In May we looked at more sophisticated techniques for our poetry writing. June’s session extended this idea but into prose. We attempted to make our comparisons fresh and also played with alliteration through tongue-twisters before using alliteration, assonance and onomatopoeia within our prose pieces.
MARRIED GHOSTS STILL BICKERING IN THE AFTERLIFE
‘You always were like a bear with a sore head first thing in the morning, and now there is no morning, afternoon, evening or night, you still want us to fight like cats and dogs for eternity!
What did I do to you in that brief time we had on Earth together to make you as hard and unforgiving as granite?’ said Judy
Mike tried to stare at her but found it difficult with just his bony skull and the new distinct lack of soft tissue.
‘You made my life hell!’ said Mike, ‘You know you did. And now here we are in bloody Hell for real, going round and round like the magic roundabout carousel, not having the slightest clue about what we’re supposed to be doing.’ he continued.
‘Haven’t you read Satan’s brief?’ said Judy, ‘We were all given a bespoke brief at Hell’s Gate, don’t you remember?’
‘Of course I do. Mine said be curmaudgenous forever. I’m doing the bear and sore head at the moment. That is to last 500 years then I will be permitted to choose one of the following – to be as cold as ice, or have a heart of stone. What’s on your list then Judy?’
‘You don’t really want to know Mike!’ she said.
‘Oh yes I do! Tell me!’
‘OK!’, said Judy, ‘You are to be the apple of my eye for the next 500 years. Then I can choose whether to treat you like a king or a god!’
At this moment Judy burst into tears and added, ‘…even though I don’t want to do any of these things.’
And out of the corner of her eye she saw the glint in Satan’s eyes, and he winked at her because Mike did not yet know, nor understand, what was coming his way!
Music to his Ears
David was deaf. Deaf as a dead donkey.
He’d been that way since childhood, and he hated it. It was like living locked inside a steel box. Yet he refused to wear a hearing aid.
‘It curls out of my ear like a parasitic worm,’ he said.
Someone suggested surgery, so he consulted a specialist; a man with a brilliant brain, a brown beard and a bald bonce, whose mind was as sharp as his scalpel.
‘We’ll drill your skull and insert a chip into your brain,’ said the surgeon.
David was admitted to hospital and prepared for the operation. He undressed and put on a gown but couldn’t tie the ribbons behind his back. The gown flapped like bunting in a breeze, brazenly baring his bum.
He was anaesthetised and wheeled into the operating theatre.
When he woke, he was woozy. The recovery room revolved rapidly. A nurse was sitting beside him.
‘How are you feeling?’ she asked, and David shouted with joy. ‘I can hear you!’ he said. They both began to laugh, and the sound of laughter was music to his ears
A couple of copper cups can look cute.
“My big blue boat is best,” boasted Bernard.
Shiny shoes suit shifty shepherds.
The closet closed with a click.
The boozy barber wore braces and brogues.
Angry alligators are always arguing.
Alliteration in a short piece:
Two people arguing –
Inside the office of a marriage guidance counsellor:
“Bickering and bitching, that’s all you’re good for!” the angry man snapped.
“And now you’re blaming me! blimey that’s rich!”
“Hah! the nerve of it!” his wife responded.
“The times I’ve heard you bad mouthing me, cursing an’ cussin’ “
A lost child –
The sobbing child was upset. “I’m seven,” she answered as the policeman took note of her details.
“I was looking at the toys, the teddy bears an’ stuff. Then when I turned ’round, my mummy was missing”.
A violent storm –
The door of the shed shook on its hinges before it heaved open again before slamming shut with a deafening din.
The wind was blowing wilder, the rain falling harder. Lightning lit the sky. There were thunder claps and dark, daunting clouds that night, it was as though the world’s worst winters had all come at once.
“So it’s finally sorted,” Buchan clicked his pen and closed the folder with a flourish. He smiled across the desk at his client. “Now the Will is settled and probate has been cleared we have a much better idea of your situation”.
Mrs. Gable spoke softly, “Remind me again Mr. Buchan, how much?”
“Just over two million.”
Margaret Gable was 92, she wasn’t one for displays of emotion. “Crikey” she uttered, then she added, “The old boy did alright eh?”
“He certainly did Mrs. Gable, your husband was a canny old chap, I was his financial advisor for many years, and even I had no idea he had accrued such savings.”
“Well thank you Mr. Buchan,” Margaret rose to leave, “I have to go now, I have my bus to catch.”
“My pleasure Mrs. Gable,” Buchan walked around his desk. “Look, there’s no need for a bus, why don’t I call a taxi? With two million pounds in the bank the world really is your oyster now you know!”
“Good heavens Mr. Buchan! A taxi? Certainly not! Do you think money just floats through the air?” And with that the old lady turned on her heels and left the room.
The skylark soared in a sun kissed sky,
it’s sound resplendent from the ground so dry.
It hovered in majestic song,
Oh for it to continue all day long.
But then it drops like a stone,
And I am left here all alone
To dwell on nature’s majestic gifts
As it gives my spirit a wondrous lift.