RIP Mog, the most wondrous cat

Hi! I haven't posted for a couple of weeks. This April has been awful. I've had sciatica since the beginning of February and after 6 weeks it faded, only to retun a week later. This time around it was so bad that I couldn't walk further than my kitchen - if anyone gets this, I feel for you and hope it improves soon! I went back to work a week later still in pain and on painkillers that made me feel like I was underwater. It was a weird choice - bad pain or less pain but with a mind that felt like bubbly washing-up liquid and it took a lot to focus on anything at all. I'd go home and just want to crash = no writing.

To top it all, my beloved cat's illness got worse and I had to rush her to Wanstead Veterinary Hospital on Monday 20 April and she passed away the following day. In July, she would have been 16.

She was an amazing cat, a great companion and almost 'human'. I am missing her like crazy at the moment. Grief is a strange thing. It leaves a pit in your stomach that you can't fill and you have to wait until it fades. Unlike physical pain, it gnaws away and you feel helpless. The loss is indescribeable. The house feels very empty and very quiet. I think I can honestly say that I never felt lonely with Mog. I will write about her at some point or post a poem, but I can't at the moment. She was a wonderful, beautiful, amazing kitty with eccentricities and quirks, and a huge vocabulary.

RIP Mog (July 1999-April 2015)

Flash fiction 6: It's the silence #2minutesgo

Hi! Today, I'm posting a little bit of flash fiction that I wrote for JD Mader's 2-minute writing challenge. It's on his blog, Unemployed Imagination, every Friday if you fancy a go. Cheers.

It’s the silence

It’s the silence at the end of the world she wants, where the edge spills into nothing. A void as fathomless as it is wondrous. A place so still that everything will stop. No sound, no words, no colour. She imagines it grey. Neither black nor white, for those two opposites hold no meaning.

Only grey tells the truth and casts a mirror up for all to see their flaws, their holes, their beauty – who they really are deep inside. For when the world finally rolls upon its side the only thing worth knowing will be the grey. The only thing left to hold. She dips her hand into the river and spreads her bony fingers wide, letting the water drip, drip, drip… away.

copyright Vickie Johnstone

A Poem a Day 2015 (44): Childhood scrawled

Remember when you used to see monsters in the patterns in your curtains, checked under the bed for things that might go bump in the night and found faces in the clouds - well, I still do the last one! 

This one is about that kind of thing.

Childhood scrawled

The world paused upon an echo

And it was just me,

Pointing a finger up at the sky,

Questioning, wondering why;

Would it fall if I asked too much?

Did tears plunge in a tumult of rain?

I decided it best not to ask

In this moment,

Staring wide-eyed as the world moved,

Shifting in its seat like an aged crone

Smothering the air with moronic laughter.

I whisked down my hand in fright,

Far away from the sweeping black crow

Upon whose wings my imagination flew - 

Painting witches and toads riding brooms

As gems dazzled in dark cavern tunnels;

Conjuring spiders spinning silvery silk

By roaring waterfalls of leaping goldfish.

They urged me to play with them all

In a time forgotten to children like me.

Yet in that moment

As I stood frozen in awe

Another hand reached out

To pluck mine own.

It swept me away, back inside

As the world did yield its secret:

What you dream and what you see
May or may not come to be.

copyright Vickie Johnstone

A Poem a Day 2015 (43): The hitch-hiker

Here's a 5-minute poem, written for JD Mader's #2minutesgo Friday challenge on his blog. You just show up and write. It's inspiring so check it out - every Friday, like now! :) - http://www.jdmader.com/2015/03/2-minutes-go_13.html 

The hitch-hiker

No time like the present

She said

Wished yesterday revolved

Wishing upon the thing

As the oil spilled forth

Dark and rich

Congealing in her hands

Like sin

The time was for the taking

The day eaten by the night

A still, arched moon

Breathed

Against the howling wind

Like a curse

She stood guard over it

Her own body

And the soul caged

Its remnants

As the car turned

Like a hearse

“Are you going my way?”

