Wishbone Soup Cures Everything

Exciting new work from the winner of the prestigious Best Bonkers Ghost Story TAGB Summer Camp 2010! How Kwon Recovered From Death, Which Is Usually Quite Fatal Kwon was not just not like other ducks. He was not like other mortal creatures. He stood out in his family, as his parents and grandparents and brothers and sisters, and everyone but him, were in the normal range of duck forms and sizes. He stood out in the world, being 18 feet tall with steel kneecaps, sharp teeth and a fist on the end of each wing. This is not enough to explain how, after dying in terrible agony from a spattering of partially digested exceptionally poisonous smelly troll food, he managed to get better. To understand this, the story must go back to before he was born, to the time that Kwon’s parents, Mr and Mrs Noodle, were excitedly expecting their first batch of eggs. Mrs Noodle was anxious about the safety of her babies, so she asked Mr Noodle to find a mountain peak to build a nest on

Whatever else you do over the winter holidays, time spent eradicating barriers to newly resonating embracement* is never time wasted. (*Playing with tinsel, or tree baubles, or anything shiny) String and foil makes tinsel, simple Ingredients, which the youngest And the oldest absorb best, one For novelty, one for resonance This is how I learn Christmas My mother carries a tray, she Is in her dressing gown, smiling, a Whole mug of bubbly chocolate each In twists of plastic and electric Berry sized bulbs, recollections Accumulate, associate, illuminate Impressionable years of imagination The tradition with Dog is to gather all Discarded wrapping paper into one Cardboard box, drop in one dog treat Say ‘Find’ and cheer on the shredding Cat will sit in her basket knowing, turkey Scraps are coming, soliloquising, solemn faced On canine clowning, as though a piece of Twitched tinsel couldn’t cause kittenish pouncing There is

291 The man who drank to forget Wakes up. He shakes as he moves from Bed to bathroom, his world is shattered This is the ice-cold start to living alone 292 He has reached out his hand To the other side of the bed, pressed His palm on flat blankets, across the Slight hollow in the mattress 293 In loss, an imprint exists, it is No less transient than the life Of the memory that holds it Nor any less unique or precious 294 The whole solar system has a shelf life Making perspective simple from intellectual Angles. Life is more than cerebral for people Stars have life cycles not funeral rites 295 Ketchup has been left with the lid off Sticky and vulnerable like a tracheotomy It’s mostly sachets in cafes these days Split open heart-pods lying on side plates 296 She wakes naked with achy feet, parched Skin, echoing head, seeks comfort in Pulsation of water, the congruous Drum of indoor plumbing 297 Oh the be

A Seasonal Message 'Furthering my quest to appreciate life, to actually be bothered to find the extraordinary in the ordinary detail of life, I have set myself this task. I use the word miracle to describe the act of seeing the moments where something wonderful is happening (if you are looking at it correctly.) I think I need about 41.66 per hour to cover 24 hours. Further miracle reports to follow.' [1,000 Miracles In One Day] 'You can't polish a turd, but you can roll it in glitter.' A Compare and Contrast of these statements is more serious than you might think! The second one is much funnier and more quotable. The first one takes a liberty with the word miracle which may raise an amused eyebrow. But! If you can be bothered to have a think about it, if you can be bothered to try finding your own, you might get a longer deeper happiness buzz by learning to see what is beautiful in your life, and then you can take the turd, compost it and gro

We don't use the microwave everyday, but it is bright red and regularly admired by us. Unlike the rest of The Microwave Corner, which is an annoying mess. Other house place names are The Useful Drawer, The Wurlitzer and the Box Office.  281 In the cool clear blue sky, the sunlight Liberated from mist, skims over white Fleece surface, splits through a teardrop Gem circling in the kitchen window 282 The kitchen is warmed and filled With cuts of rainbow light from the Gyratory crystal. Shut my eyes, put the Sun on my face, have a tropical moment 283 Temperatures trigger sense memory; from The squashed breath-recycling aircraft aisle I drag my crumpled self out to the sensation Of engulfment, the warm air swallows me up 284 I am inside the belly of heat, feel the haze Of absorption, the ground heat of airport tarmac Wants to digest me, I am assimilated, then Freeze-shocked by arrival-lounge air-conditioning 285 The traffic

This day of miracle-points has nearly reached 7am, so not long till breakfast now. And the thrill of a new toothbrush has never worn off, and I will cry if it does.  271 From the shower room to The bedroom, a skin prickling Towel wrapped race Against cold air 272 At the mist edge, down By the reed bed, by the stream A furtive shape of cat slinks Hoping to blindside a shrew 273 Babies are awake. Bossy Dependent variable creatures Lacking calculated phrases Express values in tears and smiles 274 Wakeful infants learn stuff fast Here is one intently trialling Up-tucked knees in a pilot Crawling discovery exercise 275 In the crawl endeavour, the physical Method of reductive reasoning is  Favoured by infants. Each face-plant to The floor is a catalyst to change 276 As far as laundry is concerned Segregation is practical, so if bold Shades hang on the line, a heap Of pale is prepped next 277 I admire the curv

