Written for Sue & Gerry’s Weekly Prompts
Colour Challenge using the word ‘grey/gray’.
The prompt inspired me to write my first triolet.
Tag: War
For Too Long
Written for Muse on Monday
where the image below is
our inspiration and the prompt is
about someone who has to stay seated.
Here’s my take.
What Is It Good For?
Christmas With Mary
Written for Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt #394
incorporating the word “berate” in exactly 90 words.
I have also used one of the awesome images by Kevin
at No Theme Thursday. In 90 words, this is my story.
Shot At Dawn
Today is November 11th, Veteran’s Day in the United States. For much of the rest of the world and especially in Europe, it is Armistice Day, the day that marks the end of World War I. On the 11th hour of the 11th day of the 11th month in 1918 when the armistice was signed, over 20 million people had lost their lives.
I am honored to present to you a guest post by my friend, Paul Griffiths – The Birkenhead Poet. Dedicated to the young boys who lost their lives, Paul calls it “Shot At Dawn”; I call it perfection.
Fanning The Flames
Written for Weekend Writing Prompt #365
and Weekly Prompts Wednesday Challenge.
Our write must be 61 words exactly and include
the words ‘pause’ and ‘heroism’. Here’s my flash.
Cambridge, England
This weekend in the US we pause to honor all Americans who died in any war while serving in the US Armed Forces.
There have been 108 wars involving the US, including 11 major wars, 4 ongoing. That’s a lot of fighting, bloodshed, death, heroism.
If war is hell, why do we keep fanning the flames? When will we ever learn?
NAR©2024
61 words
This is “Where Have All The Flowers Gone” by the Kingston Trio
All text, graphics and videos are copyright for The Sicilian Storyteller, The Elephant’s Trunk and The Rhythm Section and are not for use by anyone without permission. NAR©2017-present.
Mad World: An Ovi
Written for Ronovanwrites Ovi Poetry Challenge 40: Tragedy
Ovi Rules: 4-line stanza, 8 syllables or less per line,
first 3 lines rhyme, 4th line must not rhyme.
Additional stanzas keep the same rhyming pattern
but do not rhyme each other.
Homeless living on the street
Children with no food to eat
People crying in defeat
We are stuck in a hopeless mess.
Politicians always lying
Innocents in war are dying
Talk of peace but no one’s trying
It all seems so fucking futile.
Playgrounds teeming with poison drugs
Computer hackers spreading bugs
Protestors being shot with slugs
Has every person gone insane?
No clean water left to drink
Can you smell that awful stink
Our universe is on the brink
The tragedies of a mad world.
NAR©2024
This is Adam Lambert with “Mad Word”
All text, graphics and videos are copyright for The Sicilian Storyteller, The Elephant’s Trunk and The Rhythm Section and is not for use by anyone without permission. NAR©2017-present.
THE INNOCENCE OF YOUTH
A guest post written by my friend,
Paul Griffiths, AKA The Birkenhead Poet
🕊️
My father says he hates the Arab.
I know, my father says he hates the Jew.
Why can’t they shake hands and be friends
just like me and you?
I wonder why they hate each other.
Yes, it’s strange indeed and I find it hard to understand.
Our father’s hatred for each other
started over a silly piece of land.
My father calls this piece of land Israel.
My father calls this land Palestine.
Why can’t they live together peacefully
and then everything would be fine?
My father says he would die for his homeland.
Yes, my father says the same.
My father tells me the Palestinians are the problem.
My father says Israel is to blame.
I think the world of grownups is a crazy place.
Yes, I think you’re right about that; I totally agree.
Why can’t our fathers see past their hatred
and become friends like you and me?
I know, wouldn’t that be great if our fathers could be friends;
to live at peace together so that this senseless fighting ends?
It would be a dream come true if the fighting was to cease.
To live as one together, to finally be at peace.
But my father hates the Arab.
Yes, and my father hates the Jew.
Who knows – maybe the solution to such a problem
stems from us children, kids like me and you.
Yes, wouldn’t that be cool? Peace found in a peaceful way.
Such a simple solution to a problem almost sounds like child’s play.
If only our fathers could be friends instead of sworn enemies,
How things would be different, how better things could be.
Maybe if we both spoke to our fathers
maybe they could call a truce;
A peaceful solution finally brokered
by the innocence of youth.
PTG © 2023
I’d like to thank Paul for allowing me to share his poem on my page. There are countless songs written about peace in our world; here’s one of my favorites – George Harrison’s “Give Me Love”.
SAVING GRACE
There aren’t too many people who know about this part of my life; that’s about to change.
It was 1943 and I was crazy about Pvt. Roy Holmes at Fort Campbell, Kentucky. Every night for two weeks I snuck out my bedroom window to be with him. Then he stopped coming around and I found out he’d been deployed. I was heartbroken. Just one short month later I learned he’d been killed. Another month later I realized I was pregnant.
