Close shave…

My son went to the barber’s shop
To tend his hair and beard,
For both were getting far too long
And needed to be sheared.

The barber comes from Turkey
Where they do a thorough shave,
With towels, hot and steamy,
And a cut-throat for the brave.

I’ve heard a lot about this place,
It’s like a horror story,
With some of all the things they do
That sound a wee bit gory…

They shove a blow-torch in your ear
To singe off all the hair,
And fill each nostril up with wax
And rip the hair from there.

They ‘thread’ your eyebrows till they’re neat
And cut and shave and trim…
But when my son came home again
His face was set and grim.

“They waxed my face! The whole damned thing!
They waxed from chin to brow!”
“Your skin looks …er…” “I’m traumatised!
I need a coffee… now!”

His hair was short, his beard well-trimmed,
His eyebrows shaped and neat,
His ears and nose were free of hair…
His face red as a beet!

“You should see what they charged me too!”
He was not very pleased…
I wondered if a cold ice-pack
Might offer him some ease…

I’ve wondered if the salons
Could improve my fading face
But after this, I think that I
Will accept age with grace.

It’s always said to Vanity
That women are the slave…
But in pursuit of beauty
I’d not want such a close shave.

Posted in Humour, Poetry | Tagged , , , , , | 63 Comments

Hidden Places ~ Anita Dawes #writephoto

The beating heart of the water can be heard

in the torrent rushing over the small fall

Following the white foam footsteps into darkness

I wonder if this is a gateway to another world?

Continue reading at  Anita Dawes and Jaye Marie

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Trapped #midnighthaiku

Spreading fragile wings

Breaking free of yesterday

Seeking to fly free

*

The sleepy bumblebee flew straight into the abandoned web under the eaves. I could see it wrapping itself ever-tighter in the sticky threads with its struggles. I climbed on a chair and reached up a hand, freeing the furry fairy from the trap.  It flew up to my face, as if saying thank you.

 

 

Posted in Photography, Poetry | Tagged , , , , | 20 Comments

Ian Hutson ~ A new mini novelette on Kindle & KindleUnlimited #narrowboat #boating #England

Reblogged from The Diesel-Electric Elephant Company:

Up the Audlem flight in reverse wearing only y-fronts and a foil hat. This is a tale of the insanity arising from weeks and weeks of dreary cabin-fever, too many emails from CaRT, and an interwebnet full of the most horrible news.

It’s about a quarter or so of the usual length, and aside from the canal, the storms (Ciara, Dennis, and Jorge), and – tragically – the pandemic-in-progress, is fiction.

For anyone with a British School System reading age of sixteen or higher it ought to take no more than a year to read, provided that a finger is run along the lines of text and the lips are allowed to mumble.

The humour, if any humour there be (and it is moot), is dark and unsubtle.

Continue reading at The Diesel-Electric Elephant Company

Posted in Books, reblog | Tagged , , , | 5 Comments

Lost and found ~ Deepa #writephoto

found
a Paradise
to be
lost again!

however
far I may be
from within myself
i cannot
disconnect the
torrent inside me

Continue reading at Sync with Deep

Posted in photo prompt, Photography, Poetry | Leave a comment

Guest author: N. A. Granger ~ Torrent…a #writephoto story and news of The Last Pilgrim

Eliza finally had to stop their mad flight, putting her arms around her little brother, both of them panting for breath.

When Indians had attacked their home in Kentucke, near Harrod’s Town, her parents dropped her and her four year old brother Elias heard into a deep dug-out space beneath the cabin. The Indians hadn’t found her, perhaps because of the bed placed over the floor, but she nearly suffocated Elias when he started to whimper. The noise of ransacking luckily covered his crying, and she heard a struggle, accompanied by her mother’s screams. After that, there were footsteps overhead, pacing here and there. Then silence, except for the noise of the flames consuming the house. They struggled to breathe, as the smoke filtered down, and Eliza covered her brother’s body with hers to keep him from burning. Her back stung where her dress had charred.

They remained in the hole, finally falling asleep, and she only awoke when Elias demanded food. There were dried apples in their hole, which Eliza jammed in her pockets after giving him one. Hearing no sounds, they slowly emerged, lifting what remained of the floor boards and pushing away the remnants of the bed. When she saw the burned bodies of her parents, she shielded Elias from the sight, wanting to scream from the horror of it. But her parents had told her of the dangers and had warned such a day might come. They’d made her promise to take care of her brother and that promise gave her strength. After some deep breaths, she sent Elias into the yard while she rummaged through the ruins, finding some scorched bread and letting her tears come when she knew he couldn’t see them.

