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Gingerlily - The Full Wild
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May 26, 2017 10:07AM
LOL! Is he an orc not like others?
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Not quite. Fewer weapons. Better teeth.
I know you like green :)
Patti (baconater) wrote: "Same complexion...."who cooked dinner this evening?
Jim wrote: "Patti (baconater) wrote: "Same complexion...."who cooked dinner this evening?"
Watch it, you.
Actually I grilled some pieces of lamb. Was very tasty.
Patti (baconater) wrote: "You're hard work, you are."But I'm worth it.
Gingerlily - Mistress Lantern wrote: "We could try the pointy stick..."Only if you put some meat and veg on it and use it as a kebab
David wrote: "Gingerlily - Mistress Lantern wrote: "We could try the pointy stick..."Only if you put some meat and veg on it and use it as a kebab"
Some of Patti's grilled lamb, perhaps?
Gingerlily - Mistress Lantern wrote: "David wrote: "Gingerlily - Mistress Lantern wrote: "We could try the pointy stick..."Only if you put some meat and veg on it and use it as a kebab"
Some of Patti's grilled lamb, perhaps?"
That will do nicely.
Looks like the Drabble queue is filling up on the hippo once more, judging by the number in the recents list. Sorry to have been a bit lax for a while, life's been getting in the way. It's exam season now, so I should have a bit more time for writing, at last!
Another batch of cookies for Marc!
Batch! I've gone up from one cookie :-)
Marc wrote: "Batch! I've gone up from one cookie :-)"Hopefully not the cookies in this...
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-7S8X...
"Cigarette Break"The walls permeated fear and dumb defiance, cold turkey agonies and finitude. Waiting for the optimal moment to bring out my cigarette case and offer the man sat opposite me one. Course I also had to provide one for my partner, to eliminate any possible objection to contravening the workplace smoking ban. A double intimacy for our convened trinity. A knowing shared kindness in this place of antagonism. An unknowing concession that this would be the last proper burner he would taste in years, since from herein on there would only be the thinness of prison roll ups. Case closed.
as always my conscience has got the better of me and I've sent one in the HippoKeep feeding the hippo!
Recently I was trimming the BookHippo.uk mailing list by emailing people who haven't clicked on any books in a while, asking if they wanted to remain in the database.A fair few people requested to stay just for the drabbles. They certainly get read.
"Paternoster Row"As our forces advanced to reclaim the city, a dazzling patch of green sat at its heart. Had the suffocating high rises been temporarily eclipsed by the remnants of the smoke? Or perhaps they had been levelled by the aerial bombardment, restoring the city to its Medieval origins. The green park, the former common lands choked off by private capital, now unshackled so it and we, would be free to breathe freely once again. But as we converged on the city centre, we saw that the green was pulsing. A host of iridescent green blowflies colonising the city’s charred corpses.
Ah well, here we go. One hundred words exactly if the title is exempted. Does the title count towards the total?Deadly Rhubarb
The boy looked embarrassed, guilty even.
“What is it?” asked the teacher. “Why are you so upset?”
His head dropped, “I killed Mrs Brummitt,” he replied.
“Killed Mrs Brummitt?” repeated Miss Ashworth in disbelief.
“Yes,” affirmed the six-year-old, about to break into tears.
“How?”
He looked up, wiped his snuffling nose with the cuff of his jumper, and stared at her with the most serious expression that he could muster: “I was playing in her garden. Mum and dad were pulling up weeds. I wanted to wee, so I weed on her rhubarb, and then she ate it and died.”
"Still"My child was finally out of me. Yet the convex salience of my belly still bore her cameoed imprint. No phantom amputee this, I did not still feel her to be inside. I was like the snake who had swallowed prey whole and my body accordingly distended around the shape of my ingurgitation. Yet now that digestional absorption was complete, the evacuation passed as scurf, my hide had not recoiled its elasticity to resile me sinuously lithe. And for what? We had both been destroyed by our co-habitation. For my child had been stillborn. She was the phantom amputee.
The meta-Drabble A hundred words was too hard, he thought in a panic as the time ran out. Only one hundred words! How could he compress a story into so few morsels of meaning? How could anyone, even if their life depended on it, like his did now? For that was the case; if he did not have a story of exactly one hundred words his life would be forfeit. Gnawing his pencil in a frenzy, he began to write, but inspiration would just not come. And then the bell rang and he knew that he was too late; and collapsed sobbing.
Bookhippo is looking to cast the net a bit wider. They'd like some new blood, as well as the old hands, to contribute. If you want to have a go, please wait to post them elsewhere until they've appeared on Bookhippo. After that, you can spread them around. New content helps to get the newsletter seen more widely. Her'es the link.https://bookhippo.uk/addHundred.php
Here's one from yesterday's BookHippoChauvinist by Jonathan Hill
Maureen flung open the door and hurled her tennis racquet on the floor.
"Finished already?" Louisa asked.
"One point. That’s all it took! I knew I shouldn't have allowed you to persuade me to play that man."
"What's wrong?" Louisa asked her flustered friend.
"I knew he was a chauffeur as soon as I saw him."
