A medical intermission

Sorry, guys, I'm down with a bronchitis and very low on energy. Will be back when I feel better.

Three Word Thursday #7

following on from here, sort of...

"Things are not what they appear to be." Sybil and her father are walking side by side along the east side of the city park. The late sun casts long shadows across the path but its light still feels warm on their faces. "Don't worry, I am not some sort of a profligate bacchante, no matter what you may have read in that report."

"But... you did sleep with him, did you not?"

"It was for a greater cause. Look, I can't give you any more information and please don't ask any more questions. Mortimer had done what he had been instructed to do."

He stops in his tracks like a jibber before queachy ground. "Mortimer? You mean The Zoilist? What do you know about him?"

"I keep telling you I can't give you any information. Suffice it to say what he writes is based on facts. He has exposed many a villain and will continue to do so. Provided he remains incognito, that is. Now, about that latest text... please publish it as it is and don't even think of leaving any names out. Trust me, we know what we're doing. If things go as planned, you'll be the first to know."

"Alright, be it as you wish. I have one request, though. Please tell Mortimer of whatever his name is to stop smoking the pipe while he's writing his anopistographs. You know I'm allergic to tobacco and the sternutation is getting worse each time I receive a new parchment."

A tree with a view

And a common buzzard watching. By the way, the bird is a hawk, not a vulture.

Green can be pretty

Helleborus viridis (bear's foot)

Vernal equinox

Well, it's official now... spring has arrived! And, to celebrate the occasion, the sky has sent us blustery wind sweeping everything before it (slightly symbolic, perhaps), racing clouds, snow flurries and even bits of sunshine.

These two crocuses are from a few days back, though.

Three Word Thursday #6

The editor-in-chief of the local paper burst in a bout of sternutation as he opened a hefty envelope and 34 pages of anopistograph slipped on his desk. He didn't even have to open the envelope to know where the text, apparently typed on an ancient typewriter with the distinctive dent at the bottom left side of the letter "O", came from. He hated the musty odour emanating from the papers which always made him sneeze but was interested in finding out who the "The Zoilist", as the author was known amongst the editors, was after this time. He always wrote in a curmudgeonly fashion but his victims were carefully chosen, and nobody could deny each and every one of them deserved to be publicly objurgated. He sighed, reached for a box of kleenex, and set about reading the text. He knew right off the latest revelation would double the sale of the paper if he decided to publish it. Sex scandals always did. His heart skipped a beat, though, when he found his daugter's name on the list of the prurient CEO's lovers. A while ago she had made him promise never to ask about her job but now he would have to have a word with her.

So...

here's this spring with snowdrops and crocuses covering the surroundings, and a small bench just out of sight, and a small bridge over the water a little further on, and a few farms between this stream and another, stronger flow, also emerging out of a rock a couple of kilometres away... and there's the teterrimous smell of manure being spread over a field just around the bend.
Ah, country life!

Who am I?

Harbingers of spring

They were late this year. So much so that I was beginning to think they might not bloom as profusely as usual (it was an extremely wet and dreary winter after all) but finally, the meadows are white with them...

Some fun on Friday - Random poem

I snatched this game from another blog and thought I'd give it a try. So, this the result:

Ekimae Station

when defeat is inevitable
for six months
a cucumber should be
a chasm in two small jumps
vigorous writing
you have ceased to live
early to rise
cause comedy in the streets
those who can laugh
can become

the roots of true achievement
have gone stark raving mad
there's so much comedy
healthy and wealthy and dead
don't part with your illusions
writing is concise
don't be afraid
and then thrown out
oil prices have fallen
it is wisest to yield



***

Here are the instructions for creating your own random poem:

Go to "wikipedia." Hit “random”
or click http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Special:Random
The first random wikipedia article you get is the title of your poem.

Go to "Random quotations"
or click http://www.quotationspage.com/random.php3
1) Select the first three or five words of the very first quote of the page for the first line of your poem.

2) Then the last three or five words of the next quote of the page is the second line of your poem.

3) Select the first three or five words of the third quote of the page for the third line, and then alternate as above until you’ve made it to the last quote…

(i have also reversed the process and took the first few words from the last quote, then the last few from the one above and so on to the top - hence the second 'stanza')

Go to flickr and click on “explore the last seven days”
or click http://www.flickr.com/explore/interesting/7days
Fifth picture, no matter what it is, will be your poem image. This part is optional.

Three Word Thursday #5

for a change, this is based on true events with just a little bit of creative freedom inolved...


