our night-time terrors
evaporate with the dew
dispersed by the sun’s first pink rays
greet the day
with sweet voices raised
welcome in the dawn
each new day
let’s summon the sun
with a song
~~~~~~~~
Image credit: Ben White @ Unsplash
The image shows two young girls standing outdoors looking at a book which both of them are holding jointly.
Written in response to Sadje‘s What Do You See #131 photo prompt
It was such a thrill to feature in Robbie Cheadle‘s wonderful ‘Treasuring Poetry’ slot this week, hosted by Kaye Lynne Booth on her blog. Thank you, Robbie and Kaye!
Today, I am delighted to host poet and author, Chris Hall. Like me, Chris is UK born and South Africa is her adopted country. We both love the bushveld and many of Chris’ poems and books reflect this love.
Call of the Maiden is a poem I wrote in response to a call for submissions to a poetry anthology by the wonderful poet and all-round creative, Tara Caribou. I was delighted when this, and another four of my poems, were accepted to be published alongside a whole host of amazing poets and artists in Creation and the Cosmos, edited and published in 2021 by Tara’s micro-publishing company, Raw Earth Ink.
The breeze-caressed veld sways
sending dry waves to break on a distant shore
whirlwind dust-devils dance over bare earth
rising up to be scorched into stillness.
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As Joey stepped over the threshold, the music he’d heard from outside the building stopped abruptly; light filtered from the lofty windows, illuminating the dust-motes that danced in the large space before him, empty apart from a long wooden counter running along one wall with a dozen mis-matched chairs arranged at intervals along it.
Joey looked around, at the far side of the room was an imposing entrance door, topped with a fancy fanlight; Joey jogged over and drew aside the heavy steel bolts before twisting the night-latch; the door swung open easily. After pulling the door closed and hearing the latch click home, Joey sprinted up the three stone steps to street level. Suddenly the music started up again; Joey looked around, puzzled for a moment, before hurrying off up the narrow side street.
Emerging onto busy Bold Street, Joey ducked inside the nearest shop, its interior thick with cigarette smoke and lined with TV screens; the little camel statue in his pocket vibrated, pursuers forgotten, Joey approached the counter, ‘2.30 at Aintree, two quid on Oracle to win.’
Meanwhile, in the flat below Joey’s, Ceridwen turned over the Five of Swords: the tarot card predicting a cheap victory.
Written in response to two challenges:
Di of Pensitivity 101’s Wednesday’s Three Things Challenge: ARRANGE, PREDICT, ORACLE
Denise Farley of GirlieOnTheEdge’s Sunday’s Six Sentence Story Word Prompt: TREE
Join the #SixSentenceStory readathon here
Photo credit: illustration from a book somewhere on my bookshelves which has mysteriously disappeared🐪
breathe in (count to three)
breathe out (count to five)
close your eyes
repeat
imagine yourself
on an empty beach
tide coming in
tide going out
breathe in (count to three)
breathe out (count to five)
take yourself
to that place far away
empty your cares
on the sand
watch as the tide
washes over the beach
breathe in, and again
now exhale
~~~~~~~~
Image credit: Matt Barringer @ Unsplash
The image shows the word ‘Exhale’ illuminated as a sign, embedded in a carved structure.
Written in response to Sadje‘s What Do You See #130 photo prompt
‘Look at this!’ Connor brandishes the bright and colourful cover of the new Six Sentence Stories magazine. ‘You’re on the cover, Ms Hall. A first for you.’
Cynthia stretches out an elegantly manicured hand and takes the proffered copy from him. She looks at me over her new reading glasses. ‘Such a nice photo of you, too.’
‘I’m surprised it’s not in sepia, it’s that old,’ interjects Gary with a grin, immediately receiving an elbow in the ribs from Gina.
‘Don’t upset her Gary,’ Gina mutters. ‘Don’t you want to be in a story again?’ Gina flashes a smile at me.
Cynthia brushes her hand over the glossy cover. ‘Oh look, there’s a voucher for that little deli shop, Sam’s. It was very pleasant. Apart from that rather brassy woman coming on to you, Connor.’
‘You mean, Beryl?’ Connor’s eyes twinkle.
