The Follower ( flash fiction)

The Follower (flash fiction)

    Sally’s heart raced as her quickening footsteps echoed off the graffiti covered walls of the pedestrian underpass. She almost fell as she changed direction to avoid discarded condoms and syringes lying on the ground.  Sally could hear the heavy sound of footsteps a little way behind and caught a glimpse of a blue jacket with a flash of red as she glanced over her shoulder. And then she was out . . . out of the underpass and into the grey afternoon; but it felt like sunshine after her ordeal. Sally slowed to her normal pace and after catching her breath she said “Thank God” as she entered the High Street. It was full of Saturday shoppers and groups of teenagers milling around. Flustered and still a little panicky Sally said “Excuse me” to an elderly couple on one of the many benches. “Ok if I sit here?”
“Hello dear” the old lady replied, “Of course you can.” She said, putting her bag on her lap and shuffling along the seat.
    And then Sally saw him again. There was no mistake. “Oh shite” she said, under her breath as she recognised the blue quilted puffer jacket and red scarf the man two benches down was wearing. She fumbled in her bag and found her mobile “Where’s my purse?” she said “No, where the hell is it.”  In quite a state Sally started to text her boyfriend and all the while she discreetly kept looking over at the man as he took the Guardian newspaper from a plastic carrier bag. “Oh my God” Sally muttered to herself when she saw the black patch over his left eye partially covering an angry scar. He adjusted his hat to sit at an angle; it reminded her of how hitmen wore them in prohibition movies. He opened his newspaper and Sally grimaced, argh that’s gross she thought as she saw the deformity where his left hand little finger should have been.  She glanced down at her mobile - I'm being followed - send. Sally pulled her coat tight about herself as she clutched her phone in one hand and folded her arms tightly across her chest as the man reached down into his plastic bag; he stood up and started to walk towards……

© Julian Clarke 2017

Three facts one fiction

Three facts one fiction

The Provencal sun was streaming through the dining room window when I came down to breakfast. I felt refreshed after a good night's sleep as I always felt at home in this part of France.  But I could not understand why a deathly hush hung over the busy dining room. I was certainly not prepared for what I saw next.

© Julian Clarke 2017

Riding the dragon

I may work this poem about coming off hard drugs into a song. It's not autobiographical, however I'm pretty sure allot of us have been affected in one way or another by addictition, all be it a friend or loved one.

Riding the dragon

You don’t need that to get by
Do you have to get so damn high?
You shut me out
I scream and shout
You ride the dragon flying high

Steel railings round your heart
Me one side keeping us apart
You slam the gate
I want to hate
Scratch your arm a muddy dart;

You don’t need that to get by
Do you have to get so damn high?
Gave your loved ones a bag of tears
Gave your loved ones a bag of despair

You’ve opened all the rotten the doors
Lain on all the piss stained floors
You run the line
Things ain’t fine
Love’s run raw, hard to stay yours

Crazy trips you’re up like a Kite
Take cold turkey it’s time to fight
You cry for help
I hear your cry
Your soul is safe wrapped up tight.

No more Lady Caine or smoking dope
Rehabs hotel a holiday from hell
No more Lady Caine or smoking dope
Anxiety and pain glimmers of hope.

©Julian Clarke 2017

Wishing Well and Last Hope

The following two pieces are for this months open mic evening which are loosely based on the non compulsory theme being, Hope.

Wishing Well.

Insanely balanced on the brink of blue

A parcel of jealousy tied with sisal

Ardour, so emerald green, wanting you,

To triumph your love without reprisal

Flick of a coin, heads or tails, your call;

Hoping for a wish, a dream to come true

Down into the darkness can’t see it fall

Oh wishing well, my last hope lies in you.

Slowly the emerald green fades, vivid red

Wishing well? But a mere hole in the ground

How loves foolish obsession ruled my head

Who was I kidding? And I’m ten pounds down.

© Julian Clarke 2017

**

Last Hope

The visions are clouded for the cynics of mankind for blindly believing it best not to believe; but Layla’s last hope for her sick one lay in the palms of a pagan priestess. And so the priestess cast her circle upon the ground and with eyes closed she rode the latitudes of time. From all points of the compass winds were weaving weighing mystic chants from the shaman of nations to dance in spiritual trance. Karma gathered and harnessed in heart and so the priestess returned to her own awareness; her rainbow gown laced in white flowed silently while hands circled the air as she sang incantations of spiritual care. With gratitude Layla wore tears on her cheek that fell to the earth as she wept with joy at the breath of her daughter’s soulful re-birth.

©Julian Clarke 2017

#taglabels

The interminable writers block has struck again, and so the following is something completely left wing for me that perhaps should be consigned to the waste paper basket.

Colour race creed diversity
introvert extrovert opposites
superior inferior, (that’s complex)
genders, male female
categorisation
straight
gay
bisexual
other (exclamation mark).
Do not delete cannot delete,
genetically encoded  D.N.A
programmed to label we’re
classified chromosome X or Y.
Cyber café, searching, found profiles # tag X
blind date (question mark) bio’ # tag Y... send . . .

