One-Liner Wednesday

Here is one from the Alternative Dictionary, for those of us worried about global warming:

Battenburg ( as in cake)

Shoring up an iceberg.

This is part of LindaGHill’s #1lineWeds.

Bye, little monkey. We’ll miss you!

Tallis Steelyard . Deep Waters  And Other  Stories. and .  Tallis Steelyard Playing  The Game  And Other  Stories . 

Hello everyone I am delighted to announce that I have the honour to once again be part of a Jim Webster Blog Tour . This time we are invited to investigate Tallis Steelyard . Deep Waters And Other Stories. and . Tallis Steelyard Playing The Game And Other Stories .

Here is the route of the blog tour.

Stevie Turner

https://steviet3.wordpress.com/

A significant gesture

Monday 8th April

Chris Graham

https://thestoryreadingapeblog.com/

An eye to the future

Tuesday 9th April

Robbie Cheadle

https://robbiesinspiration.wordpress.com/

Butterfly net

Wednesday 10th April

Ritu Bhathal

https://butismileanyway.com/

Getting rich moderately rapidly

Thursday 11th April

Willow Willers

https://willowdot21.wordpress.com/

In tune with the Zeitgeist

Friday 12thApril

Colleen Chesebro

https://colleenchesebro.com/https://colleenchesebro.com/

Learning a role

Saturday 13th April

suzanne joshi

https://patriciaruthsusan.wordpress.com/https://patriciaruthsusan.wordpress.com/

Love letters

Sunday 14th April

Ashlynn Waterstone

https://waterstoneway.wordpress.com/https://waterstoneway.wordpress.com/

Matchmaker

Monday 15th April

Annette Rochelle Aben

https://annetterochelleaben.wordpress.com/

Mother mine

Tuesday 16th April

Lynn Hallbrooks

https://www.authorreadercheerleader.com/arcbloghttps://www.authorreadercheerleader.com/arcblog

No strutting or fretting

Wednesday 17th April

Jaye

https://jenanita01.com/https://jenanita01.com/

Something of the night?

Thursday 18th April

Ken Gierke

https://rivrvlogr.wordpress.com/https://rivrvlogr.wordpress.com/

The civilising influence of Betta Thrang.