Gina prods Gary’s leg. ‘You see, they’ve both had an outing, and it wasn’t even in one of Ms Hall’s stories.’
‘What a charming man Tom is,’ Cynthia purrs. ‘So creative! We met him briefly at Ms Hall’s book launch.’ She runs a thoughtful finger over Tom’s picture on the magazine cover. ‘Nice eyes. I don’t suppose I should blame him for Beryl’s behaviour.’
‘I met another excellent chap there too,’ Connor takes a long pull from the glass of whisky which has mysteriously appeared in his hand. ‘Chris Nelson, short story author and a fellow poet. No wonder we hit it off.’ He looks around the room. ‘And you know what, he’s written a really good review of Our Book!’ Connor beams and raises his glass to me.
Chris Nelson’s review of You’ll Never Walk Alone.
Patterson finished the careful adjustment to his starched shirt cuffs, lining them up half an inch beyond the end of his jacket sleeves, before running his gaze over the group of short and stocky individuals standing before him; a slight furrow grazed his forehead, ‘there are five of you now and still he eluded you?’
Louis shuffled forward as if to offer an apology, feigning a sad expression, ‘the lad might’ve got away, but we’ll find him,’ he looked up, holding something out to Patterson with a triumphant grin, ‘look, he dropped this!’
Patterson held the grubby piece of cardboard between his thumb and forefinger, a look of distaste on his face as he examined it, ‘his Unemployment Benefit Card, there’s no address, how is it supposed to help?
Jimmy stepped forward, ‘allow me to introduce the newest member of our team,’ he indicated a fresh-faced young man, ‘this is Ron’s baby brother, Sam,’ Ron nodded, pushing his sibling forward, Jimmy continued, ‘he doesn’t say much either, but he has special skills.’
Patterson inclined an eyebrow.
‘Sam also has a job at the DHSS*,’ Shacker added; ‘don’t worry, Mr Patterson, you can count on us to catch up with Joey.’
*Department of Health and Social Security, responsible at the time (among other things) for the administration of Unemployment Benefits. The card which Joey dropped is a UB40**, the card you had to take when you went to ‘sign on’ at the ‘dole office’. It has the claimant’s National Insurance number from which Sam will be able to trace Joey’s address.
**From where UK band, UB40, took their name. The title of their song ‘One in Ten’ refers to the number 9.6, being the percentage of the local workforce claiming unemployment benefit in the West Midlands in the summer of 1981 when the song was released – the figure was double that in Liverpool by 1985.
Written in response to two challenges:
Di of Pensitivity 101’s Wednesday’s Three Things Challenge: UPHOLD, SAD, APOLOGY
Denise Farley of GirlieOnTheEdge’s Sunday’s Six Sentence Story Word Prompt: BOARD
Photo credit: illustration from a book somewhere on my bookshelves which has mysteriously disappeared🐪
Pacing her apartment, she waits for him to call. She stares at the phone, perched innocently on a side table. Wills it to ring. She strides to the window, grips the ledge, her fingers tightening as she views the busy street below. Couples laughing, children running, a solitary man consulting his watch. She turns away. Why doesn’t he phone? Damn him! Puts on her coat, grabs her keys. One last lingering look at the unforgiving phone.
waiting no longer
she slams the door behind her:
the phone starts to ring.
~~~~~~~~
Image credit: Tylor Heery @ Unsplash
The image shows a rotary dial pink telephone, and next to it are cards showing the answering machine messages on different cards. “Leave us a message” , “After the tone” and “Thank you”
Written in response to Sadje‘s What Do You See #129 photo prompt
I’ve really enjoyed my first quarter’s reading this year. As I’m sure I’ve told you before, I love to read almost as much as I love to write, and I strongly believe that the more good writing I read, the more my own writing improves.
I generally choose to read books that have been recommended by other people, mostly my WP reviewer friends. Once again they’ve picked real winners. I’ve also read a couple of well-known authors whose books I’ll always turn to (Jasper Fford and Isabel Allende) and a couple of instructive books to hone my ‘word-smithery’ (Kathy Steinemann’s Writer’s Lexicon) and to improve my poetry-crafting (Colleen Chesebro’s Wordcraft).
