Submissions by blocat
POEMS AND SHORT STORIES
Poet Introduction
Comedy writer and also write serious stuff from the heart when I'm in the mood. Without humour life has no real balance and we take ourselves too seriously. I use humour as armour against the slings and arrows of outrageous circumstance. ;-)
FICTIONAL PROSE
Published
2nd Feb 2018 2:05pm
2nd Feb 2018 2:05pm
Ruthless Bastards
JoJo ‘Jarhead’ Jackson planned his raid on his neighbour with care. A prolific thief, he had never been caught since he was fourteen years old. Now aged twenty-two he was an old hand at this kind of raid. Old people were his exclusive target, the older the better. They went to bed early and slept soundly. Most were deaf and had poor eyesight. They couldn’t fight, they couldn’t run and were terrified of burglars. That, in Jarheads book, made them ideal.
Jarhead watched the old man through the knothole he’d pushed in the dividing fence, his forehead resting on the rough scratchy...
Jarhead watched the old man through the knothole he’d pushed in the dividing fence, his forehead resting on the rough scratchy...
592 reads
2 Comments
FICTIONAL PROSE
Published
20th Jan 2018 1:39pm
20th Jan 2018 1:39pm
Spy Trap
Hebert looked in the drawer. Yes, his last will and testament had been moved. One of the ungrateful buggers had been snooping again, he thought. The tiny scrap of paper he’d hidden in one of its folds was not there.
He turned, his face crimson. His granddaughters, it had to be one of them, always poking their noses into his affairs. ‘So, which of you nosy sods has been in here’ he growled, ‘Snooping again were yer’s?’
Vanessa looked shocked ‘Granddad, if you look at the drawer again you’ll see it has been tidied as have all the others. I did it myself this...
He turned, his face crimson. His granddaughters, it had to be one of them, always poking their noses into his affairs. ‘So, which of you nosy sods has been in here’ he growled, ‘Snooping again were yer’s?’
Vanessa looked shocked ‘Granddad, if you look at the drawer again you’ll see it has been tidied as have all the others. I did it myself this...
548 reads
0 Comments
DARK POEM
Published
19th Jan 2018 6:42pm
19th Jan 2018 6:42pm
Street Vets
As two more vets die on the streets of the UK (One an SAS hero of the Iranian Embassy siege in 1980) I cry enough. The only Terrorist survivor of the siege now lives in comfortable free accommodation on welfare handouts. Again, I cry enough.
He sits ensconced in sleeping bag doorway
Hostel of the streets
Wage slave workers hurry, scurry past
Eager for home
He has none
Used to be a soldier, bold, now too old
Three tours of Afghan, destroyed the man
Now...
He sits ensconced in sleeping bag doorway
Hostel of the streets
Wage slave workers hurry, scurry past
Eager for home
He has none
Used to be a soldier, bold, now too old
Three tours of Afghan, destroyed the man
Now...
627 reads
4 Comments
STORY POEM
Published
11th Jan 2018 12:29pm
11th Jan 2018 12:29pm
f**k Your Luck
They took the body of captain Beardsley down the communication trench and buried him that night. Killed by his hobby. A keen birdwatcher, he’d said something about a rare warbler and risked a glance over the top through his binoculars. Five seconds later the sniper got him.
Daffid Jones stroked the lucky rabbit’s foot that hung around his neck, then lit a cigarette as he leaned against the trench wall where the warm September sun sloped in. ‘If he’d had one of these he would still be with us, Benny.’
Benny Thomas looked at the long lugubrious face of...
Daffid Jones stroked the lucky rabbit’s foot that hung around his neck, then lit a cigarette as he leaned against the trench wall where the warm September sun sloped in. ‘If he’d had one of these he would still be with us, Benny.’
Benny Thomas looked at the long lugubrious face of...
573 reads
0 Comments
FICTIONAL PROSE
Published
4th Jan 2018 6:17pm
4th Jan 2018 6:17pm
A Matter of Perception
Simply because of his diet, granddad was an outcast, a recluse,
.
There were few mourners at granddad’s funeral. Not because he didn’t have any relatives, but because he’d lived mostly on a diet of rats. People shun rat eaters for some reason.
Granddad had never married. As a young man, he was engaged to my grandma but then war came. Off he went, leaving Grandma pregnant with my father. Like so many wartime tragedies, their wedding was not to be. Shortly after giving birth, grandma was knocked down and killed in the London blackout. Granddad survived the...
.
There were few mourners at granddad’s funeral. Not because he didn’t have any relatives, but because he’d lived mostly on a diet of rats. People shun rat eaters for some reason.
Granddad had never married. As a young man, he was engaged to my grandma but then war came. Off he went, leaving Grandma pregnant with my father. Like so many wartime tragedies, their wedding was not to be. Shortly after giving birth, grandma was knocked down and killed in the London blackout. Granddad survived the...
712 reads
4 Comments
FICTIONAL PROSE
Published
16th May 2017 11:32am
16th May 2017 11:32am
The Visitor
We were meditating when it happened. I felt a presence that is impossible to describe. An overwhelming sense of peace consumed me. ’Who are you?’ I asked without speaking.
‘I am you and you are me, we are all one in the unmanifested.’
‘Can I see you?’
‘No.’
Why not?’
‘In the past we have been called angels, devils, the shining ones and gods. None of these names are true. Such descriptions lead to misunderstanding, confusion and our messages being distorted.’
‘Messages?’
‘Yes, for those few of you able to understand.’
‘So, how did you get here?’ ...
‘I am you and you are me, we are all one in the unmanifested.’
‘Can I see you?’
‘No.’
Why not?’