Coming out from the ruins of the house, she told Elias they would walk to Fort Harrod –where her parents had told her to go. Still dazed by what had happened, Eliza tried to recall which way she and her father had gone on the one trip she’d taken there. She was relieved when she located the barely discernable trail, heading in the right direction. The trekked through the woods for the remainder of the day, and when Eliza could no longer see the trail, they stopped for the night – brother and sister sharing some of the bread and apples, then falling into an exhausted sleep under a bush.

As soon as the sun rose, Eliza woke a tired and cranky Elias. They ate the remaining food and started on the trail, losing it, backtracking, then finding it again. While she couldn’t shake the vision of her dead parents and the overwhelming fear they would be followed by the Indians, Elias had apparently recovered from the shock of the previous day. He was full of questions. “Where are Mother and Father? Why did the house burn down? Can I have an apple? Can we stop and rest for a while? When will we be there?”

Eliza’s attempts to shush him were in vain.

As the sun passed overhead, they stopped to rest. Eliza suddenly placed her hand over her brother’s mouth. She could just hear twigs snapping and the soft crunch of weight on the forest floor. “Someone’s following us, Elias. We need to run!” Grabbing Elias’ hand, she yanked him and ran as fast as they could together, telling him again and again to be quiet.

When she heard rushing water, she stopped and whispered, “A river, brother. We can use it to hide our footsteps.” Her father had taught her that. When they reached the edge of a steep hill, she saw the river below, and taking Elias’s hand, she began the steep descent. When they reached the bottom of the hill, they saw a huge waterfall. “Come on, Elias! I have an idea.”

They stumbled and tripped over the rocks and roots along the water’s edge, finally coming to the shining curtain of water, becoming enveloped in its spray. “Don’t be afraid,” she told Elias, pulling him through the curtain to the space behind it. “There. It was just a cold bath. Wasn’t that fun?” When he nodded, she whispered, “Don’t make a sound now,” and held her fingers to her lips. She gave him the last apple in her pocket, hoping his eating it would cut off his questions.

After a short while, she saw a figure through the curtain, moving slowly across it, and pulled her brother and herself into as small a ball as possible. All of the fears she had suppressed for the past two days suddenly took hold. We’lll be captured! I’ve failed my parents.

She was so overwhelmed be these dreadful thoughts that she barely heard, “Eliza, Elias – are you there? I’ve been trailing you since yesterday. You’re safe. I’ll take you to the fort.”

It was her neighbor. Daniel Boone.


Coming soon!

Due for publication in April 2020

The Last Pilgrim: The Life of Mary Allerton Cushman

N. A. Granger

The Last Pilgrim: The Life of Mary Allerton Cushman captures and celebrates the grit and struggle of the Pilgrim women, who stepped off the Mayflower in the winter of 1620 to an unknown world – one filled with hardship, danger and death.  The Plymouth Colony would not have survived without them.

Mary Allerton Cushman was the last surviving passenger of the Mayflower, dying at age 88 in 1699. Her unusually long life and her relationships with important men – her father, Isaac Allerton and her husband, Thomas Cushman – gave her a front row seat to the history of the Plymouth Colony from its beginnings as the first permanent settlement in New England to when it became part of the Massachusetts Bay Colony in 1691.

Mary’s life is set against the real background of that time. The Last Pilgrim begins from her father’s point of view – she was, after all, only four when she descended into the small living space below deck on the Mayflower – but gradually assumes Mary’s voice, as the colony achieves a foothold in the New England’s rocky soil. Hers is a story of survival – the daily, back-breaking work to ensure food on the table, the unsettled interactions with local native tribes, the dangers of wild animals, and the endless challenges of injury, disease and death.

What was a woman’s life like in the Plymouth Colony? The Last Pilgrim will tell you.


About the author

Noelle Granger

Noelle A. Granger grew up in Plymouth, Massachusetts, in a rambling, 125-year-old house with a view of the sea. Summers were spent sailing and swimming. She was also one of the first tour guides at Plimoth Plantation. Granger graduated from Mount Holyoke College with a bachelor’s degree in Zoology and from Case Western Reserve University with a Ph.D. in anatomy. Following a career of research in developmental biology and teaching human anatomy to medical students and residents, the last 28 years of which were spent at the University of North Carolina School of Medicine, she decided to try her hand at writing fiction. The Rhe Brewster Mystery Series was born.

