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The Impulse

October 6, 2013

I suppose I’m a storyteller at heart.  I love writing short prose fiction for adults and children.  The impulse is there with poetry too.

Very short poems that tell stories are challenging to write but peculiarly satisfying when they come off.  Well, I have fun with them anyway.  I posted the following on Linkedin last week.  See what you think…

~

First, a teasing triolet from our recent Cornish break.  It was the first coach holiday my wife and I had been on and, although no spring chickens, we were amongst the youngest in the party.  Would we enjoy it?  Too right we did!  Cornwall, which Stella had never visited before and myself not since childhood, was breathtakingly beautiful in a rugged, poetic way.  And we were fortunate enough to make friends with a delightful couple whose company we enjoyed greatly through the week.

Let me make this very clear, though: The Gleamers in my poem are pure fiction.  Mildly comic characters, I created them as a corrective to certain assumptions of youth…

THE GLEAMERS

 

Bald men with fluffy white wives on a coach.

The next couple up turn gleaming in specs,

cherubic, keen, though the years do encroach.

 

Bald men with fluffy white wives on a coach.

On preserves of the young The Gleamers poach,

sweetly proclaiming they still enjoy sex.

 

Bald men with fluffy white wives on a coach.

The next couple up turn gleaming in specs…

~

And now a triple-haiku with perhaps a poignant undertow…

POSTGIRL AND GOON

 

High-viz smile: “Hello!”

Specs raised: “A parcel for you.”

The raw wind rocks her.

 

Hot rivet grinning,

Visor raised: “Ye’ll tek a dram?”

Greasy paws spit-washed.

 

“Argh, you big soft goon!”

Down: her specs, his visor.  Down…

The raw wind mocks them.

~

Have a good Sunday, everyone.

Copyright © Paul Beech 2013

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