‘In the past we have been called angels, devils, the shining ones and gods. None of these names are true. Such descriptions lead to misunderstanding, confusion and our messages being distorted.’
‘Messages?’
‘Yes, for those few of you able to understand.’
‘So, how did you get here?’ ...
639 reads
0 Comments
FICTIONAL PROSE
Published
5th May 2017 1:22am
5th May 2017 1:22am
Skulduggery
I am not a nice man. I’m a mean minded low-life bastard and that’s why I’ll survive. Nice people end up dead in my game.
Belfast 1976
In the target I waited patiently. The shallow curtained alcove behind the counter that concealed me was cramped and claustrophobic. My feet and legs ached from three hours of standing. My nostrils itched from the dust in the air but I resisted the urge to scratch. The curtain was a scant two inches from my chest; I couldn’t risk moving it even slightly. I knew they were watching, waiting, they’d only come once they were...
Belfast 1976
In the target I waited patiently. The shallow curtained alcove behind the counter that concealed me was cramped and claustrophobic. My feet and legs ached from three hours of standing. My nostrils itched from the dust in the air but I resisted the urge to scratch. The curtain was a scant two inches from my chest; I couldn’t risk moving it even slightly. I knew they were watching, waiting, they’d only come once they were...
864 reads
6 Comments
FICTIONAL PROSE
Published
26th Apr 2017 2:09pm
26th Apr 2017 2:09pm
Carnage
(Attention to detail is important when planning a terrorist strike)
‘You have done well to obtain the minister’s schedule Ahmed, now pay attention, this is the mobile phone that will cause the detonation, first you must take it to work and test for a strong signal.’
‘I’m sure it will be fine, Muszra.’
‘Check it anyway, attention to detail at all times Ahmed. When you plant the device first switch on the phone, only when it is up and running will you throw this arming switch, OK? Once the switch is thrown it cannot be switched off without detonating the...
‘You have done well to obtain the minister’s schedule Ahmed, now pay attention, this is the mobile phone that will cause the detonation, first you must take it to work and test for a strong signal.’
‘I’m sure it will be fine, Muszra.’
‘Check it anyway, attention to detail at all times Ahmed. When you plant the device first switch on the phone, only when it is up and running will you throw this arming switch, OK? Once the switch is thrown it cannot be switched off without detonating the...
702 reads
2 Comments
FICTIONAL PROSE
Published
23rd Apr 2017 00:19am
23rd Apr 2017 00:19am
Of Cats And Bags
Written as flash fiction just under 500 words. Enjoy!
I awoke screaming, consumed with feelings of guilt and dread. I knew I’d killed her. I saw again the silhouette of her body sliding into the hole.
Why had the old bag screeched for her bloody cat at three a.m. every morning, waking me from drug-induced oblivion? All I wanted was sleep, to forget the horrors. But no, her sodding cat came first.
‘I’m just back from Afghanistan, I’m finding sleeping very difficult’ I’d pleaded ‘please, just buy a cat flap, I’ll install it for free.’
‘Huh’ she said...
I awoke screaming, consumed with feelings of guilt and dread. I knew I’d killed her. I saw again the silhouette of her body sliding into the hole.
Why had the old bag screeched for her bloody cat at three a.m. every morning, waking me from drug-induced oblivion? All I wanted was sleep, to forget the horrors. But no, her sodding cat came first.
‘I’m just back from Afghanistan, I’m finding sleeping very difficult’ I’d pleaded ‘please, just buy a cat flap, I’ll install it for free.’
‘Huh’ she said...
570 reads
0 Comments
FICTIONAL PROSE
Published
21st Feb 2017 7:55pm
21st Feb 2017 7:55pm
Hero Worship
Different generations, different wars, same tragedies
Hero Worship
‘Have a beer granddad’
‘You know I don’t drink Martin, why offer me ale lad?’
‘Because I’m celebrating granddad…..’
I cut him off abruptly feeling annoyed ‘It was yer eighteenth last week Martin, surely you’ve done enough celebrating by now? ‘
I could see he had drunk a bit although he wasn’t drunk just excited.
‘Granddad I’ve joined the army, I’ve been accepted and I go next Monday and I’m joining your old mob, too.’
His face was lit up like a beacon he was so pleased with...
Hero Worship
‘Have a beer granddad’
‘You know I don’t drink Martin, why offer me ale lad?’
‘Because I’m celebrating granddad…..’
I cut him off abruptly feeling annoyed ‘It was yer eighteenth last week Martin, surely you’ve done enough celebrating by now? ‘
I could see he had drunk a bit although he wasn’t drunk just excited.
‘Granddad I’ve joined the army, I’ve been accepted and I go next Monday and I’m joining your old mob, too.’
His face was lit up like a beacon he was so pleased with...
662 reads
2 Comments
FICTIONAL PROSE
Published
9th Feb 2017 8:49am
9th Feb 2017 8:49am
The Stalker
Oi, you’ ' I turned to see him emerge from the dark doorway and advance towards me; he looked menacing. His great head was covered with a dark balaclava. The chill wind flapped his overcoat about his legs and the lone street light threw his shadow long on the wet pavement.
It was nine pm. and the business district was deserted. I cast about for a taxi, a car to flag down, anything to get away from the approaching spectre. On he padded closing the distance between us slowly, inexorably.
My knees turned to jelly and I backed away only to find myself cringing in the corner...
It was nine pm. and the business district was deserted. I cast about for a taxi, a car to flag down, anything to get away from the approaching spectre. On he padded closing the distance between us slowly, inexorably.
My knees turned to jelly and I backed away only to find myself cringing in the corner...
720 reads
0 Comments
DU Poetry : Submissions by blocat