The series features Rhe Brewster, an emergency room nurse, as the protagonist. Rhe lives in the fictional coastal town of Pequod, Maine, (similar to Plymouth) and Granger uses her knowledge of such a small town, her experiences sailing along the Maine coast, and her medical background to enrich each book in the series. In the first book, Death in a Red Canvas Chair, the discovery of a wet, decaying body of a young woman, sitting in a red canvas chair at the far end of a soccer field, leads Rhe on a trail that heads to a high-end brothel and a dodgy mortuary operation.

The second novel in the Rhe Brewster Mystery Series, Death in a Dacron Sail, was released in 2015, and finds Rhe responding to a discovery by one of the local lobstermen: a finger caught in one of his traps. The third book, Death By Pumpkin, begins with the sighting of the remains of a man’s body in a car smashed by a giant pumpkin at the Pequod Pumpkin Festival.

In addition to the Rhe Brewster Mystery Series, Granger has had short stories, both fiction and non-fiction, published in Deep South Magazine, Sea Level Magazine, the Bella Online Literary Review, and Coastal Style Magazine, and has been featured in Chapel Hill Magazine, The News & Observer, The Boothbay Register, and other local press. Granger lives with her husband, a cat who blogs, and a hyperactive dog in Chapel Hill, North Carolina. She spends a portion of every summer in Maine.

Noelle blogs at Sayling Away and you can find her on Twitter @rhebrewster, Goodreads and Facebook. Follow Noelle on Amazon for the latest updates and new books.


Click images or titles to go to Amazon


13194341_9781630030339_coverDeath in a Red Canvas Chair

On a warm fall afternoon, the sweet odor of decay distracts Rhe Brewster from the noise and fury of her son’s soccer game. She’s a tall, attractive emergency room nurse with a type A personality, a nose for investigation and a yen for adrenalin. This time her nose leads her to the wet, decaying body of a young woman, sitting in a red canvas chair at the far end of the soccer field. Her first call is to her brother-in-law, Sam Brewster, who is Sheriff of Pequod, the coastal Maine town where she lives. Sam and Rhe’s best friend Paulette, Pequod’s answer to Betty Crocker, are her biggest sources of encouragement when Rhe decides to help the police find the killer. Her discovery that the victim is a student at the local college is initially thwarted by an old frenemy, Bitsy Wellington, the Dean of Students. Will, Rhe’s husband and a professor at the same college, resents her involvement in anything other than being a wife and mother and must be manipulated by Rhe so that she can follow her instincts. Rhe’s interviews of college students leads her to a young woman who had been recruited the previous year to be an escort on a Caribbean cruise ship, and Rhe trails her to a high class brothel at a local seaside estate. The man behind the cruise ship escort service and the brothel is the owner of a chain of mortuaries and is related to the dead student. When Rhe happens on the murder of a young hospital employee who also works for the mortuary chain, she becomes too much of a threat to the owner’s multiple enterprises. She is kidnapped by two of his thugs and is left to die in a mortuary freezer. In the freezer she finds frozen body parts, which are linked to a transplantation program at her hospital. Despite all the twists and turns in her investigation, Rhe ultimately understands why the student was killed and who did it. And she solves the riddle of why the body was placed in the red canvas chair on the soccer field.

Read a review by Irene A. Waters


Death in a Dacron Sail high-resolution-front-cover-4957203

On an icy February morning, Rhe Brewster, an emergency room nurse with a nose for investigation, is called to a dock in the harbor of the small coastal town of Pequod, Maine. A consultant to the Pequod Police Department, Rhe is responding to a discovery by one of the local lobstermen: a finger caught in one of his traps. The subsequent finding of the body of a young girl, wrapped in a sail and without a finger, sends the investigation into high gear and reveals the existence of three other missing girls, as well as a childhood friend of Rhe’s. Battered by vitriolic objections from her husband about her work, the pregnant Rhe continues her search, dealing with unexpected obstacles and ultimately facing the challenge of crossing an enormous frozen bog to save herself. Will she survive? Is the kidnapper someone she knows? In Death in a Dacron Sail, the second book in the Rhe Brewster mystery series, Rhe’s nerves and endurance are put to the test as the kidnapper’s action hits close to home.