Another interruption to my Miracle hunt project, but a distraction is as good as a rest! This is another story written for adults to read to children. It's about a Tae Kwon Do training exercise and it began its gestation when I began teaching these techniques to children. The more gruesome the story attached the more they understood and enjoyed the exercise. I tried the same approach with adults and it also works. It was just verbal fun until our 2010 TAGB West of England Summer Camp, when we were asked to write a ghost story, and I put Kwon on the page. I think if he had a Facebook page he would have more friends than me very quickly, so for reasons of professional jealousy he is currently banned.  Winner of the prestigious Best Bonkers Ghost Story TAGB Summer Camp 2010 The Debt We Owe To Victorious Kwon Kwon wasn’t like the other ducks. He was 18 feet tall, his kneecaps were made of steel and on the end of each wing he had a fist. He wasn’t the sort of

Stillpower: The True Path to Flow, Clarity, and Responsiveness This here article link also neatly links to my approach to writing. The source of creativity is often associated with wild emotional states, as though you have to tear yourself apart and use the bits to paint something dramatic. Peacefulness is seen as static and therefore unproductive, but the calmer I get, the easier the words and the meanings flow. Experience of life's dramas helps understanding but it needn't, it shouldn't, become an addiction.    Read and learn; peace out! xx

The two roasting tin spiders were buried under a rosebush, I decided it would be the respectful thing to do; plus then they would become spider-ghost house guardians, always a useful addition to any household. The other weird thing I discovered one morning in our kitchen was the burnt earwig, standing in the middle of a gas hob, like an insect at Pompeii, a perfect ash statue of itself.  261 Mouse cremations are rarely Observed but here is an apostrophied Corpse on a dried grass mound Waiting for a starting spark 262 Stride through stratus, back to My crumbly house, the sun Also pushes, promises later Heat, as this mist dissipates 263 Drama occurs in the roasting Rack tin when two spiders are Found drowned in the pig’s blood Under the dinner joint 264 There are thirteen folk arts Vital to this industrious cottage Roasting meat is listed third One of six respecting food 265 Mindful preparation of meals Decelerates pace, a

I still harbour some regret over not photographing the vivid purple fox poo. I love photographs, although sometimes I do think that people are so busy taking pictures of things they forget to look at them with real eyes. Mindfulness makes the best shots. I'm not sure how I would have fully conveyed the excellent moment of catching the fox crimping out that amazing colour, but I did utterly appreciate the moment. Literally, some shit is brilliant.  251 A wide blade of grass, glazed pale In dots. There are multitudinous Dimensions of dewdrops, these Are comparatively large 252 Fox poo-pile seizes attention Beads of undigested berry Glint in the dawn sun, flaming Shades of autumn 253 These plants; collective name Blackberry; diverge, like People, like breeds of dog, many Different ways of growing 254 Feasibly able to uproot, to gallop Across the field, over the hedge This blackberry extends in arched Tentacles, three arachnoid metres

I am a quarter of the way into the task, and have googled the history of latex.  241 Butter waits in a glass dish, slid Behind the eclectic kerfuffle of Stuff dropped in passing, our Annoying kitchen table anthology 242 Coffee cup is tipped, to see Depictions cast in the grounds Ripple like low tide sand flats In repeated waving motifs 243 The jewels of my jam making Fill half a fridge shelf; here are fruits And flowers and herbs preserved In sugar and recycled glass 244 Each unique speckled soft Tan shaded scattershot Toast crumb on the circle Of plate rests abstractly 245 The history of my boots starts With some Pre-Columbian Mexicans Boiling latex into heavy spheres For bloodied games of life and death 246 The boot chronicle continues with The Duke of Wellington’s demands Comfort first for feet in battle and Afterwards, smart enough for the party 248 From ritualistic sacrifice, through Cold wet war tr

(Nearly 6 am on Miracle hunt day. I have been wearing flip flops since I could walk and can run backwards in them.) 231 Inspiration is a secondary Response. Stripped down this Experience centres on the Simplicity of appreciation 232 Before I think to tidy up I take A survey of the house-mess An appraisal of status, if Not in flux, it fails 233 I point out the dog paw shapes On the oven door; dogs observe Emotion, not language, or old evidence Dog is happy, I am not cross 234 A motto on my cheap flip-flops reads You Can Never Have Too Many Shoe It’s not logical but the fun makes it beautiful A stamp of flippant glamour on rubber 235 The indoor woodlice hurry Gather under the bath Slug, on tiles above, wanders Alone, equally sure of purpose 236 From the cooking to the brewing Kitchen, coffee odour lingers Mingles into damp cottage, savoury Sour wet dog, onion, earth and spice 237 The stuck clock hand rep

This batch brings my 24 hour miracle hunt to nearly 6am. This is too early to actually do the washing up, but I do manage to blearily accept the significance of it. Coffee helps.  221 While coffee brews in the jug, I will Be organised, drag the washing from The lovely machine that undertook Hard work for me as I slept 222 A whirl of wet fabric in the basket Waits for me to locate some boots And a mug for the coffee, and wonder If it’s too early to wake the dog 223 Dog thumps her tail in a slow beat I turn off the lamp we forgot last night And gather up the glasses and appraise The unfinished list of things to do 224 The washing up is waiting, is one of Those little repetitions that marks out Your life, this history in coffee rings, in The medium of smeared food stains 225 Two boots located, the washing is brought To the line, another confirmation of our Continuing adventures, pegged item by item Optimistic plastic fastens t