did I

or did I not

bury that body out the back

my little trowel I found today

hidden in the compost heap

somewhere in this fog of mind

I see myself on hands and knees

digging underneath the trees




my husband he has gone away

he went to see his mother

I’m not sure if he’s coming back

he says I tend to smother


even though it’s hot outside

and it’s a total fire ban day

I dig a moat quite nice and wide

so that my bonfire will not stray



Copyright August 2014

Romancing the Auctioneer

July themes

4: Romancing the auctioneer

After the auction Aston waited impatiently for Rene to return. She’d spent weeks romancing the little dweeb and soon, oh so soon, The Maudlin Moonstone would be hers. It had been quite humiliating for such a high-ranking member of the De Vere family to stoop so low but it would be worth it when the necklace was again hanging around her neck. Hearing a car door bang outside she arranged herself seductively on the settee. The closing act was about to begin.


A short time later, adorned with the moonstone on it’s golden chain, Aston slid into her midnight blue Jaguar and drove away. All had gone to plan and as a bonus Rene had proved to be quite tasty, for an auctioneer.


Copyright July 2014

One Hump the Third

july themes

1: The Dromedary Bequest


Great Uncle Charles Edward John {One hump} Dromedary the Third died one day after his blow out 99th birthday feast.  After his funeral the family gathered for the reading of the Will, only to discover he’d left everything, bar a table, to the local Brothel owner. The table was to go to me, his favourite great niece.

Whilst the family ranted and raved, I picked up my eight legged table and went home, feeling just as badly done to as the others, but not wanting to show it.

The table itself was hideous and badly needed a polish. I had never known why Uncle Charles had kept it by his bedside, but as he’d left it to me to do what I wanted with, I decided to clean and then sell it. It looked old enough to be an antique.

All afternoon I rubbed and polished. The smell of beeswax permeated my home. I felt myself relaxing the more I polished and soon I was rewarded by carven images appearing on the table’s surface. Caught in relief I saw my Uncle being devoured by a giant spider. As I looked more closely I saw it was my Aunty, who had died when I was eleven, her face smiling as she ate my Uncle from the feet up.

The table scuttled on its eight legs over to the side of my bed, where it settled as if it had always been there. As Uncle Charles choked in pain and Aunt Arachne waved at me with her eight furry legs, I smiled back in acknowledgement of our shared genes and name. I switched off the light, climbed under the covers and dreamt of gossamer cobwebs and blood.


Copyright July 2014


there’s a grin without a dragon

at the bottom of the stairs

each step you take

a tortured breath

descending two by two

your silhouette and you

gliding in the shimmering light

silver fading to a grey

that dragon ghost curls and shrinks

there’s nothing here today



Copyright June 2014