Friday 19thApril

MT McGuire

/https://mtmcguire.co.uk/

Unfashionably tired

Saturday 20th April

Sue Vincent

https://scvincent.com/

Vegetating

Sunday 21st April

In tune with the Zeitgeist.jpg

In tune with the Zeitgeist
I have mentioned musicians in the past, and I apologise for doing so again.
Normally the musicians I deal with are those performers who play their instruments at the events I am brought in to stage manage. They are sadly predictable, drinking anything that isn’t locked up and seducing anybody who isn’t strictly chaperoned.
Yet there is another level of musician; those who compose the music. These individuals probably stand to performing musicians as a great playwright stands to the actors who mangle his words and murder his syntax. This higher class of musician is a far more sophisticated beast than the mere performer.
They’re also far more diverse. Some of them seem to hide away in garrets, almost as if they were novelists, before emerging blinking into the daylight, bearing their next masterpiece before them like a shield. I confess I have some sympathy for these. Unlike novelists they don’t churn out inordinately lengthy works which can waste weeks of one’s life. After all even the longest and most dire opera is unlikely to last more than five hours. A bad novel can apparently last forever.
Then there are those who both write music and perform it. These seem to fall into two subsets. There is the older, more mature performer. They can be male or female and are true masters of their chosen instrument. Sitting through one of their performances can be a humbling experience. One feels vaguely honoured that one who has achieved such mastery has condescended to let you, in some small way, share in it. Often one is left with the feeling that they write their own music because nobody else can create anything
which challenges them.
Then there is the younger performer. For choice these are attractive young women with excellent voices who write and perform pleasant enough songs which suit their age and vocal range. I cannot vouch for their artistic merit but they always elicit enthusiastic applause. If you pick an appropriate audience, an attractive young man with similar accomplishments can do very well.
To be honest, if I manage to inveigle any performer who writes their own music to one of the soirees I oversee, I feel I have done my best for my patron. They can rest assured that the evening will be memorable.
Yet even in music there are rivalries and jealousies. Even worse, there are fashions which inexplicably sweep through society. So this week, a certain attractive young lady with a fine voice singing the pleasant songs she wrote herself will be all the rage. A fortnight later I might suggest booking her only to discover my patron struggles to remember her name. Suddenly the artist has moved from being fashionable to forgotten.
Indeed I have come to the conclusion that for the singer-songwriter things are harder than for poets. Whilst a poet is only ever as good as their last body of work; the work seems to somehow last. For the singer, everything seems to transient.I always felt sorry for Clarisina Errund. A delightful young woman with great charm and a definite gift when it came to playing keyboard and other instruments, she struggled to achieve the recognition she deserved.
Obviously young ladies in her circle were not really expected to have to work, but between ourselves, the money Clarisina earned from the sales of her sheet music were her dress allowance. Her widower father struggled to cope with failing health and a failing business, and whilst he could just about keep his daughter fed and housed, clothing her was beyond him.
She wrote beautiful melodies, but when she was invited to perform, people would listen to the tune and comment that they’d heard somebody else play that a week previously. Indeed on one occasion she sang as she played, only to be told by the hostess that she preferred the other words to the tune.
It was on one of these occasions that she smiled gamely, retired to the next room and burst into tears. I was present at the time and hastened to comfort her and asked her what the problem was. Apparently somebody was stealing her tunes.
This is indeed serious. But what to do about it?It seems that because of the general poverty of her family, they couldn’t afford to own a spinet and so when she was working on a tune she had to do so at the houses of various friends. It appears that others were taking advantage of this, listening to what she was creating, and noting it down and using it. This was a problem, but how to overcome it.
She mentioned that a young gentleman, a Rayand Hublank, had been supportive and had encouraged her in her work. Apparently he’d sat with her as she composed music. It appears that young Rayand was proud owner of a spinet and was quite an accomplished player. Obviously she could work at his house, but given he was a single man living on his own, propriety would be outraged if she were there on her own. Given that she suspected some of her female friends were party to the theft of her tunes she couldn’t invite them to chaperone her. To me the answer was obvious. I would be chaperone and could get on with some of my own work at the same time. Rayand was approached and proved almost embarrassingly enthusiastic to be part of the project. Thus and so, we met together to consider the matter and to come up with a plan of campaign.Things started innocuously enough. Clarisina had in mind a light and frothy little tune. It was a mere nothing really, pleasant, catchy, and adequate.
This she ‘composed’ in the presence of Rayand in the house of a friend, when
numerous other people were coming and going.
But then at Rayand’s house she got down to the serious work. To this first
tune she interwove a second and then a third, producing something of quite amazing complexity and beauty. Then in a moment of pure genius, she
conceived of a fourth melody line which wove in and out of the other three.
Rayand and I listened to all four melodies and we were completely won over.
The problem was that it was impossible for one person to play all four simultaneously on the same instrument. Clarisina tried but although she is accomplished, there is a limit to what she could achieve. Rayand dismissed the problem, told her to sleep on it and to return next day, refreshed, and the problem would solve itself.
I’m not sure she believed him, but she did as he recommended. Next day when the pair of us returned, it was to find workmen carrying a second spinet into the drawing room and placing it next to the first. Hastily Clarisina reworked the piece so it could be played by two people on two instruments and the pair of them set to practicing.
My own part was nominal. Other than being there to ensure decorum (Imagine, bringing in a poet to ensure decorum, you might as well leave a dog to guard your dinner.) I got on with my own work. But after the fifth day of practice the tune was going round and round in my head and finally the words I were writing twisted to fit the music. I stopped my two companions, told them to start from the beginning, and then sang the words as they played. Clarisina announced that this was the way forwards, and the words became part of the whole.
Obviously I was still working at various houses during the evenings and as I rather expected, Clarisina’s little tinkling song was doing the rounds, being quite popular amongst the undiscerning. After hearing it the seventh time, I suggested to my patron, the Widow Handwill, that I could find somebody better. Being the lady she is; she took me up on it immediately.
She and her guests were surprised when we struggled in carrying a second spinet. Still they waited for us to start, and Clarisina did, playing the tune that had started it all, and which had been stolen. One or two people even commented in a derogatory manner about this. The good Widow glared at them, and I halted the performance and said, “Oh, that little piece. Yes, somebody overheard Clarisina working on it and stole it. But this evening you are going to be the first people to hear the entire work.”

