Tuesday 31 January 2017

The Evacuation Part 5

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for part one click here and part two here, part three here and part four here
For audio click here 
Iveta allowed the flow of the crowds to guide her. She was looking for David and Lucie but at the same time she didn’t want to see them. How could she face her husband and child knowing what she’d done to get herself there? She rubbed her hands again trying to rid them of the memory. She felt someone bump her from one side and then the other and she realised she’d stopped moving. She felt stuck to the concrete floor of the platform, trapped by the bodies that bustled around her and the noise that echoed through the vast hall. She felt like it was hammering her down.
Faces everywhere, but none of them her husband’s. She longed for his arms, longed to be held, but would she be able to hold him with those hands. She wrung them again, squeezing out the poison.
She turned her body, once, twice, three times. Turning around and around looking for the familiar, looking for the comfort of David’s smile. She was aware that she was attracting attention. People had given her a wide berth, ‘avoiding the crazy one’. She was turning round and round, scanning the heads, scanning the faces, listening for Lucie’s cry. He was here, somewhere. Somewhere he was here. But he wouldn’t be looking for her; he didn’t know she’d got on the train. She shook her hands, shaking off the imaginary gloop. She stopped turning.
“David” she yelled at the top of her voice and then slowly sunk to her knees and curled into a ball on the edge of the platform.

David allowed the flow of the crowds to guide him. He had flight tickets waiting for him at the airport, but he didn’t have a clue how to get there. He knew airport was Flug something in German, but couldn’t see any signs. So, for now, he’d just coast on the flow. He thought about Iveta. Where was she now? He’d try to get to a phone box and ring her, assure her that he and Lucie were okay. He couldn’t see any public phones either’ they weren’t the most common entity these days. There’d been rumours on the train that the borders would close the next night; Iveta might never get out.
He looked around at the other faces; grey, gaunt, tired eyes stared straight ahead. Of only one could be Iveta. He was aware of a disturbance to the right of him. He couldn’t see what was going on over the crowds, but there seemed to be someone in distress. He hoped some kind soul would help them out, but right now, he had his own little lady to contend with. The little one was having a grumble. He put both bags down on the concrete and took Lucie from her holdall. Her grumbling stopped and she smiled Iveta’s smile. David hugged his little girl as tears ran down his face and longed for his big one.

“David!”
David’s heart froze. It couldn’t be, but there was no mistaking that voice. He left his bags where they were and with Lucie safely under one arm, he barged his way through the crowds.
“Oi mate,”
“Be careful.”
“Watch what you’re doing.”
He ignored them all. He staggered through the forest of arms and legs and out into the little opening.
“Iveta?” she looked up. His last few paces were in slow motion; not quite believing what he was seeing. Iveta unfurled herself. He thrust Lucie into her arms and then bear hugged the two of them.



Monday 30 January 2017

The Consignment

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If you like my work, please share on social media sites, recommend to your friends or leave reviews in the comments below. If you really like my work, please consider buying one of my novels. 
Thank you. 

For audio click here 

“Hello!”
Rain dripped off the umbrella.
“Hello!”
Cartwright looked at his watch and pressed the button again.
“Hello!”
He looked around in the darkness. Apart from the dimmed interior lights from the flotilla of cars behind, it was absolutely pitch black. There were meant to be guards on the gates, but there was no one, anywhere.
“What’s going on Cartwright?”
He turned to see the car door ajar.
“Be with you in a minute Ma’am,” he pressed the button again. This time the intercom crackled and hissed.
“Hello,” Cartwright said. “This is Cartwright from the palace, I have the consignment.”
 “I’m terribly sorry Cartwright from the palace,” it was a woman’s voice, not what Cartwright had expected. “This facility is not open for delivery,” that wasn’t what he had expected either.
“Damn you. Stop playing games, I have the Queen, and the Prime Minister and twenty-two other dignitaries here. Now open up immediately, or…or… face the consequences.”  He stamped his foot for good measure.
“Sorry to inconvenience you Cartwright from the Palace, we did try to call before you left London. This facility has fallen into the hands of Save People, Not Politicians. I’m afraid the place is full, there’s no room at the inn for you and your dignitaries.”
“Stop messing around you silly little girl,” Cartwright yelled, “Let us in.”  But it was no good. The intercom was dead. He looked at his watch and headed back to the car.

