Audrey. Adventures with a Geriatric Spy.

•December 4, 2012 • Leave a Comment

So, I’ve started a series of comic short stories following the adventures of Audrey Applebottom, geriatric spy and have come up with a few spoof titles below. Expect the first installment around February.

 

Feeling good about Poems

•October 29, 2011 • 1 Comment

I seem to be doing pretty well at poetry at the minute. But just as I start feeling good about poems, we move on to prose. Still, I can’t complain, I am more of a prose writer than anything. But, I have decided to continue with poetry while I have the vibe going, so here’s a couple of my latest pieces. (Apologies, I know this post has been empty for some time now but I have reposted the poems below.)

 

I’ll Be Coming Home Soon

I’ll be coming home soon.

I promised you six months ago,

It’s a promise I intend to keep.

 

I’ll be coming home soon.

Bombs can fall and guns can rattle,

But I’ll be coming home to you.

 

I’ll be coming home soon.

This wound of mine only hurts a bit,

It’s mostly just cold and sticky.

 

I’ll be coming home soon.

I think the explosion burst my ears,

And I think I’ve lost my legs.

 

I’ll be coming home soon.

I can see you in the darkness,

You and our little girl, both smiling.

I told you I’d be home soon.

 

The Hunt

I see the floundering shadow of prey.

Hush. I creep through waters of the bay.

Crash. Something knocks me out of the way.

 

I see the Long Nose that struck me.

Slap. Long Nose hits me, I cannot see.

Snap. Long Nose wasn’t where I thought he’d be.

 

The Long nose circles close to prey.

Slam. Long Nose wins the fight today.

Sly. I’ll find food where no Long Nose play.

 

I see the floundering shadow of prey.

Hush. I creep through waters of the bay.

Red. Prey had no time to get away.


Why I hated poetry

•October 24, 2011 • 1 Comment

Until recently (recently being when I started my new English and Creative Writing degree at Hull Uni) I kinda hated poetry. I remember when I did poetry at GCSE I used to sit staring at the page mentally arguing with my teacher and being totally unable to find any hidden meanings within the texts. The reason? There is no hidden meaning! Let’s face it, most poets probably don’t write poems with the intention of adding some hidden meaning, it happens by accident. Now, my Creative Writing Skills lecturer would argue that everything we write is a conscious decision. Bull Shit. I did not mean to make an analogy of cleanliness being akin to godliness, nor did I intend to put a half-rhyme at the end of my animal poem (I still can’t get my head around half-rhymes. Does not compute). It was complete and utter accident. Never once did the analogy cross my mind. However, despite my dislike of analysing poetry, I do actually like reading it.

There’s something about the choice of wording in poetry and the rhythm that I really enjoy. Of course, not all poetry conforms to this prettiness that I have in my head, but if it does sound pretty I’ll read it. And now that I’ve had to write a few poems for my seminars I’ve actually started to enjoy writing poetry, though I’m not very good and it’s a bit like an idiot has attempted a poem. But seen as that’s what happened I’ll share with you a few of my attempts, including my latest attempt at rhyming (which I wrote for the hell of it).

The Farm

There’s noise on the farmyard, they know something’s wrong,

They know that the farmer will be here before long.

He’s bringing them death in a long metal barrel,

The cattle are lowing; they know they’re in peril.

The pigs are all squealing as he passes them by,

But they are not ready; it’s not their time to die.

On goes the farmer, into the coops,

The chickens are hiding, all gathered in groups.

Now run little chicken it’s time that you fled,

‘Cause here comes the farmer to chop off your head.

Then comes the silence, they’re holding their breath,

That sound isn’t silence, that sound is death.

 

A Martian’s View on Religion

 

There is a special kind of medicine, a potion of sorts,

That makes some giddy and others sombre,

 

The effect differs from person to person, though

Children are forbidden this most sacred of medicines.

 

They seem to worship a deity, some large, rolling metal beast,

By leaving offerings on a given day which varies from place to place.

 

There are holy men who tend to it and

Collect the offerings to feed it as it moves in reverse.

 

There is also a second deity, though

This has a mutual agreement with the adults.

 

It is a great box with a round window, and they

Offer tablets and liquids in exchange for clean clothes.

 

I have also, on occasion, seen them offer

Calgon, as an extra treat, to remain in its favour.

 

A Knife in the Heart

We were all condemned together,

Our fates intertwined,

They stood beside me,

Dead but still breathing.

They didn’t know it yet,

Were not aware,

That I had already,

Put blades through their hearts.

 

Neither was I then,

I was too focused,

On the blade in my own heart,

Wondering when death

Would finally claim me

 

How could I have known,

That they would so willingly

Give their lives,

That I might live a little. Longer?

 

I often wonder,

If they would still be here,

Had I confessed to the blade,

That sunk deep in my heart.

My touch is deadly poison,

None are safe from it.

Friends, enemies, lovers.

They all succumb in the end.

All dying in place,

Of the long-since condemned.

Such a great waste;

Such a terrible pity.

 

More Writings

•September 19, 2011 • 1 Comment

Here’s a sample from my new work-in-progress. This was going to be chapter 1 but it’s now chapter 5 maybe (haven’t written far enough to know when it will come in). But, there are no spoilers so it’s OK.