It has long been one of my missions to read more authors from South Africa and the African continent, since I feel we are frequently under-represented in the wider world. You’ll see that my first four reads were all SA authors, after which I spread my reading wings and flew north to find Jude Italkali in Uganda.
I hadn’t read a collection of short stories for ages, but Chris Nelson’s excellent collection, The Beautiful Silence, has re-kindled my appetite. As soon as I’d finished reading Chris’s book, a reading recommendation made to me by Liz Gauffreau* on the thread of a post about Magical Realism on Jacqui Murray’s excellent site, led me to seek out a short story by Gabriel García Márquez, The Handsomest Drowned Man in the World – a delightful read! Encouraged by the fact that I found a copy via Mrs Google, I also sought out Ernest Hemingway’s The Snows of Kilimanjaro, which I’ve been keen to read ever since I began dipping into Hemingway’s Boat by Paul Hendrickson. My obsession with Hemingway’s prose continues.
Here are the books I read as the scorching South African summer mellowed into a glorious golden autumn. My next round up will find me shivering as we head into the depths of winter!
As a writer, I know how exciting it is to receive a review from a reader, and I offer a big, big thank you to my readers (and listeners, now I’ve three books published as audiobooks) who’ve taken the time and trouble to rate/review my books. That aside, to know someone has read one of my books is enough.
My reviews:
Open a New Door by Robbie Cheadle and Kim Blades
Operation Outperfect by Alex Canna
Fire Angel: Igniting the Spark by Paul English
Noah and his Solar-Powered Ark by Jill Morsbach
One of Our Thursdays is Missing by Jasper Fforde
The Writer’s Lexicon Volume II by Kathy Steinemann
The Beautiful Silence by Chris Nelson
Ghosted: Disappearing Acts by Paula Light
Wordcraft: Prose & Poetry: The Art of Crafting Syllabic Poetry by Colleen M. Chesebro
Violeta by Isabel Allende
Realms of the Mist by Jude Itakali
Holly Ward Investigates: The Steam Train by Mason Bushell
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
*A quick heads up for poetry lovers: Liz Gauffreau is hosting a live poetry event Poets in the Blogosphere, on 23 April 2022 from 4-5:30 PM ET. This is a perfect opportunity to enjoy poetry being read out loud. Just as it should be. You can find out more here.
Joey returned the man’s gaze; it wasn’t that he was afraid, but something about the unwavering stare and the uncompromising stance of the cigar-smoking man made him slightly wary, framed as he was by the double-leaf doorway in an otherwise blank-faced building, like the gate-keeper to a secret world.
Glancing back into the alleyway, Joey saw that the five strange little men were now huddled together; although he couldn’t make out what they were muttering, by the way they were wildly gesticulating it was apparent that they were arguing amongst themselves. He wondered if he could somehow slip past them, it was either that or face the strangely intimidating man on the other side of the wall; Joey made his decision and eased himself down into the yard below.
Whilst Joey had been concentrating on his descent, the doors to the blank-faced building had closed; Joey jogged across the empty yard, the only sign that someone had been standing in the doorway was the still-smouldering cigar butt on the ground. Beyond the peeling wood, the strum of a rhythm guitar and the boom of a steady blues beat echoed inside the building.
Drawn to the music, Joey gripped the door-handle.
Written in response to two challenges:
Di of Pensitivity 101’s Wednesday’s Three Things Challenge: TIMID, WARY, AFRAID
Denise Farley of GirlieOnTheEdge’s Sunday’s Six Sentence Story Word Prompt: RHYTHM
More #SixSentenceStories here!
Photo credit: illustration from a book somewhere on my bookshelves which has mysteriously disappeared🐪
Snow melt started the previous day.
Soft rain fell all afternoon.
Black ice formed overnight.
Treacherous.
Transparent.
Deadly.
The driver took the corner badly.
Wheels spun, slewed on the ice.
Vehicle out of control.
Screech.
Impact.
Silence.
In the distance
a siren wails.
~~~~~~~~
Image credit: Oleksii S @ Unsplash
The image shows three orange traffic cones placed on the road. There is ice on the road surface and foot prints can be seen on the ice.
Written in response to Sadje‘s What Do You See #128 photo prompt
luna's on line 