That rather silenced them, and I turned to our two performers and signalled
for them to start.
To be fair, I think it went very well. Clarisina played her tinking little piece. Then Rayand added in the second tune. I started to sing, and Clarisina added in the third tune and joined me in song. Finally Rayand brought in the fourth tune and added his voice to ours. We were met with rapturous applause.
Obviously with a success like this on their hands, our young composer and other fellow instrumentalist had to keep practising and performing. Eventually I was forced speak firmly to them.“Clarisina, Rayand, I have to tell you that I cannot keep on being chaperone. I have my own work to do and my own patrons to flatter.”
Clarisina looked worried. “So what can we do?”
I turned to Rayand. “Well if you got down on your knees and begged her to marry you, it would solve any number of issues.”
Fortunately that is a hint even a musician can grasp.

********

And the hard sell.

So welcome back to Port Naain. This blog tour is to celebrate the genius of Tallis Steelyard, and to promote two novella length collections of his
tales.

So meet Tallis Steelyard, the jobbing poet from the city of Port Naain. This great city is situated on the fringes of the Land of the Three Seas. Tallis makes his living as a poet, living with his wife, Shena, on a barge tied to
a wharf in the Paraeba estuary. Tallis scrapes a meagre living giving poetry readings, acting as a master of ceremonies, and helping his patrons run their soirees.
These are his stories, the anecdotes of somebody who knows Port Naain and its denizens like nobody else. With Tallis as a guide you’ll meet petty criminals and criminals so wealthy they’ve become respectable. You’ll meet
musicians, dark mages, condottieri and street children. All human life is here, and perhaps even a little more.

Firstly;-
Tallis Steelyard, Deep waters, and other stories.

Tallis Steelyard, Deep waters, and other stories..jpg

https://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/product/B07PTS3FGS

https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B07PTS3FGS

More of the wit, wisdom and jumbled musings of Tallis Steelyard. Discover
the damage done by the Bucolic poets, wonder at the commode of Falan Birling, and read the tales better not told. We have squid wrestling, lady writers, and occasions when it probably wasn’t Tallis’s fault. He even asks the great question, who are the innocent anyway?

And then there is;-
Tallis Steelyard. Playing the game, and other stories.

Tallis Steelyard. Playing the Game and other stories.jpg

https://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/product/B07PV1N7XZ

https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B07PV1N7XZ

More of the wit, wisdom and jumbled musings of Tallis Steelyard. Marvel at the delicate sensitivities of an assassin, wonder at the unexpected revolt
of Callin Dorg. Beware of the dangers of fine dining, and of a Lady in red.
Travel with Tallis as his poetical wanderings have him meandering through
the pretty villages of the north. Who but Tallis Steelyard could cheat death by changing the rules?

If you want to see more of the stories from the Land of the Three Seas, some of them featuring Tallis Steelyard, go to my Amazon page at

https://www.amazon.co.uk/Jim-Webster/e/B009UT450I/

https://www.amazon.com/Jim-Webster/e/B009UT450I/

Tallis even has a blog of his own at

https://tallissteelyard.wordpress.com/

Do check out Tallis Steelyard’s world. That you will find it as captivating as I have, I have no doubt.

Twittering Tales #125 – 26 February 2019

Photo by Jay Mantri @ Pixabay.com

Art Jim.

Art Dealer:”What do you mean it’s art. Do you think I came down on the last train. The colour is all wrong too white the lines too crisp. Just too clean it’s been done before. Dirtier unsanitary even where are the dirty clothes? Have you anything original”
Artist: “A cow or a pig”

(Without title  280 Characters)

This is my entry  for Kat Myrman of Like Mercury Colliding Twittering Tales.

One Liner Wednesday

We are  all here  on  earth  to help others, what on earth  the others are  here  for I do not know.

W.H Auden 

This is part of One-Liner Wednesday hosted by Linda G. Hill. Feel free to click the link and join the fun.

The Argument.

I know that it is  raining  I can see that it wet

But you are my familiar  and not a blooming pet!

I have asked you nicely I have even said please

Now go and get me food or I shall infest you with flees.

 

Excuse me, Lady  Mistress, this does not seem quite right

Just where in my contract does it say I have to work for you at night!

You have run me ragged every minute of today

I am tired now and my feathers are wet and here in the warm I need to stay.