Let’s Get Sneaky and Kill Some Zombies

•September 14, 2011 • Leave a Comment

Recently I felt the urge to play Thief: Deadly Shadows again, and being the wanton creatures that I am, I went ahead and played it. I decided to start afresh as when I left it I had little money and very few arrows, so this time I played the conservationalist.

Now, last time I gave up playing because it stopped working properly. It still keeps flaking out on me, but that only happens when the disk gets too hot so I can get a good hour’s play time in before it conks out. But it turns out that wasn’t the only reason I stopped playing. Let me paint you a picture.

There I am, sneaking around the Hammerite’s churchy thing, deep in the bowels of the factory bit. I’ve just KO’d a Hammerite guy, there’s a zombie in the furnace, so I turn the furnace on and dust the sucker (there’s treasure where the zombie is and it therefore needs dusting). Now I can hear other zombies and I know exactly where they are. They’re in cells – locked cells that they can’t get out of – and there’s a switch on the wall beside on of the cells. I know what the switch does, but I press it anyway. One of the cell doors opens and the zombie saw me and started running at me. I screamed a little inside, then the game froze.

So, in short, the other reason I stopped playing was zombies. I hate zombies, they scare me, and yet even after my near-zombie experience I still went back for more.

Thief is actually a pretty good game and I got it dirt cheap. The lock picking mini-game is really fun and you have tons of different arrows (well, like five) that each do a different job (water arrows put out lamps, gas arrows suffocate people, noisemaker arrows grow kittens…I’m kidding, they make noise etc). The only problem is combat. Once an enemy spots you, you’d better leg it ‘cos there ain’t no way you’re going to take him one on one. The best thing to do in that situation is run, run for the hills (or better yet somewhere dark) and wait for him to put his sword away, then run out when he’s not looking a give him a taste of blackjack! You could always stab him or shoot him, but that just makes a mess. No, it actually does then other enemies come get you.

So barring the zombies and the combat, this is a pretty good game. For now, I’m going to give it 7/10, but we’ll see what I give it when I get to the end.

Poetry from a non-Poet

•September 13, 2011 • Leave a Comment

On occassion I’ve tried my hand at poetry. Usually it’s daft little poems, often with humour. But I had a go at some real stuff and by had a go, I mean it happened by accident while I was tired. Here’s two poems called Man of War and A Knife in the Heart.

 

Forgotten,
Forgotten is the bloodstrewn path at my back,
The carnage of war, battles fought at my command,
A thousand lives laid down at a whim.

Juggernaut,
I am the juggernaut, always moving forward,
I will not stop, I cannot stop and face my choices,
To look back would be insanity.

Rememberance,
The time of remembrance comes at the end,
There is no forward, I must look back and weep,
Tears of blood fall,
For in the oblivion I see only my reflection,
And I am smiling.

 

 

 

We were all condemned together,

Our fates intertwined,

They stood beside me,

Dead but still breathing.

They didn’t know it yet,

Were not aware,

That I had already,

Put blades through their hearts.

 

Neither was I then,

I was too focused,

On the blade in my own heart,

Wondering when death

Would finally claim me

 

How could I have known,

That they would so willingly

Give their lives,

That I might live a little. Longer?

 

I often wonder,

If they would still be here,

Had I confessed to the blade,

That sunk deep in my heart.

My touch is deadly poison,

None are safe from it.

Friends, enemies, lovers.

They all succumb in the end.

All dying in place,

Of the long-since condemned.

Such a great waste;

Such a terrible pity.

The Day Nobody Died

•September 11, 2011 • Leave a Comment

Torchwood: Miracle Day is due to come to a close Thursday this week and I am still confused.

At first I was wary. After the horror that was Children of Earth, which was good until that final episode, I thought that I would be unable to enjoy Miracle Day without all the old characters. I was wrong. Having it set in America is strange, but not bad. It’s thanks to the new setting that we get great lines like “You English are all the same” “I’m not English, I’m Welsh!”. New Torchwood wannabes, Esther and Rex are a great addition to the dynamic duo that is Harkness and Cooper, each bringing their own spin to the gang. And you get to see them grow, even over just ten (well nine) episodes.

I have to admit, I even like Oswald Danes not as a person (he’s the worst example of a human being), but as a character I think he’s fantastic and Bill Pullman’s portrayal of him is worthy of a Bafta, or whatever is better than that.

There is one problem with this series, however. We’re seeing too much sex. OK, it’s not even the sex, it’s the way they show it. Most programmes show it under the covers at a distance in the dark if at all and they don’t do sex montages. This programme did. We had a big montage of Jack having sex with this bloke. This is 9.00pm TV people, not porn.

But as I said earlier, I’m still confused, very confused. By now we’re supposed to know something, right? But all answers seemed to have been saved for a grand finale and I for one can’t wait. There are two ways this thing can go. Either it will be a fantastic ending with all questions answered and everybody happy, or it will flop. And after Children of Earth I’m worried it’s going to be the latter.

But we’ll find out this Thursday 9.00pm. Be there or be somewhere else.