The Prime Minster, the Home Secretary, the Queen and the Prince were squeezed into the back of the Queen’s Bentley listening to Cartwright explaining the problem.
“Don’t we have the codes to open the doors?” the Home Secretary asked.
Cartwright waved away some of the smoke and coughed.
“Once the doors have been primed, they are only operated from the inside.”
“Well, can’t we force our way in?” the Queen asked.
Cartwright shook his head.
“That’s the problem, Ma’am, this bunker was built to withstand a nuclear attack, I’m not sure our pistols and sub-machine guns will have much effect,” He looked at his watch.
“Well, we must try.” the PM added her two-penneth worth.
“Yes, Ma’am, I’ll talk to Captain Brendon.” Cartwright looked at his watch and opened the car door.
“When this is over these people will be tried for treason and hung,” the Queen said.

“Yes Ma’...” The loudest bang Cartwright had ever heard and the brightest light he’d ever seen stole his words and rendered them useless anyway.

Saturday 28 January 2017

Topical Poet - Orange Folly

A little bonus poem for you. 

For audio click here

Orange Folly
You can build a wall around us,
make it tall and long
but I don’t think you’ll stop us.
I think you’ve got it wrong.

The border’s not for crossing
you’ve made it plain and clear.
You’re using bricks and mortar
to make sure that we stay here.

But haven’t you forgotten
the wall it won’t constrain,
while you’re building it up higher,
we’ll take the effing plane.

So, build your flight of fancy
and argue about who’ll pay. 
Meanwhile we’ll all pack our bags
and see you at JFK. 

I thought I'd put yesterday's topical poem here too. 


Special Relationship
From World War 1 to Libya 
we’ve stood side by side, 
with our ‘merican cousins.
Special relationship we’ve cried.  

When Ronnie launched the arms race
and filled us all with fear 
Maggie let Mr. Reagan
store his weapons here.

When Dubya bombed Afganistan 
and then went into Iraq. 
His special friend in London
said “George, I’ve got your back”. 

A special relationship you say, 
more like an unholy alliance.
we need them, more than they need us,
so there’ll always be compliance. 

So Teresa’s gone to Washington 
to meet he who I won’t name, 
she’ll beg for a special deal 
she’ll put Britain on the game.

She’ll take anything on offer 
to get her hands on pretty green.
the NHS up for sale, 
she’ll happily sell the queen

Despite his racist, sexist, 
homophobic, rhetoric, 
she’ll do a deal with the devil, 

because she’s in the Brexit shit.

Friday 27 January 2017

Poetry Friday 30

For Audio click here.

The  Topical Poet has got his teeth into poetry Friday again.  Two poems for you, one silly, one political.
The first one was inspired by a poet I saw on Monday called Leanne Moden. Check her out, she was very funny.
Leanne, it’s not only men who ask women to shave .


Topiary
She said that she might like
You know, if I didn't mind.
For me to have a little shave
But not the facial kind.

Just a little trouser trim
Such a simple task.
A boxer short back and sides
It’s not too much to ask.

She said it's getting out of hand
Like a forest full of trees.
Don't mind a bit of hair down there,
But not down to your knees.

But I think I might have messed it up.
I was trying to get it thinner,
I've taken off far too much
It looks like Yul Brynner.


My friend Carrick said that seeing our PM with the new POTUS made his toes curl. I think we all feel your pain. I wrote a poem.


Special Relationship
From World War 1 to Libya
we’ve stood side by side,
with our ‘merican cousins.
Special relationship we’ve cried. 

When Ronnie launched the arms race
and filled us all with fear
Maggie let Mr. Reagan
store his weapons here.

When Dubya bombed Afganistan
and then went into Iraq.
His special friend in London
said “George, I’ve got your back”.

A special relationship you say,
more like an unholy alliance.
we need them, more than they need us,
so there’ll always be compliance.

So Teresa’s gone to Washington
to meet he who I won’t name,
she’ll beg for a special deal
she’ll put Britain on the game.

She’ll take anything on offer
to get her hands on pretty green.
the NHS up for sale,
she’ll happily sell the queen

Despite his racist, sexist,
homophobic, rhetoric,
she’ll do a deal with the devil,
because she’s in the Brexit shit.

I hope you enjoy the poems, remember if you did please share them with your friends.

Have a great weekend and happy Chinese New Year.