Mama and daddy would never understand; what’s worse, they’d never forgive me. I packed some clothes and snuck out one last time. I caught a north-bound bus, getting off at the aptly named city of Hope, Ohio. Eyeing a pretty white church, I headed straight for it and rang the bell. I was surprised when a young handsome pastor answered; he was even more surprised when I fainted in the doorway. When I came to I was on a sofa with the pastor and two women standing over me.
“Better now?” asked the pastor and I gave a little nod of my head. “Maybe if you tell us what’s wrong we’ll be able to help” he suggested.
“Yes, what wrong, dear? Maybe we can help?” the two kindly women asked in unison.
Speaking softly, I slowly made up my story as I went along: “My name is Grace Holmes. My husband of five months was killed in the war. I have no family, no money and I’m pregnant.” I started to cry tears of sorrow and shame. Handing me a tissue the pastor quietly said “There now. You’ve been through an awful ordeal. Please stay the night here in the parish house and in the morning we’ll sort it all
out.”
I gratefully accepted the pastor’s kind offer; the two women led me upstairs and helped me get settled in a lovely guest room. The room was small but well-appointed with a twin bed, nightstand, dresser and rocking chair in the corner. It even had its own bathroom with a bathtub! There was a beautiful view of a pond behind the church and I knew this was where I was meant to be. Still, I felt very guilty about my lies. I decided I would stay a day or two until I figured out what I would do, then I’d move on. I couldn’t take advantage of these kind people.
The next morning I found everyone in the kitchen preparing breakfast. The pastor rushed over to offer me a chair. “Good morning, Grace! These are the two ladies who were here last night when you arrived … our cook, Anna, and Peggy, our housekeeper. I’m Richard Clark, the pastor” he said, absentmindedly touching his collar. Everyone was so welcoming!
I remembered the two women as the ones who brought me to the guest room and I thanked them again for their hospitality. We made small talk during breakfast – the weather, what was on sale at the grocery store, a new recipe Anna couldn’t wait to try out. One topic everyone was careful not to mention was the war, obviously for my sake. I refrained from saying too much, afraid of turning my lie into a giant web from which I’d never free myself.
Life at the parish house was surprisingly busier that I thought. People stopped by to discuss weddings, funerals, baptisms, the church bazaar. Some inquired about joining the choir and others invited Pastor Richard for dinner. It was comfortable while being lively and I liked helping Anna in the kitchen, even though she insisted I should be resting in my “delicate condition”. Soon I would have to leave before I wore out my welcome.
One night after dinner, Pastor Richard asked me to join him in his office. He offered me a chair and then sat behind his desk. “Grace, I believe things happen for a reason. I’ve been thinking about this since you arrived the other night. There’s a way we can help each other. You see, my secretary recently retired and I haven’t been able to find anyone to take her place. I’d like to offer you the job. It’s not very demanding – taking phone calls, answering the door, keeping track of appointments, things like that. The salary is decent and room and board are included. Would you consider taking the job? I believe you’d be a real asset here.”
“Pastor Richard, I wasn’t prepared for this and I don’t know what to say. What about my condition?” I responded.
“Grace, you’re pregnant; you don’t need to ring a bell and declare ‘Unclean! Unclean!’ wherever you go. Celebrate the new life growing inside you! Do me a favor; sleep on what we discussed and let me know tomorrow. And Grace, please call me Richard.”
That night in my room I thought about the job and living at the parish house. I had to admit I felt at home here and it would be an answer to my prayers. The next morning I told Richard I wanted to take the job on a 3-week trial basis if that was alright with him. He was so happy with my news, he gave me an unexpected hug that lifted me off my feet.
Working at the parish house was wonderful; I was always a quick study and I became entrenched in my new job in no time. Of course, Richard was a huge part of the reason I was so happy. Over the period of just a few weeks we became much closer to each other. We spent many hours together, our friendship growing stronger until it was undeniable – we were falling in love.
When I announced to Richard that the 3-week trial was over, he walked over to me and said softly “Grace, please stay. I couldn’t bear it if you left.”
I reached up and put my arms around his neck. “I’m not going anywhere, Richard. I’ve fallen in love with you.” And we kissed for the first time.
From that moment on we were inseparable. As our relationship became obvious to those around us, so did my pregnancy. Richard asked me to marry him and I said yes. We were both thrilled but my lies haunted me. I knew I had to confess before I could marry Richard. I took him by the hand and led him to the sofa in his office.
“Darling, I have something to tell you. The night I arrived here, I lied to everyone about my past. I‘m not a war widow; I was never married. I became pregnant by my boyfriend who was drafted and left without even saying goodbye to me. One month after that, he was killed and soon after I discovered I was pregnant. My parents would never understand so I ran away from home. I got off the bus here when I heard the bus driver announce the city of Hope. I believe this is where I was meant to be.”
I sighed deeply and waited for Richard to say something. Finally, when he spoke, his words shocked me.
