Category Archives: Short Stories

The cat’s long whiskers bristled

Her eyes grew round and sly

For their  sittin’ in the cornfield

Was that sleeked little mousey

 

Come here, my little mousey friend

A tale I must narrate

About camaraderie between a field mouse

And  a fine farmers muggy like me

 

The little mouse sat back and grinned

His little teeth a-chatter

The fat old cat was tricking him

She’d have him for her supper

 

The August sun beat down on them

As they scrutinized each other

 

A good mouser bragged the farmer’s wife

The little field mouse sniggered

She’d been stalking him since June

And no nearer her supper

 

G C Hill  2018

 

 

A blessed place and I am here. I am here because a thought turned into a desire to see Lourdes. A single thought that brought me to France where an i insignificant girl one of a family of ten believed what a beautiful Lady told her.

The lady, the mother of God,said “tell the priest to build a church here.”

Last night as dusk I stood amongst throngs 50 , 100, deep of people of many faiths and countries on the spot where that girl Bernadette had stood transfixed. She was brave. She delivered her message and was scorned and disbelieved. She kept repeating it until finally she was believed.

The cliff face, a sort of overhanging, is shiny, wore smooth with the many hands of pilgrims, including my own. A church is built there as requested.

No film script could produce the atmosphere that existed there last night as thousands of people of all ages prayed the prayer Our Lady had asked for. The rosary. And walked with lighted candles praying in their own native tongues.

It was something else.

Gemma Hill

July 2018

Grianan Fort The longest day
A fairy-tale reality
I stretch my limbs this 21 June and think
Of solstice things:
Of Sun rising gloriously over
Grianan Fort in Donegal
Of times past
Of immigrant souls
Dead relative of mine
People I will never know
Except in a grainy photo frame
Who walked within the circular fort?

Silence falls.
Golden globes glow in unsteady hands
As dusk draws a dark veil over the land
Casting shadows –
Calling forth the dawn of summer solstice time
On Grianan Aileach

My sister and I went there once
Stumbled over the ancient stones
Our feet trailing on the dead souls
Who really believe in the longest day
And weren’t just visitor there

Midnight’s strikes the hour
Day passes one into another
My mind’s eye sees the muted line of shivering lights
Hears the music of Celtic Ireland stirring in my ears
Feels my feet grip the rocky earth
Sense them in winding strides walk skywards
Face lifted to the horizon
A rising orange ball of majestic Sun
Welcome. Welcome bright new Dawn
I wish I was there again
Gemma Hill June 2018©

Sights and Sounds of spring

 

The soar of a bird

Light flashing off his underwings

Glistening in sunlit flight

As it dips and swoops

From tree to chimneypot

Majestic to behold

The flap of its wings a beautiful sound

 

The hum of a drill

Hands busily making new

On Slates and ridge tiles

After winter’s fierce frolicking

 

New mown lawn scents float in the air

The grass cutters friend

Happy it’s spring again

 

Sun caresses face and arms

Sky in a dress of satin blue

Hemmed in frills of wispy cloud

Hold out the promise of

  Renewed depleted energies

G C Hill 2018

 

 

The Woman who Worries Herself to Death by Kathryn Simmonds

 

She wasn’t robbed or raped or made a scapegoat of,
She didn’t take ill-fated flights on shaky planes and
No one splashed her house in paint. Kids with hoods
And sovereign rings and hates left her alone. That twinge
She sometimes felt was just a twinge. Her fillings didn’t
Leak. At office dos she danced and no one laughed.

Her children didn’t have disorders, fail exams,
Take smack. Her husband didn’t love his secretary
Or get the sack. But, if you saw her fidgeting
Towards the dawn, her breathing playing tricks,
a thousand what ifs snaking in a queue, you’d feel for her,
You’d wish she had something to pin her torment to.

God’s Seed

God planted in each human heart a tender little seed,

And invited us to care for it and tend its every need.

He warned us of the dangers we would meet along our way,

That thorns and weeds would gather there in our hearts from day to day.

.

He told us when we needed help we’d find him waiting there,

To call him we should just kneel down and say a little prayer.

He would help us overcome those weeds from his heavenly home above,

One day that peace would flourish into a rose of peace and love.