Summer had already come to an end: some leaves had started to turn colour, grapes in the vineyards had been filling with sweetness, getting ready to be harvested, mist had lingered in the valleys a little longer each morning, there had been a certain chill in the air.

It was Saturday afternoon and they had just returned from the holiday on the coast, relaxed, nicely tanned but tired from the early waking and the long drive.

"Home, sweet home," she remarked as she turned off the engine, the car safely parked in its allotted space. They took as much luggage as each could carry and started negotiating the stairs towards their flat in the fourth floor. As they climbed higher, they sensed a strange odour - faint, hardly percievable at first but gradually becoming stronger as they approached their front door. As yet unaware of the origin of the smell, they looked at each other, shrugged the shoulders, adjusted the luggage and trudged on. But as she unlocked the door and entered the flat, a teterrimous smell asasulted their nostrils. She could hardly contain herself not to throw up. She quickly threw the luggage off her shoulders and rushed to open all the windows. She knew they had to locate the source of the smell and try to remove it as quickly as possible. She only hoped some stupid animal hadn't found its way in somehow and chosen to die here. But as she enterd the kitchen, all became clear. There was nothing mellifluous in her voice when she groaned: "The freezer! How could you break down while we were away, you... bastard!"

Inded, there was a puddle of something disgustingly indeterminable oozing from the bottom of the freezer. They wouldn't have left it almost full but a friend had brought them fresh veggies from her garden just before their departure and they couldn't turn her down although she now wished they had. But, no matter what, they had to remove the contents so they set about the hitonious task. A few hours later the frezer was clean as was the floor but the smell was still unbearable.

"What shall we do?" he inquired, slumped on the sofa, exhausted. "We can't sleep in here, and besides, it's Saturday evening and we have nothing to eat."

She didn't reply but grabbed a cell phone instead. "Hi, mum. Yes, we're back," he heard her say, "Can you spare a room for a few days? Yes, I know, but... we're having a bit of a situation here... I'll tell you all about it... No, we're fine, just... Good. We're on our way... You're a treasure!"

Morning commute

Misty dawn

Not the best day I've ever had and out of ideas so just a pic this time with hoping the sky clears soon.

On the lookout

for spring, perhaps?

Wanted

If anyone happens to stumble across my muse, please tell her gently to return home. She's a bit extravagant but shy and speaks English with a foreign accent. She hates to work hard and is a natural procrastinator. She is capable of making up all kinds of excuses just to avoid doing something she is not fond of. However, there's little she wouldn't do for a tablet of good dark chocolate.

Three Word Thursday #4

I didn't intend to use all the previous words in this challenge but somehow they just fit in.

Here we go again...

"Listen to this: 'Della String's last night zither concert before a paucity of audience was an isangelous experience. One of the visitors went as far as to say the music had been so overwhelming it had led to his temporary apanthropinisation...' Blah blah blah, what a load of bollocks! Some third-class scribe picked up a few fancy words and now thinks he can impress the volgivagant masses who read this opprobrious casuistry. And he probably thinks how perspicacious he is, too. I bet 99 out of 100 readers have no idea what this so called article is about! If 100 people will have read this drivel at all, that is."

"But, darling... Della's music is beautiful. There's no need to be so cynical about it. It's not her fault you didn't get the job at The Olympus."

"Cynical, me? You should have been standing in front of that paper's editorial board! Now that's a cynicocratical lot if I ever saw one."

"But... but, they had a reason to be. Just think of the fracas you caused at that numismatics exhibition you were sent to cover for your trial assignment."

"It wasn't my fault. It was all because of that, that... woman! I remember her approaching me while the theme from The Third Man had been blaring from the loudspeakers. She stopped right in front of me and accused me of being a quondam thief who stole her priceless jewels some 30 years ago. I tried to withdraw but...what could I do when the alarms went off and all hell broke loose after I had tripped and landed headlong in one of those highly secured vitrines. Of course the security seized me immediately and handed me over to the police and I was kept in detention for days before it was ascertained all the pieces of the collection were in place and I was cleared of the accusations."

"I know, I know... Still, one can understand why the paper wouldn't hire you. The article you presented was quite different from what they expected."

"It was an ace piece of writing and they had the audacity to smirk at it. And - imagine this - they said they didn't want to have anything to do with someone who couldn't mind their Ps and Qs. But next thing they do is hire that Barry Simpleton who couldn't even spell my name correctly when he wrote about that jewellery theft from 30 years ago. I may have a different name and a different face but that's a grudge i can't forget so easily."

Come, take a break...

Sings of spring

at last!