Category Archives: Short Stories

MEMORIES

Night settled on the house.

Cooling embers in the grate shift

Cast a dying heat on socked feet

The rustle of the newspaper

Tells its own story

Recriminations and worries of the day

Put away

Father is reading the Evening Herald

Spread on linoleum worn thin

With children’s busy feet

Glasses perched precariously on the

Bridge of his nose

Below black bushy eyebrows

That tells the colour his iron grey hair

Was once

Before he had a brood and money worries

The rustling paper stills

The chair beside the fire

Grunts as it’s pushed back

Made safe

From the occasional spark

The winding of the clock sets the

Rising time for the winter day

That is to follow

His shadow falls across

The wall leading to the big bedroom

The moonlight casts its beam

Through the gap where the

Curtains don’t meet

His hand softly draws up

The blankets over shoulders

Dreaming of play in green fields

His refrain meets my ears

God bless –

Sleep tight till morning comes

The loose brass door knob shivers

As it’s pulled against the stealth of night

Soon, the faint strip of light

Is extinguished as he makes his way

To his own bed beside my mother

BROKEN  CLOCKS

It just sits there in the corner,

broken and lost without me.

It needs to be fixed,

so it can do its job freely

. Its ticking is gone

, replaced by only silence

. It’s like being stuck

on the middle of the fence

.

Time cannot go on,

if nothing can count it.

Its like saying you can have light,

when a candle not lit.

Credit poem to Jordon Tree Hello Poetry

clock image credit Abandoned N, I.

Beautiful moon tonight – My mother always said that babies were born when there was a full moon.

I wonder was the moon shining on the 25th December 2000 years ago?

Here’s a special song to welcome  Mary’s Boy Child

I found the image for this post  (see below) – an abandoned cottage door  –   on the ABANDONED  NI SITE. My thanks to them for allowing me to use it.

I began to wondered how long the old cottage had lain  abandoned. Where had the family/s gone who had lived there? I wondered in bygone days at Christmas time  had the ‘Mummers’ come a-calling?

Back un the day, during December schoolchildren learned rhymes and in the weeks prior to Christmas they went from door-to-door ‘putting on a play’ about good overcoming evil. They were usually invited in and given money and even a wee cup of tae ‘in their hands.’ Many of them played  musical instruments and so the house dwellers and the rhymers would sing and dance. before a fond farewell was bade and the rhymers moved on to the next house.

As a child I remember being awe struck and scared witless all at the same time  by their outlandish costumes and painted masks. Our dog used to run at them and then run under the table and hide.

And so this story took root in my head. And like all good  stories it had to be told.

Go on – It’s Christmas –  Enjoy a bit of nostalgia from bygone times.

A Happy and Peaceful Christmas to all my Readers. Thank you so much  for your support  in 2015

Keep  logging in to writeyouwriteme.com in 2016

Guest writers always wanted – poems and short stories. The more local  the better:

email: gemhill@gmail.com

THE HALF OPEN DOOR AND THE RHYMERS

It was the week before Christmas. The mummers – a group of travelling Rhymers, seven in all – Prince George, The Doctor, Jack Straw, Buck Sweep, Devil Dout, Little Wit and Jack Frost; all dressed in ragged costumes and wearing painted masks made from cardboard and straw, came to a house with a half open door.

As was their custom they banged on the door and began their rhyming.

“Room, room,” Prince George shouted out, “Gives us room to rhyme. Give me some action around this Christmas time!”

He and his rhymers waited impatiently to be invited in through the half open door. But inside all was silent. No sound breached the frosty air cloudy with the steam from their breath.

Buck Sweep boldly stepped forward and rapped soundly on the door of the old cottage.

“Here comes I Buck Sweep, Money I love. Money I crave. All the money I get I keep. Call out a welcome, maiden fair and bid us enter in for fun and merriment.”

No sound breached the half open door.

Buck shivered and stepped away.

A horned figured with a three pronged fork stepped forward and poked the rotting door, once, twice, three times. “Here comes I Divil Dout, Answer my knock woman o’ the house. Or, in I’ll come and poke ye to and early grave.” Satisfied he’d made his point he stood a while, expectantly.

No sound of steps could he fathom. He moved aside a-huffin’ and spittin’

Jack Frost tried his hand. “Och, missus dear take pity on me an oul man with a frozen beard and icicles for fingernails. Let us in, please. It’s Christmas time.”

No sound of tears his pleas did awaken

A short period of confusion ensued. The Rhymers milled around blowing on their hands to keep warm.

Elbowing his way to the front of the band Johnny Funny took up the challenge. “I’m the man who collects the money,” he whispered through the  keyhole dirty . “All silver, no brass. Bad monies don’t pass.”

He rattled his tin at the silent dwelling

A fat little man bag in hand bustled his way to the lichen doorframe “Here comes I wee Doctor Brown –the best wee doctor in the town. Ten guineas I charge. But tonight it’s Christmas time. My services are free to all inside.”

Silently the house replied, “Too late, too late dear Doctor Brown. “

Then up stepped Little Wit. He placed a Tin Whistle to his lips and serenaded the slumbering cottage.

“Here am I, big head an’ little wit. But I’ll play you a tune – if you’ll let me in. Pick the instrument of your choice, violin or melodeon. Round the floor and mind the dresser – Christmas Carols sweet as angels’ blessings.”