Read a review by author Luccia Gray


49266584_high-resolution-front-cover_6292375Death by Pumpkin

At the annual Pumpkin Festival in the coastal town of Pequod, Maine, Rhe Brewster, an ER nurse and Police Department consultant, responds to screams at the site of the Pumpkin Drop. Racing to the scene, where a one-ton pumpkin was dropped from a crane to crush an old car, Rhe and her brother-in-law, Sam, Pequod’s Chief of Police, discover the car contains the smashed remains of a man’s body. After the police confirm the death as a homicide, Rhe embarks on a statewide search to identify the victim and find the killer. During the course of the emotional investigation, she survives an attempt on her life at 10,000 feet, endures the trauma of witnessing the murder of an old flame, and escapes an arson attack on her family’s home. There is clearly a sociopath on the loose who is gunning for Rhe and leaving bodies behind. With Sam unable to offer his usual support due to an election recall and a needy new girlfriend, Rhe realizes that the only way to stop the insanity is to risk it all and play the killer’s game.

Maine’s most tenacious sleuth is back, this time to confront a menace that threatens to destroy her life and those closest to her. The latest installment of the Rhe Brewster Mystery Series, Death by Pumpkin, is a murder mystery and thriller that tests the limits of Rhe’s strength and resolve like never before.

Read a review by Kate Loveton


Death in a Mudflat

Fearless detective, ER nurse, devoted mother, and Pequod, Maine’s, answer to Kinsey Milhone, Rhe Brewster is back on the case. When an idyllic seaside wedding is suddenly interrupted by the grotesque sight of a decaying human arm poking out of the tidal mud, Rhe is thrown head first into a treacherous world of duplicity, drugs, and murder. With her best friend Paulette and her main man Sam, the Chief of Police, Rhe seeks to solve the puzzle of the body found in the muck while also working with the FBI to identify the source of shipments of tainted heroin flooding the local campus and community. Maine’s opioid crisis has hit the town hard, with an escalating number of overdoses. More murders are uncovered, testing Rhe’s detective skills and steely resolve. While she follows the clues, Rhe encounters some sinister inhabitants of Pequod’s underbelly, including a practitioner of the Dark Arts, a hydra-headed crime gang, and an embittered, unhinged lobsterman with an axe to grind and nothing to lose. In her relentless drive to solve the crimes, Rhe narrowly escapes a watery grave, trades blows with Russian goons, and unknowingly prompts Paulette to put her life on the line in an attempt to catch a murderer in the act.

Read a review by Olga Nunez Miret


Tell me a story…

If you are a writer, artist or photographer…If you have a poem, story or memoirs to share… If you have a book to promote, a character to introduce, an exhibition or event to publicise… If you have advice for writers, artists or bloggers…

If you would like to be my guest, please read the guidelines and get in touch!

Posted in Guest post, photo prompt, Photography | Tagged , , , , , , , , | 16 Comments

The Torrent ~ Sitharaam Jayakumar #writephoto

She started moving from a small hole on the ground,
in a little hill in the middle of nowhere.
She moved slowly at first,
like a passenger train starting from a train station.

She moved down the hill.
She picked up speed as she moved by,
just like a train picks up speed,
as it moves towards its destination.

Continue reading at Jai’s Jottings

Posted in photo prompt, Photography, Poetry | Leave a comment

Songs of the Stone: Talon and Beak…

*

…Now, one day the Leinster men were gathering together on their Game-Plain in order to take sport.

“Those ravens are making a terrible cackle over there,” said one.

“They have been cawing at each other like that for a full season,” said another.

As they were talking they saw Bove Derrig’s steward coming toward them up the hill.

“That great commotion over there,” he said, “I could swear they’re the same two birds that we had down South last year, they were at it a whole season!”

Just then the two ravens turned into human shape.

It was Bristle and Grunt, the two hog-guards.

The men of Leinster bade them both welcome.

“You can spare your welcome,” said Bristle, and he spat on the ground.

Continue reading at France & Vincent

Posted in albion, Ancient sites, Art, Books, Mythology, Stuart France | Tagged , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Living Again ~ Balroop Singh #writephoto

I rise from the valley of death
The valley you pushed me into
The valley I reject…
Its deluge couldn’t drown me.

I don’t want to mourn for
The blessings that I have lost
I refuse to crumble under them
Within me, I can hear a loud protest.

Continue reading at Emotional Shadows

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Escape

Cold grey days slide one into another

Neither dark nor light to distinguish

Monotone mediocrity

Great Nature offers solace

To threadbare emotions

Wearied by clichés

Expectations

A duty-bound

Presence

Palls

Peace

Imbibed

With each breath

A renewal

Wide green horizons

Balm for weary eyes

Too long fixed on a screen

Mirroring and distorting

Quotidian exigencies

Step outside the confines of the box

Beyond the threshold, the heart finds its home

Double etheree for Colleen’s poetry challenge

Posted in Photography, Poetry | Tagged , , , | 20 Comments