 

Pardon me, my fine feathered friend pardon me my beauty

I am not requesting  that you get me food I am demanding that you do your duty.

I am the one in charge not you , I am the tortured soul of a Vampire

You do as I bid  and brook me not.Go, go on, What are waiting for, wet weather attire.

 

Well Mistress that would not go amiss for I am not a duck,

And if I get lost  you will miss out and that would be such bad luck.

Be Gone Get out and find me fresh blood

And if you play your cards right I shall dip you in the stream on your return to remove the mud.

 

 

Death Life’s Poet

My good friend  and fellow blogger  Martin Shone  wrote that he saw Death  as Life’s Poet. I loved this idea  and wrote this poem below  about my poor over worked friend Grim ( as in the Reaper AKA Death) You can see more of Martin’s thoughts here .

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++

The room would appear to be empty and dark

But what is that, a scratching , scratching,  hark!

Slowly your eyes grow accustomed  to the lack of light

There in the corner is an old guy working,  a curious sight .

 

Who is this, who can it be ? It is Death ( in his civies ) writing  Life’s Poetry.

I almost feel sorry for Reaper I do and I feel you should agree.

He is  exhausted by life’s demands and quirks

He not only has to go out collecting the dead  but

He has Life’s poems to write, he’s no shirk.

 

Can you hear that shusshing sound, lets see what can that be …..

It’s  billions of egg timers  set out on shelves . They represent you, the rest of the world and me.

 

I almost feel sorry for Reaper I do and I feel you should agree.

He  is exhausted by life’s demands and quirks

He not only has to go out collecting the dead  but

He has  Life’s poems  to write, he’s no shirk.

 

He is always busy now writing poetry and collecting the  dead

And there’s  more’  for he now has an apprentice to teach and keep fed.

Don’ t you feel a pang of sympathy for him, who  holds the number’s of you and me.

There is never a moment when he can be free, not even a moment for hot cup of coffee.

Well he is very busy right now as we can see

And I think there is somewhere , anywhere  else that we should be.

 

I almost feel sorry for Reaper I do and I feel you should agree.

He exhausted my life’s demands and quirks

He not only has to go out collecting  the Dead  but

He has  Life’s poems to write, he’s no shirk.

 

 

 

 

 

Going out to dinner.

I am going out to dinner, I know it will not make me thinner!

Yet I don’t make dinning out a habit  so when a chance arrives I’ll grab it!

I have not eaten since my breakfast , though some fruit my lips did get past.

So I am very hungry and I really fancy dinner so I am going even though it will not make me thinner!!

I had a lovely dinner the restaurant had a menu that really was a winner

So we wined and dinned together and eat food as light as a feather as we chatted about the weather.

Went we got home we had dessert , the best desert ever! I hear you ask could the restaurant not match it .. the answer is no, never!

It is a very special cheesecake, chocolate and vanilla the  like you have never tasted or you ever willa or even get your filla!

A Gekko in our room

photo credits google images

There is a Gekko in our room I saw it move past me zoom! I was going to have a shower but there is a Gekko in our room and he’s been there for at least an hour.
We left him some chocolate on floor and opened wide the door but whether or not he has left we really are not sure.
Now there is a spider in the shower and to move it I have not got the  power. I really need to wash and change but there is a Gekko in our room and spider in the shower and that all makes me feel strange.

photo credits google images

The time is getting on so I must be brave and remove the spider from the shower. I’ll close my eyes and hopefully God will give me the power to remove it and deposit it outside with the flowers.
But still there is a Gekko in our room and he has no plans to leave anytime soon.

THE MYSTERY OF ODD SOCK.

What is this, where is it from. No one recognizes it, it must of been there for aeons! Where did I  find it where had it been, nobody had seen it until it materialize by the drying machine!

It isn’t yours and it is mine the boys have all been gone for a long time nor have I seen it on the washing line. Could it be a foreigner, could it be a plant could it possibly belong to your mum or your aunt?

It was not dusty,was  is it within a forcefield, is it an alien do we all need to keep our eyes peeled! I have inspected it thoroughly inside and out I was going to dis-guard it but in my mind there is some doubt.

I always thought they got eaten by  the washing machine, this one is on it’s own yes, but it is dry and it is clean.

I suppose it must of escaped, it must of survived I wonder where it’s partner is and more importantly is it still alive. I shall have to check the dryer in case the other one eventually arrives!

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