Rooks, castles, elephants
Corner anchors – sturdy defense
No mere pawns to be thrown away
These straight line heroes oft save the day
Whether in a frontal assault
Or with a king’s place trade
These are powerful pieces when well played
Padre
*****
My kids say that I’m laid-back
To stand me would require a crane
It’s not that I’m apathet-ac
I care, but I don’t like the strain
But most things in life are not so important
That they require us to make a big fuss
In fact, if you let them just flow over
Like water on the back of ducks
You will see the things that really matter
The rest are superfluous
Padre
Fandango’s Dog Days of August #20: “your temperament”
Pixabay
Monday – Day of the Moon
Beginning of the work-week
Which can’t be over too soon
It is oft a day of struggling
To get yourself dressed
After a weekend of parties, and all the rest
But there are – about every blue moon
Bank Holiday Mondays to our boon
Extending the weekend
From two days to three
Giving the illusion of being free
Padre
Pixabay
It was a bit too early in the year to venture beyond the western hills. The last of the winter snows hadn’t even fully melted on the more guarded slopes, but Halian knew that if he was to get a crop in before autumn, he would need to begin the venture.
He, his brother Dalvin, their wives Karianna and Helgi, and Dalvin’s four-year-old son Keelin, therefore began their westward trek on the last day of March. Progress was good up to the frontier settlement of Caston. There they stopped, as it was the last sure source of supplies, though water and some small items might be available from the sutler at Fort Wren at the head of the pass. From there however, the pioneers would be on their own.
“I don’t know why Hal is starting off so soon,” Helgi said quietly to her sister-in-law. “He could have at least waited a month for you ho have the baby first.”
“Helgi, I don’t know why you carry on so. I’ll be fine,” Kari assured her. “Besides, we need to find a suitable plot, and get the grain planted or we might starve once the next snows fall.”
Helgi, gave her quick sideways hug, and the two went into entered the merchants to acquire salt and molasses.
Meanwhile Dalvin tended the oxen, and kept an eye on Keelin who was playing with the hounds Dunder and Blisser.
“I will be back shortly,” Halian called, ” I want to see if I can get some iron nails from the smitty.”
“I will wait for the girls here then shall I?” Dalvin said with a chuckle, as if there was any other choice in the matter as the livestock and little Keelin needed to me watched over.
Dalvin tightened the thick leather belt around his waist. It felt odd to be wearing a sword-belt. He was a farmer, nothing more. Okay, Hal had been a conscript in the Count’s regiment two years before, but that was the only taste of war that any in the family had had. No, it was not since their grandfather’s time that there had been a “real” warrior in the family.
Here they were though, on the road westwards. “An early start to a new beginning,” his older brother Halian had said. Beginning of what? he mused.
“Keeli, don’t antagonise those dogs.”
“Sorry Father,” the lad called and tossed the stick he had been playing tug-of-war with Blisser with. The stick didn’t go far, but both dogs took the few steps to retrieve it.
“New beginning,” Dalvin said aloud.
Padre
Pixabay
Andre had no formal qualifications, but he loved to paint and draw, and he had even tried his hand at some sculpting in wire. He had become proficient in doing city-scapes, and eked out a meagre living selling them to tourists.
His “studio” was no more than a garden shed. It was there that he transformed the sketches he made while waiting for customers into paintings.
One evening there was a ferocious evening storm. It seemed to rock the very foundations of his humble home. In the morning, Andre discovered that a tree had fallen onto the roof of his beloved shed, collapsing the roof. Shelves had tumbled, and canvases and paints alike were strewn willy-nilly about the ruins.
There would be no sales that day as Andre began to pick through to detritus of his livelihood. He managed to salvage two completed paintings of the Lion Bridge, and three other canvases which were salvageable, though they were splattered with assorted paint and garden grime. The grim task completed, he went inside to await the slim possibilities of the next day.
In the morning, he carried his remaining artwork to the Lion Bridge, and set the two extant works against the railings, in the hope of drawing some custom. With no studio to work in, he next took one of spattered canvases and placed it upon an easel. He was just starting to paint a faint outline of one of the lion sentinels onto the canvas when a distinguished looking couple approached.
The hatchet-faced lady picked up one of the completed paintings and held it up to her gentleman companion. The man pulled a face, and the pair both shook their heads disapprovingly. As the man picked up the other work to give it a closer examination, the woman stepped up to Andre’s work in progress.
“Reginald,” she called in a nasally noise, “I think I have found just the piece for above the fireplace in the villa.”
Padre
Pixabay
Green-fingers caress the buds of May
And water the blooms of June
Attentive to each of her sprouting wards
And from the beds weeds exhume
Diligent in caring for nature’s bounty
Through the paths of splendor – Flower strewn
Padre
Image by Jørgen Deleuran from Pixabay
Einar and Destin shifted the long pine plank into position as Thorbold prepared to rivet it into place.
“Don’t let it slide beyond the mark I made,” the master boat-wright snapped.
“Sorry Thorbold,” the pair said almost in unison.
Destin wasn’t really sure he was “sorry,” after all he had been building clinker ships nearly as long as his brother, Thorbold had.
He would show him one day. Sooner rather than later, in fact, that he, Destin Olafson could rival the skills of any boat builder in all of the Norse lands.
Just, today was not quite that day.
Padre
April 30: Flash Fiction Challenge – In 99 words (no more, no less), write a story that features long boards.
Image by Defence-Imagery from Pixabay
“Second Platoon, reporting as ordered,” Staff Sergeant Romero said in a clear voice.
“Excellent,” responded the civilian efficiency consultant, turning his back momentarily to pick up a large stack of fill in the blanks questionnaires. “I have a PowerPoint presentation to explain these for you, and then . . . ”
He turned back around to find the marquee tent empty.
“That’s odd,” he mused out loud, “third time this week.”
Padre
Broken hopes and dreams
Upon the beach shattered lie
By nature’s storm breath
Lucrative catches ended
Bringing a new life ashore
Padre
Inspiration Call: Week 11 March 2020 Writing Prompts: Tanka
“A Tanka is a Japanese poem and similar to a Haiku, however it has seven lines. Tankas are nature, seasons, love, and other emotions. Line one has a five syllable count, line two is seven syllables, line three is five syllables, line four is seven syllables, and line five seven syllables. In total it has thirty one syllables. It uses simile, metaphor, and personification.”
Pixabay
Emma was perplexed. Just yesterday she was at the height of popularity, surrounded by “friends” and sycophants. And why shouldn’t it have been so – in fact – be so? She was classically beautiful, with a figure to die for. She had an impeccable dress sense, and Daddy’s money – abundant money – made it so she could always demonstrate it. She was the belle of every ball, and her dance card was always filled. She was, in short, perfect – beyond perfect. So what did this new girl, Princess Helen have that she didn’t?
Padre
Weekend Writing Prompt #147 – Perplex in 90 words