"A chauffeur?"
"Chauffeur, chauvinist, whatever the word is," Maureen said, clearly still in a strop.
"For God's sake, calm down. What happened?"
"The patronising so-and-so! One point! One point we'd played and do you know what he said? Fifteen, love."
"Er... Maureen?"
And from today's - another winner! Uprooted by David Wailing
Robin loved genealogy, so decided to have his entire family tree tattooed upon his back.
His mother hated the idea for some reason, but what did she know?
He started with his parents, grandparents, siblings and of course himself, interconnected names inked onto his skin. As he discovered more family history, the tree grew across his shoulder blades. When Robin’s sisters had children then grandchildren, it spread to his buttocks.
More names were added over the decades. Every ancestor, descendant and in-law linked in one body-covering tattoo.
Only on her deathbed did Robin’s mother finally reveal her reason:
“You’re adopted.”
I did think they were two particularly nice ones :-)
Washing DayI gathered up my small daughter’s clothes from the washing basket, to put them in the washer. Sweep, the kitten, thought it was all a game, leaping up to pull socks and vests from my arms. “Get way, cat,” I said, laughing as I pulled the clothes from his needle-sharp teeth. I set the machine and made coffee. That’s when I noticed the little black and white face going round in the glass window. I’d put Sweep in the wash! Panicked, I stopped and opened the machine. A glove puppet flopped wetly to the floor, and Sweep pounced on it.
Whew. Glad it ended well.
The Drowning SeasonOn beachfront once rescued under Marine Corps and Tommy boot tread
Wash up the sandalled and barefooted bequeathing no imprint
Flip-flopped non-amphibious among the breakers
Unvulcanised landing craft like waterpark tyres playing dodgems in the Med’s flume
Bright yellow horse collars frame face down baptismal quietus
The waves lapping at the human troughs lining the sand
Desperate volunteers tictacking survival odds
One-way passage betting slips, torn confetti non-starters permanently stalled
Air displaced in the lungs by brine, burning like fire within tantalising sight of soil
Their cadavers salted away in racks like fine Italian wine
Corked.
Marc wrote: ""Still"My child was finally out of me. Yet the convex salience of my belly still bore her cameoed imprint. No phantom amputee this, I did not still feel her to be inside. I was like the snake who..."
So sad and very moving, but lots of feeling crammed into just 100 words.
T4bsF (Call me Flo) wrote: "Marc wrote: ""Still"So sad and very moving, but lots of feeling crammed into just 100 words. ..."
there are times when I feel that Marc is perhaps the greatest among us when it comes to doing that sort of thing. Somehow for me I feel he gets the depth of it really well
Forty-one AugustsIt’s August again. That’s forty-one now.
Forty-one Augusts doesn’t seem like many, really, and yet a lifetime ago I was running in meadows of tall grass with a girl with red hair. I had dreams then.
I had dreams of being everything. The world was at my feet. It was my oyster. It was low hanging fruit, ripe for the plucking.
It’s strange how time goes by, and how the memories of long golden days haunt you. Instead of running barefoot, laughing, we look back until another August’s gone and the time we have left is no time at all.
Aplogies to Blake and Parry (and the W.I.), but it’s been a long few weeks with Mrs Gaff in hospital, and I needed a distraction, so ...Just As Possible
There was a Greek in ancient time
Who walked upon England’s mountains green.
She fought for tree and stream and sod,
Yet in our history is unseen.
Her countenance was strong and fine
Among the flames up on those hills,
Her great name, now lost, builded here,
Before those dark Satanic Mills.
She had a bow of burning gold
And arrows matching her attire.
She carried spears of iron cold.
They called her Harriet Sophia.
She did not cease in ancient fight,
Nor did her sword sleep in her hand.
She built her reputation here,
In England’s bleak, unpleasant land.
Excellent! And I defy anyone to read it and not sing it. I couldn't!
Kath wrote: "Excellent! And I defy anyone to read it and not sing it. I couldn't!"too right :-)
The BookHippo.uk drabble slot doesn't really get used any more, so I'm asking those who read and contribute them what you would like me to do. I'm happy to keep the slot open in case anyone wants to submit some, or I can remove it, or I can add something else instead.
every time I see no drabble I feel guilty but currently rushed off my feet
No need for guilt! I'm delighted the slot has lasted as long as it has.
Tales From The RiverbankThe riverbank’s vegetation bore witness to the grooves of stormwaters, the sculpting of wind, the tread of man. Historical record of both hagiographers, and iconoclasts who had buried bodies there. Those cadavers must have corrupted the flow, stopped it up short; a calcium dam on the bed rivalling beavers. Now solely a swan floated, a mate mirrored in the still water below. Until it plunged its head at the surface and shattered its glassy perfection. Each time the ripples dissipated and recomposed it whole, the swan struck. As if deliberately trying to efface its own image. Or kill its mate.
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Books mentioned in this topic
Lost Innocence: The Accused (other topics)Azazel (other topics)
Authors mentioned in this topic
Andrew K. Lawston (other topics)Andrew K. Lawston (other topics)
