MM - HOW TO DOODLE

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What’s on today: A post inspired by a Manic Monday meme. Have you had a go yet? … PLUS … A poem for ReadWritePoem. A story for Inspire Me Thursday. A poem for Monday Mural
YOU KNOW IT’S THE WRITE WAY

TO DOODLE

To doodle is to draw,
little images galore;
We do it absent-minded,
with no thought confided;
But it is also an analogy,
for which we have an allergy,
to doing things with thought,
which we know we really ought;
So to doodle is to live,
chaotic as we give,
not a hoot to how we plan,
our entire life’s span;
So doodle away through life,
ignoring trouble and strife,
doing just as we please,
going nowhere fast
with ease

(c) Anthony North, May 2008

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DOODLING POE

Mo over at Manic Monday is giving some money to the new charity, Cat Friends Helping Friends, for everyone who places a doodle of a cat in their Manic Monday post. Well, I’m lousy at doodling, so will an image do?
It is of a black cat at night, and this links nicely with the word ‘doodle’ – at least for me. I’ve written hundreds of very short short stories, mostly with a twist, and long ago I decided to call them Doodles.
And what has this to do with a black cat? Well, no one inspired me to write them more than Edgar Allan Poe, who virtually invented the short story with a twist with his own stories such as The Black Cat.
Poe is perhaps the most under-rated of writers, never achieving the acclaim he truly deserves. He doodled absent-mindedly through life, but that didn’t stop him arguably inventing, also, the detective story, psychological thriller and science fiction.
Though sometimes over-written, his stories make him one of the greatest writers ever.

© Anthony North, May 2008

MOTHER EARTH

Mother Earth, she knows best,
suckling life through ample breast;
Taking this barren Earthly orb,
shrouded in air to absorb,
heat from our life giving star,
so diversity can go so very far;
Her influence is clear to see,
yet now we need a simple plea;
Why has man ignored her so,
producing waste that he does throw,
away with no concern for where,
giving us all an environmental scare?
Once we were in nature’s womb,
part and parcel of its tune,
then we discovered technology,
and advanced, all full of awesome glee;
but then we broke the umbilical cord,
of Mother Earth, and we did lord,
over all of nature as our own,
forgetting it was just a loan,
until the day, we will atone

(c) Anthony North, May 2008

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BEHIND THE DOOR - Fiction

Jessie was fifteen and impressionable – just getting to the age when childhood was giving way to womanhood. This was a confusing time for her, as she tried to negotiate the psychological maze of interaction with others. And typically, she often got it wrong. Indeed, her friend, Roxy, told her this time and time again.
‘You’re just a witch,’ she told her, ‘always ruining things for me.’
Maybe growing up is the same as being young, thought Jessie, because she’d thought herself as a ‘witch’ before.

To get away from it all she went to visit her Nan for a couple of days.

And as she sat on the bed, the ‘witch’ thing came back to her with a new intensity. After all, it was in this very room that the wardrobe stood – the very wardrobe around which her Grandfather had told her so many stories before he died.
‘There’s a witch in there,’ he used to say scaring her half to death. And even now, at fifteen, she had never dared open the door.
Of course, the fantasies were many. Was this the entrance to the magical land of Narnia, as C S Lewis would have us believe? Or was the ‘witch’ of a much more sinister nature?
Well, thought Jessie, it is time to put childish things away and open the door.
It was with a sense of trepidation that she approached the door. Reaching out, she noticed her hand was shaking, but steadying it, she gripped the handle, pulled open the door, and looked into the mirror.

© Anthony North, May 2008

MIND PLAN

We see the world in all its glory,
experiencing things and placing our story,
upon our inner reflections of life,
creating mind, vibrant and rife;
But how do we know where thoughts are hidden,
those that are friendly and those forbidden?
Where is the map of our inner world,
its ideas, its dreams, all unfurled?
To find them we must search a mental maze,
turning to thoughts that are otherwise a haze;
But once we know them, they do glint,
shining bright memories, as they hint,
the way to our inner fingerprint

(c) Anthony North, May 2008