© Julian Clarke 2017

The Good Ole Days?

Time creeps up on us the older we grow

Bent and wizened like an ancient oak tree,

Grasping the future all those years ago

The golden ole days seem the place to be.

           

A song on the radio from yesteryear

Long summer days drenched in the sun,

Wistful memories and lives without fear

A night out with friends having so much fun.

            Now

What if the past was turned upside down

What if the future was flipped all around?

Would we still yearn for the good ole days

And not look back in a rose tinted haze.

            So

How would we welcome the oncoming past?

            With

Imminent conflicts, other people’s wars

A time long before the smart mobile phone,

No Wi Fi or texting so how would we cope

No long haul travel holidaying at home.

            And

The 1970’s a decade of strikes

Fuelling an era of dissent,

Skyward inflation with many price hikes

Bitter was the winter of discontent.

            But

What if we enjoyed the here and now?

What if looked on with a little less haste,

What if we’re more forgiving to others?

Live for the moment in a calmer place. 

© Copyright Julian Clarke 2016

Cover Girl

Whilst having coffee in a cafe I overheard a converstion between a couple of ladies which inspired the following.

Cover Girl

To pout like a sexy cover girl 
My age says I’m out of luck,
So I bought a course of Botox
I now have the lips of a duck.

To be slim like a cat walk model
Pert breasts, long legs and doe eyes,
My boobs and bum have gone south
That’s something I really despise.

© Julian Clarke 2016

Journal's Entry

Inside a café, from a worn torn place:

Balanced on upturned palm and held high one has to sigh in amazement that even in these anguished times you manage to glide like a ballerina ‘tween your chipped tile topped tables. Perhaps to an imaginary adagio where the tempos set and with lyricism your hips dip to your own metronomes click with not a drop spilt from the glasses full of illusion, using the term illusion lightly as by contrast in distrustful times can so often bring euphoric disillusion. 

To understand the hardship of life here is hard. And so to respectfully observe your selfless poetical grace, your smile and general bonne-amie of which you reserve for all to see; when deep within, like all in this nerve twisting place you must feel that tonight, tomorrow may never come. But to digress and to confess it’s easy to succumb to terrifying thoughts, however, this evening outside the café the sound of the guns have stopped, and since daybreak no bombs have dropped, for now, at least…here’s hoping tonight we can rest tired eyes, hopefully sleep in peace.

© Julian Clarke 2016

Young lady from Diss

A delightful young lady from Diss

A night on the town she did miss

Her boyfriend Jim Tucker

Who was my good mucker

Wanted more than a cuddle and kiss

This delightful young lady from Diss

Would only give Jim Tucker a kiss

Put his hand to her breast

Only to feel a hairy chest

He thought something’s gravely amiss

Jim Tucker was definitely not pleased

With what resembled a carrot and two peas

She said "I think I'm in luck"

Jim said "I don't think so my duck"

As she tried to give his thigh a good squeeze.

©Julian Clarke 2016
Linked to Monday writes
Linked to Poetry Pantry

Man in the moon

This is one that I'm re visiting from 2015, I thought it rather apt as today the moon is about 30,000 miles closer to earth than normal.

***************

The evil witch jealous of our love cursed you to a life on the moon. I caught a glimpse of you while you looked down in the light of its silvery halo. I wanted to hold you one more time and play with your soulful mind. And then you were gone as dark clouds of the night obscured my view of you.

Unshackling the chains of my earthly bonds I climbed the tallest tree. The lunar light back lit the cloud showing off its silvery lining. I heard you cry from way up high, a silvery thread has come lose, catch it as the cloud sails by.

Nearer and nearer drifted the cloud as the thread unravelled to the ground. But to my dismay the dark witch of the night started sewing with all her might. A gust of wind blew the cloud away as the dark witch made her final stitch. I could see a tear in the corner of your eye as you slowly came back into view. I sat in the top of the old oak tree my heart aching, Oh what can I do.

From the bough of the old oak a deep voice spoke, you once saved me from the woodman’s axe. To you, my dues I shall pay now climb onto my broad green leaf. A little unsure I held on tight as the night sky kept changing hues. With a shiver of his trunk the old oak said, good luck and fare thee well.

How the wind blue and carried me away. Up and up, swirling around right up to the stars I flew. You reached out and took my hand and pulled me into the white light of the silvery moon.

We skipped and danced upon the dusty ground, and then I looked and found I was alone. I crawled to the edge and saw you on the leaf floating all the way back down to home. To break the curse you had to return to earth and seek the white witch who dwells in the Spring Lands. For only she could break the spell and send the evil curse down to the depths of hell.

But meanwhile on a bright night if you look to the skies in June, you may just see a rugged face. For now; I am the man in the moon.

©Julian Clarke 2015


(to be continued with part 2 at a later date)