Awash

CCC #130

Awash in a world unfamiliar

Like a lone feather carried away by a stream

Finding my way is awkward

As things aren’t always as they seem

I have made plans for the future

And often events have led them astray

But if I hold to my course

I hope to make my destination someday


Padre

Crimson’s Creative Challenge #130

The Replacement


“So you will be taking over from me next year?” Miss Kerrie asked with a kind smile.

“Yes, and I’m really looking forward to it,” Miss Dover replied. “I think that teaching is the most wonderful job in the world.”

“Well, it does have it’s moments,” Miss Kerrie agreed. “I love your enthusiasm, It reminds me of when I first started and I am sure you will get as much from it as I have.”

“I really hope so. May I ask if things were much different back when you started?” Miss Dover queried.

“No, not all that much. After all it’s only been six years,” Miss Kerrie replied.

“Six years? Is that enough time in service to retire?” Miss Dover asked, a bit confused.

“Retire? What makes you think I am retiring? I am just moving into retail, that’s all. I’m only twenty-nine.”


Padre

FLASH FICTION FOR THE PURPOSEFUL PRACTITIONER: 2021: WEEK #18

While Picnics Wait

Picnic Table, Raining, Wet, Trees, Mud, Dirt, Nature
Image by StockSnap from Pixabay 

When rains
Arrive beating
Winds howl and fences creak
Be thankful for prescious moisture
Cloud born
Water
While at times falling – unwelcome
Still is a life giver
The Spring picnics
Can wait


Padre

After an April with near drought conditions, I was glad to see much needed rain. Yet all across social media people were complaining that the May Bank Holiday was a “wash-out.” This despite the fact that the pandemic is still a very real thing.

Written for Colleen’s Poet’s Choice challenge.

Jack

Mahdie Farhadkiaei

Jack can’t be trusted

He’s in truth a bit of a rogue

It doesn’t matter what suit he’s in

He’ll shift to whatever’s in vogue

You’d thing that as a lofty facecard

He’d be a bit more discrete

But it proves that those royal cards

Can be mere villains and cheats


Padre

Photo Challenge #364

Treasure

Sea, Beach, Berck, Bay Of Authie, Hauts De France
Pixabay

The crew of the Red Vengence were a bit surprised when Captain Skull returned to the vessel accompanied by a sailor named Jon Farthing. It was the captain’s usual practice to kill all those that had gone ashore to bury his plunder. But this time there was a survivor that might lead others to the booty.

Three months later, Skull was arrested by officers from a French frigate while ashore to procure provisions. At that, first mate, Hal Scallion decided the buccaneering life was becoming to precarious with British, Dutch, and French navies now patrolling the Caribbean. He ordered to Vengence to the atoll where Skull had last buried loot and told Farthing to accompany him ashore.

As they left the dinghy, Scallion handed Farthing a shovel and told him to recover the chests. Farthing scanned the beach and did some mental calculations and the proceed to a point in the sand and began to dig. After over an hour, and with nothing had been revealed, Scallion shouted, “Farthing are you a dullard? Have you forgotten where you buriied the booty?”

“No Captain,” the youth replied. “T’was ten paces from the seal on the right. I am sure of it, I am. Captain Skull telled me that I was to burn it in me mind, and if ye asked, I were to tell ye just that.”


Padre

Mud-Bound

Hell, Purgatory, Heaven, Stairs, Path, Lucifer, Lava
Pixabay

Some fear the habanero flames of a sulphur realm below

But cling with all their might to the quicksand mud that around them flows

They see above then the azure sky of day

But the indigo curtain of night fills them with dismay

Pins and needles fill their souls if the word death is but for an instant on the lips

They would rather into the hurricane gale trod

Than enter the gentle breezy space, beyond the pearly gates of God


Padre

Paint Chip Poetry Challenge

pearly gates, habaneromudpins and needlesbreezy, quicksand, and indigo.

The Message


Hans-Dieter Jäger, aka Jon Hunter waited on the embankment across from the Houses of Parliament. He had been operating in London for about a month and his cover as a disabled veteran of the Great War seemed intact, it being true, he having served in the Bavarian Infantry. Though he had lost a leg in that war, he was proud to now once again serve the Fatherland. His English was good, and he had mastered a sound West Country accent. His prosthetic leg also aided in his back story, not to mention its usefulness in concealing messages.

He glanced at his watch and threw a few breadcrumbs onto the coping stones and watched as the gulls and pigeons gathered. It was the perfect way to cover the arrival of the particular pigeon he was expecting.

Sure enough, the bird arrived about ten minutes later. He approached it and removed his instructions from its leg.

He stared in disbelief at the piece of paper which was written in English and merely said “Turn around.” There, Hans-Dieter found himself face to face with a MI5 agent and two policemen.


Padre

FLASH FICTION FOR THE PURPOSEFUL PRACTITIONER