Under a Thundercloud

Outside the thunder
growls ominously
while the rain
drums furiously
on the new
spring shoots.
Lightning not visible…
I know that I was
in a bad mood when
she went out
I wish she’d ring…

How deceptive are the Waves

How deceptively the waves slide up the shore.

Indecisively they lap and retreat,

Ebb and flow…

With almost an innocent whistle they show

No hint of the storm-lashed coastline of the

Day before…

And the day after. But wait! Seaweed lies

Strewn across the esplanade, and see the

Smashed jetty;

Torn asunder by a furious howling

Banshee – which, once again, visits our shores

This dark night…

How deceptive the waves

Six Word Saturday (2) Temper


Furious assault –





When passion rolls the waves

Angry now, the sea
churns up the ocean bed.
Four sheets to the wind,
the frothy counterpane
bears witness to great
Neptune’s passion-filled surge.

Such wild, such reckless,
abandon must surely
exhaust itself ‘ere long…

Sea Bed

7 Word Sunday – Thief

Sand whipped,
Land ripped…
Watery Wind Thief


The excessive rain has washed away all the earth beneath the road.

The excessive rain has washed away all the earth beneath the road.

Sand washed away from beneath the jetty leaving it exposed to the power of the sea.

Sand washed away from beneath the jetty leaving it exposed to the power of the sea.

Flash Ahhhhahhhh

Summer is not evident from inside the Indian restaurant. Giant hail, lightning storm and flash floods leave the high street outside like a river and various emergency vehicles crawling by with blue lights flashing.

Cafe Society

Sitting in the greasy spoon, I shelter from the thunderstorm that rages outside and listen to the various conversations happening around me. Two men on the next table consult their smartphones and try to get their orientation. Should I help them I wonder but instead I smile encouragingly when they hit on the right conclusion. My smile turns to one of sympathy when they mention sleeping bags and camping and we all look out of the window at the teaming rain.
On the table behind a man bemoans the system that is about to take away his benefits as he can walk 20 metres. He tells the men he is with that he is planning on selling his house and going to London to buy a Land rover and then he will hide the rest of the proceeds in a big metal safe. His mates make supportive mutterings and they agree that there will be a revolution one day.
The door opens and more people come in. Thor seems to be swinging his hammer right above our heads but in this place lives are planned, bonds are made and, as the disabled man painfully makes his way to the door, I notice that one leg is replaced by a metal peg. Then I realise that I know him, knew him – years ago in a previous life, but it’s too late by then to say something. I guess time does move on.
Suddenly there is an almighty flash accompanied by a deafening thunderous rumble – even more men pour through the door of the café; everyone looks around and somebody, with the wisdom that is only borne of working outside in all weathers, comments, “Jesus Christ I would not want to be on that scaffolding today!”
Everyone concurs.
It turns out that I am the one lone fish in a pond full of inhabited lily pads. These grown men sit around and talk turns to babies and cots and I smile once more and write it down.

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