Frack Off! – dVerse Poetics

Please excuse the poor formatting and whatnot – I am posting this using my phone, so goodness knows what it will look like! Suffice to say that this week’s dVerse Poetics prompt was too good to miss. The issue about which I feel strongly was also very close to my dad’s heart, and since I have spent a strangely enjoyable evening talking about him, it feels like the right thing to do. I don’t have my laptop with me (I am away from home), hence the phone post.

I hope you enjoy this – it was written very quickly, but the pumpkins were calling! I will come back and comment on others’ poems and tidy this up, next week.

 

– Frack Off! –

What the frack are you all doing,

stomping through our field?

 

Shaking up the ground boys,

to extract what shale will yield.

 

But can’t you see we’re ripening,

until we’ve reached our best?

 

Sorry guys, the future’s ours,

there is no time to rest.

 

You’ve got to wait, the season’s here,

the farmer needs his crop.

 

Shut your mouth, behave yourselves!

There’s no way we will stop.

 

Pumpkins, squash and turnips too,

for decades we’ve grown here.

 

Times they change, that’s how it is,

the law is very clear.

 

Power and might are on your side,

for now at least, it’s true.

 

But Mother Nature will fight back,

and first, she’ll come for you.

You’re going too far, you’ve lost the plot –

money has turned your head.

Filthy lucre’s not all that.

 

Especially

when

you’re

dead.

Faithful – VisDare 40

Here’s my latest offering for Anonymous Legacy‘s photo-inspired prompt, VisDare. This week’s prompt word is ‘Oblivious’. The rules are simple:

150 words – or less.

Post entry to your blog and “link in”.

(Please – no erotica or graphic violence.)

DON’T FORGET to read and comment on others’ entries!!

The photo is below, and my piece follows.  Let me know what you think, and give it a go yourself, why not?

– Faithful – 

Vera had been carrying a torch for her Tommy, ever since he had waved a cheerful goodbye at the train station, back in 1940.

He had disappeared in a cloud of smoke and steam.  She had waved her lace-edged handkerchief, tears coursing down her perfectly powdered cheeks, until he was just a speck in the distance.

Life marched on. The war ended. His parents became strangely distant and moved away to the countryside.

Vera never married, never forgetting her promise to wait for Tommy, forever.

Now, her rage knew no bounds. Forty years later and almost as many pounds heavier, he sat fat and happy in the seat opposite, holding his wife’s hand.

He never knew what hit him.

*****

anonymous-legacy-160x160-black

Fish Supper – Friday Fictioneers

Here is this week’s entry into the weekly challenge brought to us by the lovely Rochelle Wisoff-Fields.

Here are the rules: Use the photo as inspiration, write a hundred(ish) words – and share! Here goes my offering for this week – and I welcome your comments again!

Copyright - E.A. Wicklund

Copyright – E.A. Wicklund

– Fish Supper –

Every summer, the teenage seagulls throng on Brighton beach, swamping the holidaymakers and the hung-over hen parties.

They are literally stretching their wings, shunned by their exhausted parents who have finally decided that their offspring need to fend for themselves.

The beach visitors are rich pickings; careless and sun-drenched, their paper-wrapped fish and chips are just too tempting for the adolescent birds to resist. Swooping, beaks wide open to claim their prize, they dive and wheel among flailing arms, triumphant as they soar towards the sun, tasty morsels already halfway down their gullets.

Every year, new birds. Every year, new holidaymakers. The birds learn – the humans make the same mistakes.

Food for thought!

—-

Click on the blue froggy below to read others’ offerings!