I (sometimes) call myself Mr. Pondersome. I'm a rather wordy, weirdy person. I say hullo a lot. I write a lot more. While you're here, why not give some of it a read?

Sunday, 25 August 2019

OLDOUNCE'S COFFIN (a.k.a. Why Antonym Poetry Is Tricky)

Tomorrow I was entertained
so I worked with an Oldounce's Coffin.

I pushed forward the last block
then ignored them staying forth and back,
clack and click.

Earlier I disregarded down 
and missed the night remaining into day
and the darkness was brightening slow.
So I started...

Saturday, 24 August 2019

THE MAJESTY OF NATURE IN LANDSCAPE (a.k.a. A Lindisfarne Vignette)

Man and Boy stopped a while to snap a Red Admiral. Boy had his phone out in seconds while Man was still fiddling with his Fuji camera strap.
   "Landscape or portrait?" Boy asked, tilting his phone.
   "You'll get more of the majesty of nature in landscape," Man replied.
   Camera finally switched on, he pointed it at the butterfly in the hedge. It flitted off. He groaned. Boy laughed.
   "Too slow," he said.
   "I'll get the bugger," Man muttered. "Don't you worry."
   They followed it along a stone wall. The Red Admiral stopped at every other crack, unhelpfully keeping its wings folded. They waited for it to move.
   In time a procession of school children passed by: ten little reflector jackets led by one big one. The teacher hesitated, wondering just what Man and Boy were doing.
   "Butterfly snapshots," Man explained with a curt smile.
   The teacher nodded and moved the kids along. They were almost away before a girl at the back spoke up: "I licked one of those once." The rest giggled till they were all gone.
   At last the Red Admiral set off again.
   "Oh yes!" Boy said. "I got it mid-flight!"
   Man sniffed. "If you would be quiet for just one second, we might catch it by those pink flowers."
   Boy snapped his fingers. "Look! Quick!"
   Man saw his perfect picture opportunity. The butterfly landed on a single low-hanging branch and was steadily fluttering its wings. It held them open long enough for him to take quite a few photos. Man even managed a detailed close-up of the wing symmetry. Meanwhile Boy stood beside, slipping his phone back into his pocket. He smiled at Man when he was done.
   "Will that do?" Boy asked.
   Man nodded his thanks to the Red Admiral. It bowed low, twitching its antennae as if contemplating him in return . Then a gust shook the branch and the butterfly followed the currant.
   "Yes," Man said, tucking the camera back into its case. "That'll do for me."

Thursday, 15 August 2019

TORNADO AT THE DAIRY FARM (a.k.a. A Morwick Vignette)

We were sat round a bench at a dairy farm when the jet flew overhead.
     Mum licked her ice cream and squinted up through the blue breaks between clouds. "I'd say that's a Tornado."
     "That would explain the warning on the weather this morning," I joked. Nobody laughed. Instead they traced the jet's flight path with their mint chocolate chips.
     "It's flying a bit low," Dad muttered.
     "And fast," my sister added.
     As if on cue, the Tornado whooshed by, rumbling the clouds like thunder.
     "Those get up to Mach 2," Dad said, checking his phone. "That's about 1,550mph."
     I looked down at my hand. A small yellow dollop of jersey cream slid down between thumb and forefinger. Cleaning it with a serviette, I glanced up again.
     "Looks sort of like the mouse cursor on an old Windows desktop," I decided.
     "It would have to be white," my sister pointed out. 
     I shrugged. "True."
     Even so the black angular arrow kept weaving through and around the clouds as if searching for an operation running in the background. 
     "There might be an air show nearby," Mum said. "It looks like it's biding time." 
     The jet did so for a while, managing to avoid our cameras whenever it swept past low. Eventually we wiped the corners of our mouths, brushed wafer dust off our clothes and returned to the car.
     As the Tornado jet sank behind a pure white cloud, I swallowed the tip of my cone. 

Tuesday, 13 August 2019

EASY RIDER AARON (a.k.a. A Morpeth Vignette)

Aaron spins his wheels in the parking lot. Dad is taking absolutely ages in Home Bargains and Nan is dozing off in the Land Rover. She is supposed to be keeping an eye on him but Aaron is glad to have a few minutes' freedom. 
    He races his shiny green scooter up and down the short stretch of pedestrian walkway in front of the car. This would be more fun if he was wearing his black and silver streak helmet but Dad forgot it in the morning rush. It was lucky they had left Aaron's old red one in the boot but it's now tiny and squeezes his head, especially at the back. Nevertheless he drives through this discomfort, steering around uneven paving stones.
    When it's time, Aaron pulls up by the trolley shelter and waits until a white van reaches the traffic lights across the way. Then, as the lights go green and the van sets off, he zooms forward himself. 
    He's lucky this time, scooter reaching maximum speed just as the loud engine kicks into gear. Aaron roars along with it. In this moment he forgets everything: the midday boredom, his nan snoring and the squeaky front wheel, and imagines that he is the one burning rubber.
   However this feeling soon slips by like the wind in his face and the van's noise fades off round the bend. Just as he spies a lorry approaching and his foot pushes down on the pedal, Aaron finally feels the weight of his father's hand on his shoulder. The boy looks up at him, failing to hide the disappointment on his daredevil face. 
   "Come on, easy rider," Dad chuckles. "We're heading home."