The Outsider

This photo was kindly donated by Emma Mooney, and was also the inspiration for this poem.

I told him to come.
I put the key in a plant pot,
And a slice of Madeira cake
Wrapped in cling film, on a floral plate.

I said, ‘Please, help yourself,’
And left the porch light on,
And brown sugar cubes
In a silver bowl, and a sachet of coffee mate.

I said, ‘It’s going to be a cold one.’
And I stoked the fire with extra logs,
Folded the scarf I’d knitted last June
And left it on the armchair.

I said, ‘I won’t wait up.’
And I drew the curtains on a blinding blizzard,
Took photographs from the shelf,
Leaving eleven lines in the dust.

I said, ‘Perhaps he’ll come.’
And left well worn slippers by the fire,
A blanket folded in a plasic bag,
And a kiss on an old book from another time.

In the morning I said, ‘I wonder.’
As I counted the sugar, dusted the crumbs,
Then drew the winters curtains
To size eleven footprints in two inches of snow.

Telephone Box

Taken on Killin, Scotland

This is a working telephone box yet I’ve never seen anyone use it. We used to have one at the top of our scheme. It was red too, but a bit on the grubby side and with peeling paint. I remember the inside of it, the cigarette burns in the perspex windows, that kind of melted brown tear shape. I remember the ground was always wet and smelled of piss. I remember the air reeking of cigarettes and stale beer. We used to call the operator for a laugh. Pretend we were trying to get the number for Mr C Fax or Mrs C Saw. I rarely used it to make an actual phone call, but when I did, it was a hungry wee machine, eating up my silver and leaving me to say my goodbyes during the pip pip pip’s.

Do you have a telephone box in your town? What is it used for? Can you remember using them before telephones were in the house ?

This isn’t quite a prompt, but a request…

Imagine you you passing a telephone box and it begins to ring. You pick up the phone and I say. Hi, I’m Eilidh from Killin in Scotland. How would you greet me in your language?

I’ve had people visit me from 40 countries this year so far and don’t know who is from Scotland, Hong Kong, India, Vietnam and so on.

I’ve listed all of the countries that have visited my blog below.

Thanks as always for visiting.

Oh Buoy

Taken in Brought Ferry, Scotland

Is the ocean chained to the land or is the land chained to the ocean? Are we free is this world or are we chained to a system that benefits the few over the many? Are we chained to a system who would drown those in need in order to keep those who don’t afloat?

I planned to write a prompt based on the above image but when I posted, all I could see is a big rusty chain and it got me thinking. Is it time for change? Can capitalism survive this pandemic or the next? How do the wealthy survive when there is no more capital, do they win or loose? Will the many ever be free from their chains?

Okay. I have a prompt

Write a short story in the form of a news article, T.V news report or radio report named, The Day That Money Ran Out.

Hitchhiker

Taken at Harmony Fields animal sanctuary

Imagine driving along a quiet country road and seeing this little guy with his arm out.

Would you or wouldn’t you pull over and offer him a lift?

Prompt

Write a story or poem with only two characters, the driver of a vehicle, and a hitchhiker. The story should involve these items or scenarios:

  • A baby’s rattle
  • A tiny mouse
  • A song by Neil Diamond
  • The French National Anthem
  • An upside down road sign
  • Donal Trump
  • And breaking wind

Good luck and happy writing.

Tree Climber

Can you see the climber? I took this photograph in Bannockburn in Stirling.

Did you climb trees when you were a child? Perhaps you lived in the city and liked to climb drain pipes, lampposts or onto roofs. It goes without saying that human beings like to climb, to look down at the world below and see it from a new perspective. Perhaps we want a broader view of the world, perhaps we want to separate ourselves from our fellow creatures, or perhaps we enjoy the challenge of the climb itself.

PROMPT

Write a childhood memory about climbing. What were you climbing? How high, wide, difficult was it? Why were you climbing? What did it feel like to climb and to reach the top? Where you climbing for a thrill or to get away from something or someone? What did you see, hear, smell, feel?

Happy writing folks

Dew

I have named this photograph Dew. Thank you to my own dog Kimber for sitting long enough for me to get this shot.

DSCF3548

©Eilidh G Clark