 

God promised us that little seed would never wither or decay,

If we always give a helping hand to those we meet along our way.

Not just our friends, and neighbours, but our enemies and foes

We should share the petals in our heart from that sweet smelling rose.

 

The years are swiftly passing – just as the river flows,

The more I share these petals the sweeter grows my lovely rose.

I pray when life is over God will say, “Well done indeed.

You have done your best and nourished well my tender little seed.”

Author Phyllis Conway 2001

First published in Precious Moments a selection of poetry 2001

Pancake Tuesday

Make pancake from scratch? I can do that

How hard can it be?

I’m master of the frying pan

I remember my cookery teacher‘s words from school

A wee round woman egged shaped and small

Organisation is the secret ingredient.

Gather flour, butter, buttermilk and sugar

 

Making pancakes from scratch

How difficult can it be?

Get the kerrygold from the fridge

Plain or self-raising – I’m free to decide

Yellow fat sizzling like molten lather

Quick!

Pour in the creamy mixture

Bubbling up in little gasps

Fluid and golden it covers the pan’s face

 

Making pancakes from scratch

How difficult can it be?

–           

 Now the tricky bits – turn and flip

Careful! Careful!

It’s all in the flick and the facial expression

Grasping pan firmly in both hands

Deep breath – countdown three, two one

And flip! damm you flip!

Don’t stick to the pan

Watch Out!

It’s taking on a life of its own

Don’t drop it on the cat and dog

Decorating the wall not permissible

Tricky this … one more go

It’s airborne!

 

It hangs for a breathless time between ceiling and tiles

Then dovetails like a paper plane

Misses the pan by a flying mile

Burns and crashes on the dog’s tail

Flour and egg shells everywhere

 Making pancakes from scratch

A lot more difficult that it looks.

GC  Hill 2018

 

 

 

 

 You’re Not Welcome My Friend

 

A mouse scurried into my house

Under my bed it settled its head

 

‘Tis a stranger you are and not welcome here’

Go before the hangman traps snaps  your  neck  I said

 

Soon you will swing ‘neth a bright harvest moon

Be no more. Go; defy your fate I cried

 

Not a beat did the thing heed

Feasting on cheddar it ignored my pleas

I sighed .You have been warned

 

The resounding snap of the guillotine trap sounded

I caught its lifeless body by its tail

Removed it from the trap

Left it by the light of the moon

To join the food line of life

 

‘Tis a stranger you are and not welcome here

Soon you will swing ‘neth the bright harvest

Moon I warned.

Number two had come.  I sighed afraid to look

He’d be no more, He’d sealed his fate

 

Berating  his foolishness I stuck my head beneath my bed

Hoping he’d fled before losing his head

His little legs splayed, he met

My open mouth gaze

 

He wasn’t dead!

With a squeeze of his neck

He freed himself from the hangman’s steel

 

‘Tis a strange one you are indeed

And not welcome here I yelled

Soon you will swing ‘neth the bright harvest moon.

Be no more, like those gone before.

Go!  Second chance,

Little one – Scram! –  Be gone!

 

As he met my gaze he gorged on the cheese

Made his whiskers dance a reel

Then hitched up his throat

And breathed words up my nose

 

The hangman’s art outsmarted now

He grinned – the cheese

My hearth this night will grace

A fine meal for my brothers nine

 

I nodded. He was a strange one indeed.

My assent I could not withhold

Go, I urgently declared

Beneath the bright moon you will not swing

Enjoy the cheese  Feed the other nine

Keep them away from the hangman’s ring of steel

My furry friend

Tis a stranger less you are around here now

Come back and visit again – sometime

Don’t bring the other nine

GC Hill 2018

 

 

 

 

A brand new beginning

Where I make choices

Carry on as before

Or re-invent the old self

Maybe I’ll keep one or two things

Like my happy disposition

And the smile on my face

Maybe I’ll change my habit

To be as others think I am

In 2018 I’ll just be me

How’s that for a New Year’ resolution?

G C  Hill January Ist 2018

A Christmas Prayer

What a beautiful poem by Connie Hinner Cook

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 newlywed,
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 endeavour.
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