story could I tell?

Maybe when I pressed the button for the bell,

And it stuck and it rung and rung,

And it was always hometime for everyone?

But it's a bad story … and it's not even true.

And o’course all of this is in your head,

I should be “singing”, playing guitar instead -

Not leaving it to your imagination,

And if you don’t know the tune, your confusination.

Ah, I lost it … not that I had it… better wrap it up quick.

Sooooooo

Guess I'll head back to the drawing board, 

“Quick ‘cause everyone here is bored!”

Guess Talkin’ Blues are hard to do,

But I'll try again - maybe you can too.

I'm not a great writer 

(though I'm tryin to sit with some)

 … 

just tryin’ ta have fun.

The past is full of knots

The past is full of knots

That can never be undone.

For we have cast our lots,

Each turn we've had is done.

But why upset the past

When it has brought us here?

This is the one die cast,

Whose change I’d live to fear.

And now we tie our knots

Together with great care,

For the future we can jot

Together as a pair.

The Vocal and the Silent

I will paint our lives together,

You will paint our lives together,

And I will pose you forever,

And I will sit still forever,

Even your face will be mine. 

Even my face will be yours.

I will be vocal and you will be silent,

I won't be vocal and you won't be silent,

You will live fully in my firmament;

I will live fully in your firmament;

Your smile will say everything’s fine.

My smile will say everything’s fine.

I will build you a monument,

You’ll build me a mausoleum,

A beloved human document!

A life much like linoleum!

Your face will not be forgotten.

Just my face won’t be forgotten.

I will shout and let you be seen,

Your treatment will always be mean,

No one will ever say I was mean,

And my work will never be seen -

To eternity, my love, you’ll be gotten.

In hell your love lies and is rotten.

---

See also: The Haberdashery of Imaginary Art #271: A one-sided story, or The Vocal and the Silent.

The Elemental Beings of Paracelsus

Paracelsus was a sixteenth century scientist who described four elemental beings - "Salamanders, which correspond to fire; Gnomes, corresponding to earth; Undines, corresponding to water; and Sylphs, corresponding to air."

Salamanders

Existing in the very heart of fire

Burning’s a Salamander's desire.

They eat purely to survive,

Allowing procreation, to thrive.

Born from a fusion of The Three -

Air, heat, fuel, their trinity -

That create a ravenous beast

Eager from the start to eat

Anything that will burn

Anything that fire will turn

Into food for its very heart,

To breed its mightiest part.

Existing in the very heart of fire

Burning’s a Salamander's desire -

Be careful of these read hot creatures,

(Listen closely to your teachers)

And look out for their fiery features.

Gnomes

Gnomes are gardeners,

Gnomes feed trees,

Gnomes break down and eat the leaves.

Gnomes are farmers, 

Gnomes form fields,

Gnomes build crops, increase the yield.

For gnomes are mothers,

Gnome are midwives

Gnomes warm seeds and help them thrive.

And gnomes are doctors,

Gnomes give good care,

Gnomes let you rest ‘pon their grassy hair.

But gnomes are wreckers,

Gnomes destroy,

Gnomes roll you downhill, with all things toy:

For gnomes are undertakers,

Gnomes bind us all,

From the loftiest human

To the base criminal.

Undines

Undines jump over rocks in the river,

Undines rage and rest with the sea.

Undines, cold, make my throat quiver

Undines live inside of me.

 

Undines feed plants through their roots,

Passed on by gnomic brethren,

Undines raise, bloat veg and fruit,

Undines feed us and our children.

 

Undines make up life, give life, are life,

Undines are the Earth’s majority.

Building blocks keeping us from strife

And the main part of a nice cup o’tea.

Sylphs

I feel sylphs on my face,

Hear them natter at my ear,

As they occupy every space.

Invisible to me, to my eyes

Oh lord, I do wish to gawd

To see them one day, see and spy

The sylphs’ easy, graceful flight

The air filled with faces fair:

A sight to fill me with delight.

100 Words: The Yellow House by the Blue Sea

Won't you stop by for tea

In the Yellow house 

By the Blue Sea

Won’t you spend time with me 

In the Yellow house 

By the Blue Sea

I wrote this down for you to see

In the Yellow house 

By the Blue Sea

Left it on your settee

In the Yellow house 

By the Blue Sea

If only I could leave me

In the Yellow house 

By the Blue Sea

Then I would run to you

Then I would say to you

Come and be with me 

In the Yellow house 

By the Blue Sea

Always always

Forever ever

---

Written for Friday Fictioneers from the following picture prompt (see here for other stories): 

PHOTO PROMPT © Rowena Curtin

Worry

Something that grows 

until it’s exposed.

Something that thrives in the dark, 

but withers at the slightest spark -

Worry is a mould that festers,

unless you cut it off at source,

Worry is a ghoul that pesters,

never let it run its course.

So

Let me share it with you now,

Let its hold diminish.

Let me share it with you now,

Let this feeling finish.

And

Let us talk so that you can walk,

Let me help carry so you don’t tarry.

Never worry on your own;

Know that you’re not alone.

Bin Flowers

Bin flowers hit me like a cold shower's worth of truth.  Remind me of Ruth. The girl with curls with whom I wanted to whirl and to dance and to prance across town in her best night/ball gown. My advances she assigned to a bin, her affections I could not win. But what of this scene? Who? What? Today. Here. How? I wanted to help right now. Traced the flowers to the florist, asked them was it a tourist? No, an office worker, a regular, no shirker. They even knew which one, thought my task would be easily done but they wouldn’t talk to me about it, walked away all clouded.  Until the fifth day I tried to block their way (metaphorically) when they shouted, sprayed and spouted, “Look, they didn’t turn up, only texted, I had burned it all, really messed it.  Maybe I should have given them away, but my mind was all in a fray; I took love for granted, didn’t care for it and I lanced it.”  So these bin flowers were wasted by someone who was too hasty. But what about yours?