Winter's Last Breath

I don't think we've seen the last of it yet and Tuesday is Groundhog Day better known as Candlemass - one of the Quarter Days of the old ecclesiastical calendar. It's kind of opposite Halloween - as far away from the shortest day as the equinox. So I thought you'd like to go over to Boston Literary Magazine's Winter edition and reread this poem which seems appropriate.

http://www.bostonliterarymagazine.com/winter09poetry.html#winter09breath.html

The Linnet's Wings

I love this magazine and I've been in it before so do look in the achives but on this occasion my contribution is a poem.

In addition some of my friends are there too, Bill West, Jennifer Stakes, Casey Quinn, Rumjhum Biswas Check it out

http://www.thelinnetswings.net/?stn=96409&pageno=1

25th January

A day for poetry - it being Burns' Night and I'm celebrating with a poem at Bewildering Stories which you can find here http://www.bewilderingstories.com/issue369/hawk.html Accomplice to the Hawk

Will I be having Haggis, neeps 'n' tatties? Of course I will - despite not being Scotch myself. Great excuse for a small libation! I have to celebrate poetry - it's part of the job :) And so I gie ye Burns'

Address To A Haggis
Fair fa' your honest, sonsie face,
Great chieftain o' the puddin-race!
Aboon them a' ye tak your place,
Painch, tripe, or thairm:
Weel are ye wordy o' a grace
As lang's my arm.

The groaning trencher there ye fill,
Your hurdies like a distant hill,
Your pin wad help to mend a mill
In time o' need,
While thro' your pores the dews distil
Like amber bead.

His knife see rustic Labour dight,
An' cut you up wi' ready sleight,
Trenching your gushing entrails bright,
Like ony ditch;
And then, O what a glorious sight,
Warm-reekin, rich!

Then, horn for horn,
they stretch an' strive:
Deil tak the hindmost! on they drive,
Till a' their weel-swall'd kytes belyve,
Are bent lyke drums;
Then auld Guidman, maist like to rive,
"Bethankit!" 'hums.

Is there that owre his French ragout
Or olio that wad staw a sow,
Or fricassee wad mak her spew
Wi' perfect sconner,
Looks down wi' sneering, scornfu' view
On sic a dinner?

Poor devil! see him ower his trash,
As feckless as a wither'd rash,
His spindle shank, a guid whip-lash,
His nieve a nit;
Thro' bloody flood or field to dash,
O how unfit!

But mark the Rustic, haggis fed,
The trembling earth resounds his tread.
Clap in his walie nieve a blade,
He'll mak it whissle;
An' legs an' arms, an' heads will sned,
Like taps o' thrissle.

Ye Pow'rs wha mak mankind your care,
And dish them out their bill o' fare,
Auld Scotland wants nae skinking ware
That jaups in luggies;
But, if ye wish her gratefu' prayer,
Gie her a haggis!

Still hope - for Haiti

Good News

depends on your point of view.

Pessimists see only the quake
blood on the snow
death


Optimists see a thousand tales of courage and survival
another meal for the fox
a new beginning

Every blade of hope cuts two ways.

http://www.everydayfiction.com/take-v-t-by-oonah-v-joslin/#comments

My take on Take is up at EDF today so I hope you'll find time to take a look. This one sprang from a TEFL session about 20 years back. The student asked a simple question. What does 'take' mean?

An exercise for you. On a sheet of paper write down every phrase you can think of containing the word take.
Take in
Taken in
Take out
Take-out
In-take
Out-take

You'll begin to get my drift.

Mashid, thanks for the story, dear. I hope you're well and settled.

Discipline of Shadows

My most recent Micro Horror story went up yesterday. It is called Discipline of Shadows and it's - a dark tale. Okay! Sorry :) See links

50 YEARS AGO

The 11th January 1960 was a Monday too. That was the day our father died and our lives changed irrevocably. Of course life changes irrevocably every day and at every turn but some changes are more significant that others and as changes go it doesn't get bigger than death. At the time I was that little girl you see on my facebook profile.

So I have put a link to The Shine Journal poem The Photograph at the side here. It is about a photo of my sister with daddy on the beach. I don't have a copy of it. In fact I don't have any photographs of my father. Perhaps a family member would like to rectify that - after all we've moved on a bit since 1960 - we have the technology!

Jack Kyle d.11th Jan 1960 aged 48

It's okay for you! You don't have to freeze your paws off every time you need to GO.

2010

All links to my work are now being place to the right hand side of the posts so that they are more easily accessed. I hope this will be more convenient to my readers. Please let me know.


The old year went out with a bang - literally. About 10pm an almighty clap of thunder and a simultaneous flash of purple lightening followed by all the lights going out, persuaded us to switch off our computer and TV for a while. Very strangely weird! Of course the next POP was a champagne cork :) And 2010 looks pretty so far, doesn't it!

My wish for this year - for every year is that mankind see the writing on the wall and stop fighting and start co-operating or there will be no future for the children they all claim to love so much!

Starting well with 3 poems and a flash chosen by the editors of BwS for the Annual Review :)
Sasquatch at Static Movement