The house gazed out at the Christmas stars and hugged the lingering notes of Little Wit’s tin whistle as it floated back on the stillness of the night. It reminded the old cottage of the times gone by when there was a fire in the grate, Christmas stockings on the chimney brace and the neighbours at the door…

In loneliness the house cried out as the Rhyming Mummer’s music faded away and died.

I found this poem on the internet. It by Connie Hinnen Cook. I thought the sentiments and feelings expressed in it were very true.

She’s a poet I have not come across before. I read some of her other poems but couldn’t find her on social media to ask her permission to post her work.
I hope the season of good tidings prevail and she is happy for me to share her poetry.

A Christmas Prayer

As we draw to the end of another year
We think of the ones that we hold so dear;
We pause to give thanks for our friends so true,
And ask God to bless them, the old and new.
We hold up each loved one before His Throne
And ask Him to comfort the ones alone,
For those who have lost someone they hold dear,
We ask Him to strengthen and hold them near.

And those with new babies, or newly wed,
We ask Him to smooth out the path ahead;
For those who are ill and can barely stand,
We ask for the touch of His healing hand.
For those with new homes, with new jobs and new stress,
We ask Him to crown all their plans with success.
For those who have dreams and think, “It’s now or never,”
We ask Him to bless all that they should endeavor.
For those who are facing an uphill climb
We ask Him to carry them through this time.

As we come to the start of a brand new year,
We pray for the ones that we hold so dear.
We ask that each one will be soundly blest,
To taste of His goodness and know His best;
For angels to watch o’er them day and night,
For miracles, blessings and sheer delight!
We ask for the gifts that the world can’t buy:
A glimpse at the wonders of Heaven on high,
Contentment and joy till the Lord comes again,
This we ask for our friends, in His name, Amen.

~Connie Hinnen Cook
Christmas Thank

My November poet is local woman Betty Devenney.

When I listen to Betty reading her poetry something stirs deep within me. She has a way of penning  simple observations that stick in your memory long after the poem is finished.Just like the subject matter of this poem ‘Little Things’

It reminded me of when we were children. Our mother would send up to ‘check’ on elderly neighbours. Did they need anything done? – like bringing in a bucket of water from the pump Or, a ‘wee’ message from the village shop or Post Office.

Often, glad of the company they’d ramble on. Frequently  they told us the same story many times but we’d smile and nod as if it was the first time we had heard it.

Betty’s poem also reminded me of the kindness of our mother to strangers. An Old vagrant woman  – selling pegs and other knick knacks in a basket – an item always  bought from the basket even if it wasn’t needed; a cup of tea given to help her on her way.

I don’t think we are any less kind today. I just think we are busier and more self-absorbed.

What do you think?

Comment welcome

This poem was first published in the ‘Shared Spaces ‘poetry collection 2012

Enjoy and give the poet a like.

Without dreams and goals to strive for what would  we be?

Believe in yourself  and you can, you will achieve your goals.

It is said the harder you work the more success comes your way.

It takes hard work, and a clear commitment to succeed.

The writing gurus tell us,  the day you don’t want to write, the day you are resisting the call of the pen or keyboard – you want to walk the dog, clean the house or just go out into the garden and eat chocolate, that’s the day you need to write if you are to achieve your dream.

Some days the chocolate wins – but come night the dream   is still there – so I write.

Blind  to her self absorbent nature
She fell in love with her alter ego

An affair once encountered

Not forgotten  in a hurry

Lucy’s trouble

She loved no other

Remember – Poem by Christina Georgina Rossetti

Remember me when I am gone away,
Gone far away into the silent land;
When you can no more hold me by the hand,
Nor I half turn to go yet turning stay.
Remember me when no more day by day
You tell me of our future that you plann’d:
Only remember me; you understand
It will be late to counsel then or pray.
Yet if you should forget me for a while
And afterwards remember, do not grieve:
For if the darkness and corruption leave
A vestige of the thoughts that once I had,
Better by far you should forget and smile
Than that you should remember and be sad.

Innocence’s Playground
In blissful abandonment she treads lightly upon the soft sand
Joy personified in the small form of innocence grasping technology safely to her breast.
She studies words scrawled painstakingly by someone who has passed on their way
Lover’s comments which she yet doesn’t grasp the meaning of.
A child of the 21st century she recorded on her iPad
What she sees.
The things in this place of nature’s beauty easy to find
Freedom of golden sand dewy with sea spray kisses and recent rain
Castles with high turrets built to a design that only she knows as she diligently builds motes flooded with imaginary swell.
Protecting a fairytale princess and her prince charming from their enemies.
Her dog watching from the grassy rocks
He knows intuitively not to scamper through the creation of her dreams.
Until summoned by clear sing-song command to come and chase swooping seagulls
She laughs circles runs arms outstretched
Embracing the freedom of the holidays

You Never Know
By Helen L. Marshall
You never know when someone
May catch a dream from you
You never know when a little word
Or something you may do
May open up the windows
Of a mind that seals a light
The way you love, may not matter at all
But you never know it might.

And just in case it could be
That another’s life, through you
Might possibly change for the better
With a broader and brighter view
It seems it might be worth a try
At pointing the way to the right
Of course it may not matter at all,
But then again…it might