She asked the profile

Flicking a smile

Opening her hands

Clean, so bare

Like innocence

Twisted is the way

I am

She said

Not so long ago

To the last passer-by

Like a game

This one has a crazy air

A dark wildness

Flicks back his hair

Spits in the dirt

Curses this old life

Like a reject

In her hands she carries it

All, despairing

Slipping into the car

Too close to him

Offering a smile

Like a child

But the demon inside her

Rages hot and cold

Eager to howl

Translucent as this moon

In a moment she’ll snap

Like hell itself

No time like the present

She said

copyright Vickie Johnstone

A Poem a Day 2015 (42): haiku from Life's Rhythms

Hi, here are some old poems of mine, published in Life's Rhythms. I just had the best pizza and cocktails from Aces & Eights in Tufnell Park! Recommended. Happy Tuesday! :)

Rain fallen like stars

Sprinkles silver-like touches,

Dancing beside me

Some distant day she’ll

Return when she sees beauty

In a rainbow sing

Under sparkling stars

She laughs like water cascades

Rippling endlessly

Raspberries blood red

Ripe, soft and so succulent

Chilled ice-cream slithers

In the dry still heat

The lizard basks, eyes aloft

Watching out for lunch

Eyes turn to the sun,

River of blue-black shimmers

On peacock feathers

Leaves hurtle, twisting,

Dropping without an echo –

Curved, their hands open

copyright Vickie Johnstone

A Poem a Day 2015 (41): 3 haiku

It's 3 little haiku today! So need to get my head around writing novels... think I may have had a bit of a block over this last year. It's just been poems and little flash fiction bits. Anyone in the same boat?? Can we find an oar? Or a bigger boat?

Paws of black and white

Padding with a hop and bounce

More like a bunny

(Yep, that one's about my darling kitty! She does run that way)

Striped socks, silver tree

Heart-shaped glass whispers to me - 

Tells me to be free

Horizons beckon

Where these wings take to the sky

Stuff of endless dreams

copyright Vickie Johnstone

A Poem a Day 2015 (40): There is nothing to say #antibullying

Someone asked me recently why I wrote this one, back in March, and I think it was to end the stigma. I'd been talking to a friend about the subject and we had it in common. I've met soooo many people who've experienced bullying yet it's like a dirty secret no one wants to broadcast and why should they? It's a confidence stealer and everyone wants to feel good about themselves, not crap. But if we shouted it from the rooftops, could we change it? I still read in the media about teenagers committing suicide because of bullying, feeling they had no one to turn to. If we could end the stigma and talk about it, and take it seriously and do something about it, perhaps more people would be saved and fewer lives would be damaged. 
----------

A poem written for JD Mader's #2minutesgo challenge on his website, Unemployed Imagination. As usual, the title and prompt is from a line in his first story, although ironically there is a lot to say on this subject. 

 http://www.jdmader.com/2015/03/2-minutes-go_27.html#comment-form

This one is on a subject I feel strongly about and I'll never understand: bullies and slanderers. 

Like many people I've met in life, I experienced and saw bullying in my secondary school, and the teachers did nothing about it - one teacher turned a blind eye while another joined in by laughing, which basically was support for the bullies. Yep, it's hard to understand that choice. Luckily, I think this is changing as people become more aware of how destructive bullying can be, and teachers and parents should explain why it is wrong to kids.

But then kids are kids. Later they grow up and it's adult bullying for which there really is no excuse. I don't get it. Are they the school bullies who never grew out of it? What is missing in their life that they want to destroy someone else's, which is basically the end result. Is it because bullying gives their life meaning or they love the drama? Or do they enjoy watching someone else sink? 

Couldn't they find themselves a hobby instead?

What kind of person orchestrates the ruin of someone they don't even know? And what kind of person then follows the bully and does exactly the same thing? Do they find it fun? Is it a game to them? If the bully/slanderer actually knew the psychological and physical impact on their "prey",
would they stop? I'd like to think so, but it seems empathy, sympathy and just plain kindness aren't universal. 