“Oh, Grace. I’ve been waiting all this time for you to tell me, to unburden yourself. How awful it must have been to be living with that lie day after day. You see, darling, I’ve always known or at least surmised the truth.”
I was stunned. “But how? How could you know?”
“No wedding ring, no pictures of your ‘husband’, no mention of your childhood, your family. You said nothing about your life at all. I figured it out and I didn’t care. I love you and I’m so happy you trusted me enough to tell me the truth. I want to be your husband and a father to your baby more than anything in the world. That’s all that matters.” And then he kissed me.
“We’re going to have to call your parents and let them know you’re safe. Don’t worry, darling; it will all be ok. But first we have to tell Anna and Peggy we’re getting married; I’ll never hear the end of it if they’re not the first to know!”
I made another decision that night: if our baby is a girl, her name will be Hope.
NAR © 2023
I’m looking forward to
having you join me today
At The Movies.
https://rhythmsection.blog
U.S.S. ARIZONA
Gregory Tomlinson stretched out on the top bunk, smoking his Lucky Strike cigarettes, watching the cloudy vapors swirl around the dimly lit corner of his berth on the U.S.S. Arizona. Some of the guys exchanged letters and treats from home, showing off photos of their wives and girlfriends. Others played cards and cursed at their radios saying “This news is a bore! Turn it off and find some Glenn Miller!” And the men all laughed like boys at summer camp.
“Hey, Gregory” whispered Leo Becker from the lower bunk. “Can I ask you a question?”
Gregory chuckled. “I think after eleven months trapped in this can you can ask me anything!”
Leo hesitated for a second then said “Ok, here goes. How come you never get any mail?
Gregory didn’t answer and Leo could have kicked himself. Lighting another cigarette, Gregory inhaled deeply and blew a perfect smoke ring.
Just as Leo was about to apologize Gregory summersaulted off his bunk landing seamlessly on Leo’s. “That is an excellent question, my friend.”
Leo was stunned. “I, a homely handyman from Reedsport, Oregon, am your friend?? With your Tyrone Power charm and good looks you probably have a girl in every port! All I have is this box of letters and photos from home.”
“Ha!” snorted Gregory. “Nothing could be further from the truth. Your box is very special, Leo; even if I had a box I’d have nothing to put in it. When I was 15, my parents were killed in a car crash and I was left alone – a family of one. No siblings, aunts, uncles, cousins – no one. I took off and made the Navy my family.”
“I have a question for you, Leo” Gregory continued nonchalantly. “How many nights have we sat on your bunk poring over the contents of this box?”
Leo rubbed his chin thoughtfully, mumbling “eleven months, 30 or 31 nights give or take a few here or there .. I’d say between 330 and 345” Leo calculated.
“And how many times did I ask you to describe Jenny to me?” Gregory asked as he stared at Jenny’s photo. Leo shrugged, unsure. Gregory stopped to light another smoke. “You told me how you said “hi” to Jenny the day you were painting her office at the school and she said “hi” back and smiled. You said you got lost in her eyes and you knocked over a can of paint! She had the sweetest disposition and didn’t get mad, even when the stodgy principal went nuts over the spilled paint.” Gregory sighed. “You said how you really started liking her a lot that day. You know why I asked you to tell me those stories about Jenny, Leo? Because I felt all alone but hearing you talk like that made me feel like I had two friends – you and Jenny.”
Leo barely had a chance to get his thoughts together when there was an enormous explosion, followed by continuous bombings and eruptions. Pearl Harbor was under attack. Leo quickly stashed his belongings into his knapsack and he and Gregory ran out to man the guns. The attack on the Arizona lasted about 11 minutes, long enough to kill Reedsport, Oregon’s own Leo Becker.
Upon Gregory’s medical discharge from the navy, he was summoned by his commanding officer and handed a box which he recognized immediately as Leo’s. Gregory’s name was written on an envelope attached to the box. When he opened the envelope he found a letter with an inscription:
“To my dear friend Gregory. I wish you could have seen how your face lit up whenever I talked about Jenny. You clung to every word I said. I never told you this but Jenny asked about you in every letter she wrote to me. Truth is, she was much more interested in you than she was in me. But you know what? That’s OK. If ever there were two people who belong together it’s you and Jenny. I love you both and you two love each other, too, even though you haven’t even met yet. Don’t waste another minute, Gregory.
You belong with Jenny and she belongs with you.”
Gregory’s eyes welled up with tears and he could barely make out the last few sentences. Wiping his eyes with the back of his hand, he read on:
“My friend, I’ll be watching you from heaven. Call Jenny; her number is on the back of this letter. It will make me so happy knowing my two dearest friends finally found each other. Don’t forget your old pal, Leo.“
Gregory tucked Leo’s box under his arm and picked up his knapsack. He walked down the hallway and spotted a bank of telephone booths. He stared at Leo’s letter for about three seconds before reaching for the phone.
NAR © 2020
The Elephant's Trunk 