There is nothing to say (that hasn't been said before)

Nothing left to say

Or do

If no-one asks

You cannot defend

The sun sets

Upon nothing

An emptiness creeping

From anger seeping

A stasis

Substance stopped

An effigy

Of the person blinds

Living in denial

In a bid to ignore

Each and every day

The things heard

The things spread

The lies

Burning like a candle

Carried like a mantle

Dying in forever

Drifting on the wind

The words

Carried far

Until despair lingers

Turning light to dark

White to grey

Stealing hope

Confidence even

Without grace

No one asks

No one questions

Lifts a mirror up

To stark reality

Or even stops to think

It might not be true
Aggressively joining
The feeding frenzy
Without a care
Or a second thought

To ask is too easy

And would deny

The rumour maker.

copyright Vickie Johnstone

A Poem a Day 2015 (39): If I leave

Yet another poem written from a prompt on JD Mader's Friday 2minutesgo challenge. I think this one took more than two minutes - say five to ten. Cheers :)

If I leave

If I leave will you follow

Way out there into the dark,

Where the world weaves

Its own deceptive light?

Is it better to disappear

Altogether while you sleep,

Or to tell you all these things

I’ve kept so close so long?

Will the time come anyway?

Will the ending be the same?

In these seconds I can see

My decisions flow in clarity,

See the real and the unreal,

Opposites, standing side by side

But then the moment turns,

Fast unravelling and I am lost

As the ebb and flow of things

Floods every decision I make

If I seek to win will I lose?

If I mind to lose will I win?

In this game we seek to play

Are we deceiving ourselves

While the Fates grin and bear

Each and every mistake of ours?

Closing the door softly, I leave

To step upon a spread of snow,

Beneath flakes falling like my veil

Into this tangled dark I know.

copyright Vickie Johnstone

Goodbye Winter, Hello Spring #bloghop #giveaway

Hello, and welcome to a hop welcoming in the Spring. On this hop, a bunch of writers are giving away books, swag and gifts galore, and they'll be posting stories and other interesting things. Just click on the links at the bottom to hop to the other blogs. Cheers and have fun! I'm so glad Spring is around the corner... bye Winter, brr, hello bunnies, boing! :)

First, here's a poem for Spring (previously posted on this blog)

Dragonfly

In this greenest of grass

Where the cracked ivy winds

Ever searching to burrow

Buttercups nod to the sun

This blaze of egg-yolk yellow

Set in a wash of purest blue

Here, in the mind’s eye

The imagination runs wild

A neon-blue dragonfly

Flits delicate gossamer wings

Whirring to create a current

Of moving air to play upon

Against nature’s own breeze

These valleys dive deep below

Verdant fields of lowing sheep

Unrestrained by fences

Wandering as free as they will

Bowing to the buttercups bobbing

Where the dragonfly hums

Now for the giveaway - 

I've published 15 books and I'm giving away the following prizes -

Winner - ebook copies of The Sea Inside, I Dream of Zombies, Kiwi in Cat City, Day of the Living Pizza and 3 Heads & a Tail. If you like poetry, I'll happily throw in one of those too.

Runners-up - 5 people will win an ebook of their choice.

To win, all you need to do is enter the Rafflecopter competition below - Good luck!

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Here are the other participating blogs in the hop - click and go! Thanks for visiting! 

Flash fiction 5: the waiting #2minutesgo

Hi! Today, I'm posting a little bit of flash fiction that I wrote for JD Mader's 2-minute writing challenge. It's on his blog, Unemployed Imagination, every Friday if you fancy a go. As usual, I took my writing prompt from his first story - 'the waiting had almost killed him'. Cheers.

The waiting had almost killed him

Waiting. Always waiting. He checked his watch. Almost on the hour. The time drew near. Wet roses. Waft of lemons. Soft plaintiff breath on the air. So cold. He felt it. Just there. Almost a hand’s grip away and then it swerved. A dumb call, lost in the quiet. Except for those deep, even breaths. Then nothing. Almost as quickly, it dispersed, trickling away around the corners, into the walls, hiding. He moved, tasting his own fear in his mouth. That metallic, cold and hard. His own breathing rushed like water through his ears, his muscles tensing. It called him. Always now. Around the hallway into the dim light. Candles lit the way, newly lighted. His welcome greeting to her. When she made it, he would follow. If she could escape the nightmare. Her life. The hallway twisted, altering perspective, pulling the ground up to the heights, and his heart leapt into his throat as the shadow shifted upon the walls. Flickering in the candlelight. Shimmering. Vague as the night. Lithe as the air. She danced in the in between.

copyright Vickie Johnstone